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2 ©JSP (LETTS-' 



"-'^d 



THfi 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



WITH ALL HIS INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES 



^i^o, 



VAIIIOUS KEADIXGS, AND THE EDITOR'S NOTES. 



ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED. 



BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 

NEW YORK: J. C. DERBY. 
1855. 



^ 

-p 









4^ 



CONTENTS. 



%* IHE PIECES MAKEED WITH AN asterisk (*) HAVE NOT BEEN INCLUDED IN ANY FORMER EDITIOK 
OF SIR WALTER SCOTl's POETICAL WORKS. 



FAQS 

The Lay of the Last Minstkel 9 

Advertisement to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 16 

Prefivce to the first edition 1805 ib. 

Introduction ib. 

Canto 1 17 

Canto II 23 

Canto III 28 

Canto IV 33 

Canto V 40 

Canto VI 46 

Appendix to the Lay of the Last Minstrel . 54 

MARsnoN 80 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 83 

Advertisement to the first edition ib. 

Introduction to Canto L — To 'William 

Stewart Rose, Esq ib. 

Canto I.— The Castle 87 

Introduction to Canto II, — To the Rev. 

John Marriott, A. M 94 

Canto II.— The Convent 97 

Introduction to Canto III. — To WiUiam 

Erskine, Esq 104 

Canto III— The Hostel, or Inn 107 

Introduction to Canto IV. — To James 

Skene, Esq 113 

Canto IV.— The Camp 116 

Introduction to Canto V. — To George 

Ellis, Esq. 124 

Canto v.— The Court 126 

Introduction to Canto VI.— To Richard 

Heher, Esq 137 

Canto VI.— The Battle 140 

Appendix to Marmion 154 

The Lady of the Lake 180 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 183 

Argument ib. 

Canto I.— The Chase 184 

Canto II.— The Island 193 

Cinto III.— The Gathering 202 

Fac-Simile of the MS., Stanza I ib. 

(Placed after the Contents.) 

Canto IV.— The Prophecy 210 

Canto v.— The Combat 219" 



PAOR 

The Lady of the Lake. 

Canto VI.— Tlie Guard-Room 229 

Appendix to the Lady of the Laie 240 

The Vision of Don Rodeeick 269 

Preface ib. 

Dedication 270 

Introduction .ib. 

The Vision 272 

Conclusion 281 

Appendix to Vision of Don Roderick 285 

ROKEBT 292 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 296 

Advertisement ih. 

Canto I ib. 

Canto II 306 

Canto ni 314 

Canto IV 323 

Canto V 332 

Canto VI 343 

Appendix to Rokeby ; 366 

The Beidal of Triermatn 379 

Preface to the first edition ■ib. 

Introduction 382 

Canto I SSS 

Canto II 388 

C.into III 396 

Conclusion 407 

Appendix to the Bridal of Triermain 410 

The Loud of the Isles 412 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Advertisement to the first edition 414 

Canto 1 415 

Canto 11. 422 

Canto III 430 

Canto IV 437 

Canto V 446 

Canto VI 455 

Conclusion 466 

Appendix to the Lord of the Isles 469 

The Field OF Waterloo 502 

Conclusion 509 

AppendLx 611 



CONTENTS. 



Harold the Dauntless. 512 

Introduction it- 
Canto L 61S 

Canto II. 617 

Canto III 521 

Canto IV. 524 

Canto V 528 

Canto VI 532 

Conclusion 535 

CONTRIBOTIONS TO THE BoBDEE MlNSTRELSY. 

Introductory Kemarks on Popular Poetry. 537 

Appendix 553 

Essiiy on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad 555 

Appendix 671 

Imitations of the ADcient Ballad. 

Tliomas the Rhymer, Part 1 574 

Piirt II 677 

: Part III 584 

Appendix. 586 

Glenfinlas; or, Lord Konald's Coronach... 589 

Appendix 693 

The Eveof St. John 594 

Appendix 697 

Cadyow Castle 598 

Appendix 602 

The Gray Brother 604 

Appendix 606 

^ War-Song of the Eoyal Edinburgh Light 
Dragoons 607 

Ballads Translated or Imitated from the 

German, &c 609 

WilUam and Helen ib. 

The Wild Huntsman 613 

The Fire-King 616 

Frederick and AUce... 618 

The Battle of Sempach 619 

The Noble Moringer. 621 

*TheErl-King 626 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
III the order of their composition or publi- 
cation 627 

* JuTenUe Lmes. From Virgil. 1782.... ib. 

* On a Thunder Storm a, 

*■ On the Settmg Sun ib. 

The Violet ib. 

To a Lady, with Flowers from a Roman 

Wall 628 

*BothweU Castle ib. 

*The Shepherd's Tale ib. 

* Cheviot 631 

* Tlie Reiver's Wedding ib. 

The Bard's Incantation 632 

__HeUvellyn 633 



PAOS 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

The Dymg Bard 634 

The Norman Horse-Shoe ib. 

The Maid of Toro 635 

The Palmer ib. 

The Maid of Neidpath 636 

Wandering Willie ib. 

* Health to Lord Melville, 1806 637 

Hunting Song 638 

Tlie Resolve 639 

Epit.iph, designed for a Monument in 

Lichfield Cathedral, at the Bmial-place 

of the family of Miss Seward ib. 

Prologue to Miss BailUe's Play of the 

FiimUy Legend ib. 

The Poacher 640 

Song — " Oh, say not, my love, with that 

mortified air" 642 

The Bold Dragoon; or, the Plain of 

Badajoa ib. 

On the Massacre of Glencoe ib. 

" For a' that an' a' that." — A new song to 

an old tune 644 

Song, for the Anniversary Meeting of the 

Pitt Club of Scotland ib. 

Pharos Loquitur 645 

Lines, addressed to Ranald Macdonald, 

Esq., of Staffa ib 

* Letter in Verse, on the Voyage with the 

Commissioners of Northern Lights. — 
To his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch, 
1814 ib. 

Verses from Waverlet. 

* Bridal Song 647 

* Waverley 648 

* Davie Gellatley's Song t6. 

* Scene in Luckie Macleary's Tavern.... 649 

* Hie away. Hie away ib. 

*St. Swithin's Chair .■ ib. 

* Davie Gellatley's Song 650 

* Janet Gellatley's alleged Witchcraft... ib. 

* Flora Macivor's Song ib. 

* Lines on Captain Wogan 651 

* Follow me, Follow me 652 

* The Author of Waverley ib. 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail — From the Gaelic ib. 

Imitation of the preceding Song 653 

War-Song of Laclilan, High Chief of Mac- 
lean. — From the G.aeUc 653 

Saint Cloud 654 

The D.ance of Death ib. 

Romance of Dunois 656 

The Troubadour ib. 

From the French 657 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

I. eRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
Sonf^, on the lifting of the Banner of the 
House of Buccleuch, at a great Foot- 

Ball Match on Carterhaugh 657 

LuUaby of an Infant Chief 658 

Tkom Gut Mannemng. 
Songs of Meg Merrilies — 

* Nativity of Harry Bertram 658 

* Twist ye, Twine ye 658 

* The Dying Gipsey Smuggler ib. 

* The Prophecy 659 

* Songs of Dirk Hatteraick and Glossin ib. 

The Return to Ulster ib. 

Jock of Hazeldean 660 

Pibroch of Donald Dhu ib. 

Norah's Vow 661 

Macgregor's Gathering ib. 

Verses composed for the occasion, and 
sung by a select band, after the Dinner 
given by the Lord Provost of Edinburgh 
to the Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia 
and his Suite, 19th December, 1816 ... 662 

From the Antiquakt. 

*Time ib. 

* Epitaph on Jon o'ye Girnell 663 

*Elspeth'3 BaUad ib. 

*Mottoesinthe Antiquary, 1-20 ib. 

Fkom the Black Dw.4ef. 

*Mottoes, 1, 2 665 

Fkom Old Mortality. 

* Major Bellenden's Song 666 

* Verses found in BothweU's Pocket- 

Book ib. 

* Epitaph on Balfour of Burley ib. 

* Mottoes, 1, 2, 3 ib. 

The Search after Happiness; or. The 

Quest of Sultaun Sohmaun 667 

Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address on taking 

leave of the Edinburgh Stage 671 

Lines written for Miss Smith ib. 

The Sun upon the Weirdlaw HiU 672 

The Monks of Bangor's March ib. 

* Letter to his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch 673 

From Rob Rot. 

* To the Memory of Edward the Black 

Prince 673 

* Tr.anslation from Ariosto 674 

•Mottoes, 1-5 ib. 

Epilogue to The Appeal 675 



PAUK 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Mackrimmon's Lament 675 

Donald Caird 'a come again 676 

FnoM THE Heart of Mid-Lothian. 

* Madge Wildfire's Songs 677 

* Mottoes, 1-7 67? 

From the Bride of Lammermoob. 

* Lucy Ashton's Song ib. 

* Norman, the Forester's Song ib. 

*The Prophecy 679 

* Mottoes, 1-6 ib. 

From the Legend or Monteosb. 

* Ancient Gaelic Melody ib. 

* The Orphan Maid 680 

* Mottoes, 1, 2,3 ib. 

From Ivanhoe. 

* The Crusader's Return 681 

* The Barefooted Friar ib. 

* Saxon War-Song 682 

* Rebecca's Hymn ib. 

* The Black Knight's Song 683 

* Song — The Black Knight and Wamba ib. 

* Funeral Hymn ib. 

*Mottoes, 1-9 684 

Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine 685 

From the Monastery. 

Songs of the White Lady of Avenel — 

* On Tweed River ib. 

* To the Sub-Prior ib. 

*ToHalbert 686 

*Halbert's Second Interview 687 

»ToMiiry Avenel 688 

* To Edward Glendinnmg ib. 

» The Wliite Lady's Farewell ib. 

* Border Ballad 689 

*Mottoes, 1-20 ib. 

From the Abbot. 

* The Pardoner's Advertisement 691 

*Mottoes, 1-17 ib. 

From Kenilworth. 

* Goldtlired's Song 692 

* Speech of the Porter at Kenilworth 

Castle 693 

*Mottoes, 1-13 ib. 

From the Pirate. 

*Tlie Song of tho Tempest 694 

* Claud Halcro's Song 695 

* Hiirold Harfager's Song i& 



r.YRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

FkOM the PlEATE. 

* Song of the Mermaids and Mermen ... 695 
*Norna'8Song 696 

* Claud Halcro and Noma ib. 

* Song of the Zetland Fishermen 697 

* Cleveland'a Songs 698 

* Claud Halcro's Verses ib. 

* Noma's Incantatious ib. 

* Bryce Snailsfoot's Advertisement 700 

* Mottoes, 1-12 ib. 



On Ettrick Forest's Mountains dun 701 

Farewell to the Muse 702 

TlieMaid of Isla ib. 

Carle, now the King's come : being new 

words to an auld spring ib. 

Part Second 703 



Fkom the Fortunes of Nigel. 
* Mottoes, 1-24 



From Peveril of the Peak. 
* Mottoes, 1-19 



706 



707 



From Quentin Dcrward. 

* Song— County Guy 709 

*Mottoes, 1-10 ib. 

From St. Ronan's Well. 

* Mottoes, 1-9 710 



Tlie Bannatyne Club ib. 

* Letter in Verse to J. G. Lockhart, Esq., 

on the composition of Maida's Epitaph 712 
Lines, addressed to Monsieur Alexandre, 

the celebrated Ventriloquist 713 

Epilogue to the Drama founded on " St. 

Ronan's Well" ib. 

Epilogue— (Queen Mary) 714 

From Redgauntlet. 

* "As Lords their Laborers' hire delay" 715 

From The Betrothed. 

* Song — Soldier, Wake ib. 

* Tlie Truth of Wom.in ib. 

* I asked of my Harp ib. 

* Mottoes, 1-6 716 

From the Talisman. 

* Ahriman 716 

* Song of Blondel— The Bloody Vest ... 717 

The Bloody Vest— Fytte Second ... 718 

* Mottoes, 1-10 tb. 



PAGB 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

* Lines — " When with Poetry dealing" 719 

From Woodstock. 

* An hour with thee 720 

* Mottoes, 1-8 '.... ib. 

* Lines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp 721 

* Mottoes from Chronicles of the Caxox- 
gate ib. 

From the Fair Maid of Perth. 

*The Lay of Poor Louise ib. 

*Death Chant 722 

* Song of the Glee-Maiden ib. 

* Mottoes, 1-5 723 

*The Death of Keeldar ib. 

From Anne of GEnsEsiEiN. 

* The Secret Tribunal 724 

* Mottoes, 1-12 ib. 

The Foray 725 

Inscription for the Monument of the Rev. 
George Scott 726 

* Lines on Fortune ib. 

* Mottoes from Count Robert of Paris, 

1-13 ib. 

* Mottoes from Castle Dangerous, 1-5 728 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 
H.ALID0N Hill; a Dramatic Sketch from 

Scottish History 729 

Preface ib. 

Act L— Scene L 731 

Macduff's Cross 748 

Dedication t'A. 

Introduction ib. 

Scene I ib. 

The Doom ok Devoegoil 763 

Preface ib. 

Act I.— Scene 1 754 

AUCHINDRANE ; OR, The Atbshike Teagedy 784 

Preface ib. 

Act I.— Scene 1 790 

The House of Aspen. 812 

Advertisement ib. 

Act I.— Scene 1 818 



^^^■^■-\^^ 




THB 



POETICAL WORKS 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 



S;i)c Cag of tl)e Cast ittinstrcl: 

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



Dnm relego, scripsisse podet ; qnia plurima cerao, 
Me quoqoe, qui feci, jatlice, digna Uni. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO EDITION 18S3. 

TiiE Introduction to the Lay of The Last Min- 
BTKEL, written in April, 1830, "was revised by the 
Author in the autumn of 1831, when lie also made 
some corrections in the text of the Poem, and sev- 
eral additions to the notes. The work is now 
printed from his interleaved copy. 

It is mucli to be regretted that the original MS. 
of this Poem has not been preserved. We are 
thus denied the advantage of comparing through- 
out the Author's various reading.?, which, in the 
case of Marmion, the Lady of the Lake, the Lord 
of the Isles, &c., are often highly curious and in- 
structive. — Ed. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

A POEM of nearly thirty years' standing' may be 
supposed hardly to need an Introduction, since, 
without one, it has been able to keep itself afloat 
tlu-ough the best part of a generation. Neverthe- 
less, as, in the edition of the Wavcrley Novels now 
in course of pubUcation [1830], I have imposed on 
myself the task of saying something concerning tbe 
purpose and history of each, in their turn, I am 
desirous that the Poems for which I fii'st received 
Rome marks of the public favor, should also be ac- 
companied with such scraps of their literary his- 

> Published in 4U) (XI 5s.), January, 1805. 
2 



tory as may be supposed to carry interest along 
with them. Even if I should be mistaken in think 
ing that the secret history of what was once so 
popular, may still attract public attention and cu 
riosity, it seems to me not without its use to record 
the manner and circumstances under which the 
present, and other Poems on the same plan, at- 
tained for a season an extensive reputation. 

I must resume the story of my literary labors at 
the period at which I broke off in the Essay on the 
Imitation of Popular Poetry [see post], when I had 
enjoyed the first gleam of pubUc favor, by the suc- 
cess of the iirst edition of the Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border. The second edition of that work, 
published in 1803, proved, in the language of the 
trade, rather a heavy concera The demand in 
Scothmd had been supplied by the iii'st edition, and 
the curiosity of the Enghsh was not much awaken- 
ed by poems in the rude garb of antiquity, accom- 
panied with notes referring to the obscure feuds of 
barb;u-ous clans, of whose very names civilized his- 
tory was ignorant. It was, on the whole, one of 
those books which are more praised than they ai-e 
read." 

At this time I stood personally in a different po- 
sition from that which I occupied when I first dipt 
my desperate pen in ink for other purposes than 
those of my profession. In 1796, when I first pub- 

3 " Tlie ' Lay* is the best of all possible comments OD th« 
Border Minstrelsy."— BrifisA Critic, August, 1805 



10 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



lisbed the translations from Biirger, I was an insu- 
lated individual, with only my own wants to pro- 
vide for, and having, in a great measure, my own 
inclinations alone to consult. In 1803, when the 
second edition of the Minstrelsy appeared, I had 
arrived at a period of life when men, however 
thoughtless, encounter duties and circuiijstances 
which press consideration and phons of life upon 
the most careless minds. I had been for some time 
married — was the father of a rising family, and, 
though fuUy enabled to meet the consequent de- 
mands upon me, it was my duty and desu-e to place 
myself in a situation which would enable me to 
make honorable provision against the various con- 
tingencies of hfe. 

It may be readily supposed that the attempts 
which I had made in hterature had been unfavor- 
able to my success at the bar. The goddess The- 
mis is, at Edinburgh, and I suppose everywhere 
else, of a peculiarly jealous disposition. She will 
not readily consent to share her authority, and 
sternly demands from her votaries, not only that 
real duty be carefully attended to and discharged, 
but that a certain air of business .shall be observed 
even in the midst of total idleness. It is prudent, 
if not absolutely necessary, in a yomig barrister, 
to appear completely engrossed by liis profession ; 
however destitute of employment he may in real- 
ity be, he ought to preserve, if possible, the ap- 
pearance of full occupation. He should, therefore, 
seem perpetually engaged among his law-papers, 
dusting them, as it were ; and, as Ovid advises 
the fair, 

" Si nnUns ent pulvis, taraen excnte nuUnm."! 

Perhaps such extremity of attention is more espe- 
cially required, considering the great number of 
counsellors who are called to the bar, and how very 
emaU a proportion of them are finally disposed, or 
find encouragement, to follow the law as a profes- 
sion. Hence the number of deserters is so great, 
that the least Imgering look behind occasions a 
yomig novice to be set down as one of the intend- 
ing fugitives. Certain it is, that the Scottish The- 
mis was at this time pecuharly jealous of any fhrt- 
ation with the Muses, on the part of those who had 
ranged themselves imder lier banners. This was 
probably owing to her conscic*usuess of the superior 
attractions of her rivals. Of late, however, she has 
relaxed in some instances in this particular, an em- 
inent example of which has been shown in the case 
of my friend, Mr. Jeffi'ey, who, after long conduct- 
ing one of the most influential literary periodicals 
of the age, with unquestionable ability, has been, 

* If dust be none, yet brush that none away. 

* Mr. Jeffrey, after conducting the Edinburgh Review for 
Iwenty-seven years, withdrew from that office in 1820, on being 



by the general consent of his brethren, recently 
elected to be then* Dean of Faculty, or President, 
—being the highest acknowledgment of his pro- 
fessional talents which they had it in their power 
to offer.' But this is an incident much beyond the 
ideas of a period of tlurty years' distance, when a 
barrister who really possessed any tm-n for lighter 
literature, was at as much pains to conce.al it, as if 
it had in reality been something to be ashamed of; 
and I could mention more than one instance in 
which hterature and society have suffered much 
loss, that jm-isprudeuce might be enriched. 

Such, however, was not my case ; for the reader 
will not wonder that my open interference with 
matters of light hterature diminished my employ- 
ment in the weightier matters of the law. Nor 
did the solicitors, upon whose choice the coimsel 
takes rank in his profession, do me less than jus- 
tice, by regarding others among my contempora- 
ries as fitter to discharge the duty due to their 
clients, than a young man who was taken up with 
rumiing after baUads, whether Teutonic or nationah 
My profession and I, therefore, came to stand near- 
ly upon the footing which honest Slender consoled 
himself on havmg established with Mistress Anne 
Page : " There was no great love between us at 
the beginning, and it pleased Heaven to decrease 
it on farther acquaintance." I became sensible that 
the time was come when I must either buckle my- 
self resolutely to the " toil by day, the lamp by 
night," renouncing all the Dehlahs of my unagina- 
tion, or bid adieu to the profession of the law, 
and hold another course. 

I confess my own inclination revolted from the 
more severe choice, which might have been deemed 
by many the wiser alternative. As my transgres- 
sions had been numerous, my repentimce must have 
been signalized by unusual sacrifices. I ought to 
have mentioned, that since my fourteenth or fif- 
teenth year, my health, originally delicate, had 
become extremely robust. From mfancy I had 
labored under the infirmity of a severe lameness, 
but, as I beheve is usually the case with men of 
spirit who sufl'er under personal incoiiveniences of 
tills nature, I had, since the improvement of my 
health, m defiance of this mcapacitating chcum- 
stance, distinguished myself by the endurance of 
toil on foot or horseback, liaving often walked thirty 
miles a day, and rode upwards of a hundred without 
resting. In tills manner 1 made many pleasant jour- 
neys through parts of the country then uot very ac- 
cessible, gainuig more amusement and instruction 
than I have been able to acquu-e since I have travel- 
led in a more commodious manner. I practised most 

elected Dean of the Faculty of Advocates. In 1830. under 
Earl Grey's Ministry, lie was appointed Lord Advocate ol 
Scotland, and, in 1834, a Senator of the College of JusUce by 
the title of Lord Jeffrey. — Ed. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



11 



silran sports also, with some success, and with great 
deliglit. But these pleasures must have been all 
resigned, or used with gi-eat moderation, had I de- 
termined to regain ray station at the bar. It vis 
even doubtful whether I could, with perfect chiir- 
acter as a jurisconsult, retain a situation in a vol- 
unteer corps of cavalry, which I then held. The 
tlu-eats of uivasion were at tliis time iustant and 
menacing ; the call by Britain on her cliildrcn was 
universal, arid was answered by some, who, like 
myself, consulted rather their desire than their 
ability to bear arms. My services, however, were 
found useful in assisting to maintain the discipline 
of the corp.s, being the point on which their consti- 
tution rendered them most amenable to mihtary 
criticism. In other respects, the squadron was a 
fine one, consisting chiefly of hand.some men, weU 
mounted, and armed at their own expense. My 
attention to the corps took up a good deal of time ; 
and wliile it occupied many of the happiest hours 
of my hfe, it furnished an adchtional reason for my 
reluctance again to encounter the severe course of 
study indispensable to success in the jiu"idicfd pro- 
fession. 

On the other h.and, my father, whose feeUngs 
might have been hm't by my quitting the bar, had 
been for two or three years dead, so that I had no 
control to thwart my own inclination ; and my in- 
come being equal to all the comforts, and some of 
the elegancies, of Hfe, I was not pressed to an irk- 
some labor by necessity, that most powerful of mo- 
tives ; consequently, I was the more easily seduced 
to choose the employment which was most agree- 
able to me. This was yet the easier, that in 1800 
I had obtained the preferment of Sheriff of Sel- 
kh'kshire, about £300 a year in value, and which 
was the more agreeable to me, as in that county 
I had several friends and relations. But 1 did 
not abandon the profession to which I had been 
educated, without certain prudential resolutions, 
wliich, at the risk of some egotism, I wUl here 
mention ; not without the hope that they may be 
useful to young persons who may stand in cLrciuu- 
stances similar to those in which I then stood. 

In the first place, upon consideruig the Uves .and 
fortunes of persons who had given themselves up 
to hterature, or to the task of pleasmg the pubhc, 
it seemed to me that the cii-cumstances which 
cliiefly affected their happiness and character; were 
those fi'om which Horace has bestowed upon au- 
thors the epithet of the Irritable Race. It re- 
quires no dejith of philosophic reflection to per- 
ceive, that the petty warfare of Pope with the 
Dunces of his period could not have been carried 
m without his suifering the most acute torture, 
such as a man must endure from musquitoes, by 
whose stings he suffers agony, although he can 
:rush them in liis grasp by myriads. Nor is it ne- 



cessary to call to memory the many humiliating 
instances in which men of the greatest genius have-, 
to avenge some pitiful quarrel, made themselves 
ridiculous during their hves, to become the still 
more degraded objects of pity to futme times. 

Upon the whole, as I had no pretension to the 
genius of the distinguished persons who had fallen 
into such errors, I concluded there could be no oc- 
casion for imitating them in their mistakes, or what 
I considered as such ; and in adopting hteraj-y pur- 
suits as the principal occupation of my future life, 
I resolved, if possible, to avoid those weaknesses 
of temper which seemed to have most easdy beset 
my more celebrated predecessors. 

With this view, it was my first resolution to 
keep as far as was in my power abreast of society, 
continuing to maintain my place in general com- 
pany, without yieldmg to the very natm-al temp- 
tation of narrowing myself to what is called Mter- 
ary society. By doing so, I imagined I should es- 
cape the besetting sin of Ustening to language, 
which, from one motive or other, is apt to ascribe 
a very undue degree of consequence to hterary 
pursuits, as if they were, indeed, the business, 
rather than the amusement, of life. The oppo.site 
course can only be compared to the injudicious con- 
duct of one who pampers himself with cordial and 
luscious draughts, until he is unable to endure 
wholesome bitters. Like Gil Bias, therefore, I re- 
solved to stick by the society of my commis, in- 
stead of seeking that of a more Uterary cast, and 
to maintain my general interest in what was going 
on around me, reserving the man of letters for the 
desk and the library. 

My second resolution was a corollary from the 
first. I determined that, without shuttmg my 
ears to the voice of true criticism, I would pay no 
regard to that which assumes the form of satu'c. 
I therefore resolved to arm myself with that triple 
brass of Horace, of wliich those of my profession 
are seldom held deficient, against all the roving 
warfare of sathe, parody, and sarcasm ; to laugh 
if the jest w.is a good one, or, if otherwise, to let 
it hum and buzz itself to sleep. 

It is to the observance of these rules (according 
to my best beUef), that, after a hfe of thirty years 
engaged in Uterary labors of various kinds, I at- 
tribute my never having been entangled in any 
literary quarrel or controversy ; and, which is a 
stUl more pleasmg result, that I have been distin 
guished by the personal friendship of my most ap 
proved contemporaries of all parties. 

I adopted, at the same time, another resolution, 
on which it may doubtless be remarked, that it 
was well for me that I had it in my power to do 
so, and that, therefore, it is a line of conduct which, 
depending upon accident, can be less generally ap- 
plicable in other cases. Yet I fail not to record 



12 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



this part of my plan, convinced that, though it 
may not be in every one's power to adopt exactly 
the same resolution, he may nevertheless, by his 
own exertions, in some shape or other, attain the 
object on wliich it was founded, namely, to secure 
the means of subsistence, without relying exclu- 
sively on literary talents. In this re.spect, I de- 
termined that literature should be my st.aff, but 
not ray crutch, and that the profits of my hterary 
labor, however convenient otherwise, should not, 
if I could help it, become necessary to my ordi- 
nary expenses. With this purpose I resolved, if 
the interest of my friends could so far favor me, 
to retire upon any of tlio respectable offices of the 
law, in which persons of that profession are glad 
to take refuge, when they feel themselves, or are 
judged by others, incompetent to aspire to its 
higher honors. Upon such a post an autlior might 
hope to retreat, without any perceptible alteration 
of circiunstances, whenever the time should arrive 
that the public grew weary of his endeavors to 
please, or he liimself slioidd tire of the pen. At 
this period of my life, I possessed so many friends 
capable of assisting me in this object of ambition, 
that I could hardly overrate my own prospects 
of obtaining the preferment to wliich I limited my 
wishes ; and, in fact, I obtained in no long period 
the reversion of a situation which completely met 
them. 

Thus far all was well, and the Author had been 
guilty, perhaps, of no great imprudence, when he 
relinquished his forensic practice with the hope of 
making some figure in the field of Uterature. But 
an established chai'acter with the public, in my new 
capacity, still remained to be acquired. I have 
noticed, that the translations fi-om Burger had been 
unsuccessful, nor had the original poetry which ap- 
peared under the auspices of Mr. Lewis, in the 
" Tales of Wonder," in any great degree raised 
my reputation. It is true, I had private friends 
disposed to second me in my efforts to obtain pop- 
lUarity. But I was sportsman enough to know, 
that if the greyhound does not run well, the lial- 
loos of his patrons will not obtain the prize for him. 

Neither was I ignorant that the practice of bal- 
lad-writing was for the present out of fashion, and 
that any attempt to revive it, or to found a poeti- 
C!il character upon it, would certainly fail of suc- 
cess. The ballad measure itself, which was once 
hstened to as to an enchanting melody, had be- 
cfjme hackneyed and sickening, from its being the 
iccoinpaniment of every grinding hand-organ ; and 

' Tims it has been often remarked, that, in tlie opening 
<'on|)lets of Pope's translation of the Iliad, there are two syl- 
lali!(?s forming a superiluous word in each line. a.s may be ob- 
serve! by attending to sueli words as are printed in Italies. 
" Achilles' wrath to Greece the direful spring 
Of woea unnumber'd, kcaveji/y goddess, sing ; 



besides, a long work in quatrains, whether those 
of the common baUad, or such as are termed ele- 
giac, has an effect upon the mind like that of the 
bed of Procrustes upon the himian body ; for, as it 
must be both awkward and difficidt to carry on a 
long sentence from one stanza to another, it fol- 
lows, that the meaning of each period must be 
comprehended within four lines, and equally bo 
that it must be extended so as to fill that space. 
The alternate dilation and contraction thus ren- 
dered necessary is singularly imfavorable to nar- 
rative composition ; and the " Gondibert" of Sir 
William D'Avenant, though containing many strik- 
ing passages, has never become popiUar, owing 
chiefly to its being told in this species of elegiac 
verse. 

In the dilemma occasioned by this objection, the 
idea occurred to the Author of using the measured 
short line, wliich forms the structure of so much 
minstrel poetry, that it may be properly termed 
the Romantic stanza, by way of distinction ; and 
which appears so natural to our language, that the 
very best of our poets have not been able to pro- 
tract it mto the verse properly called Heroic, with- 
out the use of epithets which are, to say the least, 
unnecessary.' But, on the other hand, the extreme 
facility of the .short couplet, wliich seems conge- 
nial to our language, and was, doubtless for that 
reason, so popular with our old minstrels, is, for 
the same reason, apt to prove a snare to the com- 
poser who uses it in more modern days, by en- 
couraging him in a habit of slovenly composition. 
The necessity of occasional pauses often forcw the 
young poet to pay more attention to sense, as the 
boy's kite rises highest when the train is loadetl by 
a due counterpoise. The Author was therefore 
intimidated by what Byron calls the " fatal facil- 
ity" of the octosyllabic verse, which was otherwise 
better adapted to his pmpose of imitating the more 
ancient poetry. 

I was not less at a loss for a subject which might 
admit of being treated with the simphcity and 
wildness of the ancient baUad. But accident dic- 
tated both a theme and measure, wliich decided 
the subject, as well as the structure of the poem. 

The lovely young Countess of Dalkeith, after- 
wards Harriet Duchess of Buccleuch, had come to 
the land of her husband with the desire of making 
herself acquainted with its traditions and customs, 
as well as its miuuiers and history. All wh'i re- 
member tills lady wUl agree, that the intellectual 
character of her extreme beauty, the amcniiy and 

That wrath which sent to Pluto's gloomy reign, 
The souls of viigkty cliiel's in battle slain. 
Whose bones, unburied on the desert shore, 
Devouring dogs and hungry vnltures tore." 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



13 



roiirtcsy of her manners, the soundness of her un- 
tlrr^taiiLling, ;uiil her unbounded benev()lence, gave 
more tlie idea of lui angelic visitant, than of a be- 
ing belonging to tliis nether world ; and such a 
thought was but too consistent with the short space 
she was permitted to tarry among us,' Of course, 
where all made it a pride and pleasure to gratify 
her wishes, she soon heard enough of Border lore ; 
among others, an aged gentleman of property," 
near Langholm, communicated to her ladyship the 
story of Gilpin Horner, a tradition in which the 
narrator, and many more of that country, were 
linn believers. The young Countess, much de- 
lighted with the legend, and the gravity and full 
contidence with which it was told, enjoined on me 
as a task to compose a ballad on the subject. Of 
course, to hear was to obey ; and thus the gobhn 
story, objected to by several critics as an excres- 
cence upon the poem, was, in fact, the occasion of 
its being written. 

A chance similar to that which dictated the sub- 
ject, gave me also the hint of a new mode of treat- 
ing it. We had at that tune the lease of a pleas- 
ant cottage, near Lasswade, on the romantic banks 
of the Esk, to which we escaped when the vaca- 
tions of the Court permitted me so much leisure. 
Heie I had the pleasure to receive a visit from 
Mr. Stoddart (now Sir John Stoddart, Judge-Ad- 
vocate at Malta), who was at that time collecting 
the particulars wliich he afterward.s embodied in 
his Remarks on Local Scenery in Scotland.' I was 
of some use to him in procurijig the information 
which he desired, and guiding him to the scenes 
which he wished to see. In return, he made me 
better acquainted than I had hitherto been with 
the poetic effusions which have since made the 
Lakes of "Westmoreland, and the authors by whom 
they have been sung, so famous wherever the En- 
glish tongue is spoken. 

I was already acquainted with the "Joan of 
Arc," the " Thalaba," and the " Metrical Ballads " 
of Mr. Southey, which had found their way to 
Scotland, and were generally admired. But Mr. 
Stoddart, who had the advantage of personal 
friendship with tlie author.s, and who possessed a 
strong memory with an excellent taste, was able 



' The DncheM died in Augost, 1814. Sir Walter ScoU'i 
Iin(.'s on her deatti will be found in a subsequent page of this 
collection. — Ed. 

3 This was Mr. Beattie of Mickledale, a man then conflider- 
alily Ujiwards of eighty, of a shrewd and sarcastic temper, 
which he did not at all times suppress, as the following anec- 
dote will show : — A worthy clergyman, now deceased, with 
better good-will tiian tact, was endeavoring to posh the senior 
forward in his recollection of Border ballads and legends, by 
^lp[t?ssing reiterated surprise at his wonderful memory. ** No, 
sir," said old Mickledale ; " my memory is good for little, for 
it cannot retain what ought to be preserved. I can remember 
nil Uiesa stories about the auld riding days, which are of no 



to repeat to me many long specimens of their poet- 
ry, which had not yet appeared ui print. Amcjiigst 
others, was the strikuig fragment calletl Christabel, 
by Mr. Coleridge, which, from the singularly irreg- 
ular structm"e of the stanzas, and the Uberty wliich 
it allowed the author, to adapt the sound to the 
sense, seemed to be exactly suited to such an ex- 
travaganza as I meditated on the subject of GU]«n 
Horner. As apphed to comic and humorous po- 
etry, this mescolanza of measures had been alreatiy 
used by Anthony Hall, Anstey, Dr. Wolcott, and 
others ; but it was in Christabel that 1 iirst found 
it used in serious poetry, and it is to Mr. Coleridge 
that I am bound to make the acknowledgment due 
from the pupil to his master. I observe that Lord 
Byron, in noticmg my obHgations to Mr. Coleridge, 
w^hich I have been always most ready to acknowl- 
edge, expressed, or was understood to express, a 
hope, that 1 diil not write an unfriendly review on 
Mr. Coleridge's productions.* On this subject I 
have only to say, that I do not even know the re- 
view wliich is alluded to ; and were I ever to take 
the unbecoming freedom of censuring a man of Mr. 
Coleridge's extraordinary talents, it would be on 
account of the caprice and indolence with which he 
has thrown from him, as if m mere wantoune.ss, 
those unfinished scraps of poetry, which, like the 
Torso of antiquity, defy the skill of his poetical 
brethren to complete them.' The charmuig frag- 
ments which the author abandons to their fate, 
are sm'ely too valuable to be treated like the 
proofs of careless engravers, the sweepings of 
whose studios often make the fortune of some 
painstaking collector. 

I did not immediately proceed upon my pro- 
jected labor, though I was now furnished with a 
subject, and with a structure of verse which might 
have the effect of novelty to the pubUc ear, and 
afford the author an opportunity of varying liis 
measure with the variations of a romantic theme. 
On the contrary, it was, to the best of my recol- 
lection, more than a year after Mr. Stoddart's visit, 
that, by way of experiment. I composed the first 
two or tliree stanzas of "The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel." I was shortly afterwards visited by 
two intimate friends, one of whom still survives. 



earthly importance ; hot were you, reverend sir, to repeat yoni 
best sermon in this drawing-room, I could not tell you hall" an 
hour afterwards wliat you had been speaking about." 
3 Two volumes, royal octavo. 1801. 

* Medwin's Conversations of Lord Byron, p. 309. 

* Sir Walter, elsewhere, in allusion to '* Coleridge's beauli- 
fol and tantalizing fragment of Christabel," says, "Has not 
our own imaginative poet cause to fear that future ages will 
desire to summon him from his place of rest, as Miltou longed 

'To call up him who left half told 
The story of Cambuscan bold V " 

JVo(M to tlie Jlibot.—Eo. 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



They were men whose talents might have raised 
them to the liighest station in Uterature, had they 
nut prefer'-ed exerting thera in then- own profes- 
sion of the law, in which they attained equal pre- 
ferment. I was m the habit of consulting them on 
my attempts at composition, h.aving equal confi- 
deuce in tlieir sound taste and friendly sincerity.' 
In tliis specimen I had, in the phrase of the High- 
land servant, packed all tliat was my own at least, 
for I had also included a Ime of invocation, a 
htiJe softened, from Coleridge — 

" Mary, mother, shield ua well." 

As neither of my friends said much to me on the 
subject of the stanzas I showed them before their 
departure, I had no doubt that their disgust had 
been gi'eater than their good-nature chose to ex- 
press. Looking upon them, therefore, as a failure, 
I tlu-ew the manuscript mto the fire, and thought 
as little more as I could of the matter. Some 
tune afterwards, I met one of my two counsellors, 
who inquired, with considerable appearance of in- 
terest, about the progress of the romance I had 
commenced, and was greatly surprised at learning 
its fate. He confessed that neither he nor our 
mutual friend had been at first able to give a 
precise oi)inion on a poem so much out of the 
common road ; but that as they walked home to- 
gether to the city, they had talked raucli on the 
subject, and the result was an earnest desire that 
I would proceed with the composition. He also 
added, tliat some sort of prologue might be neces- 
sary, to place the mind of the hearers in the situa- 
tion to understand and enjoy the poem, .and recom- 
mended the adoption of such quaint mottoes as 
Spenser has used to announce the contents of the 
chapters of the Faery Queen, such as — 

" Babe'9 bloody hands may not be cleansed. 
Tile face of golden Mean : 
Her sisters two. Extremities, 
Strive ber to banish clean." 2 

I entirely agreed with my friendly critic in the 
necessity of having some sort of pitch-pipe, which 
might make readers aware of the object, or rather 
the tone, of tlie publication. But I doubted wheth- 
er, in a-ssuming the oracular style of Spenser's 
mottoes, the interpreter miglit not be censured as 
tile liarder to be under.stood of the two. I there- 
fore introduced the Old Minstrel, as an appropri- 
ate prolocutor, by whom the lay might be smig, or 
spoken, and the introduction of whom betwixt the 

' One of tliese, William Ersltine, Esq. (Lord Kinnediler), I 
have often liad occasion to mention ; and though I may hardly 
be thanked lor disclosing the name of the other, yet I cannot 
but state that the second is George Cranstoun, Esq., now a 
Senator of the College of Justice, by the title of Lord Core- 
nonse. 1831. — [Mr. Cranstoun resigned is seat on the Bench 
in ISia.l 



cantos, might remind the reader, at intei vals, of 
the time, place, and circumstances of the recita- 
tion. This species of cadre, or frame, afterwards 
afforded the poem its name of " The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel." 

The work was subsequently shown lo other 
friends diu-ing its progress, and received the im- 
primatur of Jlr. Francis Jeffrey, who had been 
already for some time distinguished by his critical 
talent. 

The poem, being once licensed by the critics a.? 
fit for the market, was soon finished, jjroceedmg at 
about the rate of a canto per week. There was, 
indeed, httle occasion for pause or hesitation, when 
a troublesome rhyme might be accommodated by 
an alteration of the stimza, or where an mcorrcct 
measure might be remedied by a variation of the 
rhyme. It was finally pubUshed in 1 805, and may 
be regarded as the first work in wliich the writer, 
who has been since so volimiinous, laid his claun 
to be considered as an original author. 

The book was published by Longman and Com- 
pany, and Archibald Constable and Company. The 
principtd of the latter firm was then commencing 
that course of bold and liberal industry wliicl) was 
of so much advantage to his country, and might 
have been so to liimself, but for causes which it is 
needless to enter into here. The work, brought 
out on the usual terms of division of profits be- 
tween the author and publishers, was not long 
after purchased by them for £500, to which 
Messrs. Longman and Company afterwards added 
£100, in then- own unsolicited kuidness, m conse- 
quence of the uncommon success of the work. It 
was handsomely given to supply the loss of a fine 
horse, which broke down suddenly wliile the au- 
thor was riding with one of the worthy publish- 
ers.' 

It would be great affectation not to o^vn 
frankly, that the author expected some success 
from "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." The at- 
tempt to return to a more simple and natural 
style of poetry was likely to be welcomed, at a 
time when the public had become tired of heroic 
hexameters, with all the buckram and binding 
which belong to them of later days. But what- 
ever might have been his expectations, whether 
moderate or umcasonable, the result left them far 
behind, for among those who smiled for the adven- 
turous Minstrel, were nmubered the great ntimes 
of William Pitt and Charles Fox.' Neither was 

2 Book II. Canto II. 

3 Mr. Owen Rees, here alluded to, retired from the house ol 
Longman & Co. at Midsummer, 1837. and died 5th September 
following, in his 67th year. — Ed. 

* " Through what channel or in what terms Fox made known 
his opinion of the Lay. I have failed to ascertain. Pitt's piaise, 
aa expressed to his niece, Lady Hester Stanhope, within a few 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



the extent of the sale inferior to the character of 

tlie judges who received the poem with approba- 
tion. Upwards of tliirty thousand copies of the 
Lay were disposed of by the trade ; and the au- 
thor had to perforin a task difficult to human 
vanity, when called upon to make the necessary 

weeks after the poem appeared, was repeated by her to Mr. 
William Stewart Rose, who, of course, communicated it forlii- 
wiih to the author ; and not long after, the Minister, in coa- 
.ersatioii with Scott's early friend, the Right Hon. Williara 
Duudas, signified that it would give him pleasure to find some 
opjiort unity of advancing the fortunes of such a writer. '* I 
lenieniher," writes this gentleman, "at Mr. Pitt's table in 
1H05, the Chancellor asked me about you and your then situa- 
tion, and after I bad answered him, Mr. Pitt observed — ' He 
can't remain as he is,' and desired me to ' look to it.' " — 
LocKUART. Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 226. 

1 " The poet has ander-estimated even the patent and tangi- 
ble evidence of bis success. The first edition of the Lay was 
a magiiifiuent quarto, 750 copies ; but this was soon exhaust- 



deductions from his own merits, in a calm attempi 
to account for his popularity.^ 

A few additional remarks on the author's liter 
ary attempts after this period, will be found in 
the Litroduction to the Poem of Miu^mion. 
Abbotsfoed, April, 1830. 

ed, and there followed an octavo impression of 1500 ; in 1800, 
two more, one of 2000 copies, another of 2250 ; in 1807, a filth 
edition of 2000, and a sixth of 3000 ; in 1808, 3550 ; in 1809. 
3000 — a small edition in quarto (the ballads and lyrical pieces 
being tJien annexed to it) — and another octavo edition of 
3250; in 1811,3000; in 1812,3000; in 1816, 3000; in 1823 
1000. A fourteenth impression of 200O foolscap appeared in 
1825; and besides all this, before the end of 1836. 11.000 
copies had gone forth in the collected editions of his poetica' 
wwrks. Thus, nearly forty-fonr thousand copies had been dis' 
posed of in this country, and by the legitimate trade alone, 
before he superintended the edition of 1830. to wliich his bio 
graphical introductions were prefixed. In fhe history of Brit- 
ish Poetry nothing had ever equalled the demand for the Laj 
of the Last Minstrel." — -Life, vol. ii. p. 226. 



16 



€he €a^ of tl)c Cast iltinstrcl. 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONORABLE 

CHARLES EARL OF DALKEITH, 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION". 

The Poem nmo offered to the Public, is intended to illustrate the custmns andmanners which anciently 
prevailed on the Borders of England and Scotland. The inhabitants living in a state par th/ pastoral 
and partly warlike^ and combining habits of constant depredation with the influence of a rude spirit of 
chivalry, were often engaged in scenes highly susceptible of poetical ornamcjit. As the description of 
scenery andmanners was more the object of the Author than a combined and regular narrative, the plan 
of the Ancient Metrical Pomance was adopted, ichich allows greater latitude, in this respect, than would 
be consistent with the dignity of a regular Poem} The same model offered other facilities, as it permits 
an occasional alteration of measure, which, in some degree, aiithorizcs the change of rhythm in the text? 
The machinery, also, adopted from popular belief, would have seemed puerile in a Poem which did not 
partake of the rudeness of the old Ballad, or Metrical Romance. 

For these reasons, the Poem was put into the mouth of an ancient 3finstrel, the last of the race, whOy 
as he is supposed to have survived the Revolution, might have caught somewhat of the refinement of 
modern poetry, without losing the simplicity of his original model. The date of the Tale itself is about 
the middle of the sixteenth century, ivh.en most of the personages actually flourished. The time occupied 
by the action is Three Nights and Three Days? 



IKTRODUCTION. 

The way was long, the wind was cold, 
The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 

I '* The chief excellence of the Lay consists in the beauty 
of the descriptions of local scenery, ami the accurate picture 
of customs am! manners among the Scottish Borderera at the 
lime it refers to. The various exploits and adventures which 
occur in those half-civilized times, when tlie bands of govern- 
ment were so loosely twisted, that every man depended for 
safety more on his own arm, or the prowess of his chief, tliau 
on the civil power, may be said to hold a middle rank between 
nistory and private anecdote. War is always most picturesque 
%vhere it is least formed into a science ; it has most variety and 
interest where the prowess and activity of individuals has nio^t 
play ; and the nocturnal expedition of Diomed and Ulysses to 
iii/.e the chariot and horses of Rhesus, or a raid of tlie Scotta 
ijt the KeiTs to drive cattle, will make a better figure in verse, 
tlKtii all the battles of the great King of Prussia. The sleuth- 
tinir, ihe heacon-fires, the ./edwood-azc$, the moss-troopers, 
til? yell of the slogan, and all the irregular warfare of preda- 
torv expeditious, or feuds of hereditary vengeance, are far more 
captivating to the imagination than a park of artillery and bat- 
talioi'3 of well-drilled soldiers." — jinnueU Review, 1804. 

3 " [i must be observed, that there is this difference between 
the license of the old romancer, and that assumed by Mr. 
Srott: the aberrations of the first are usually casual and 
Blight ; those of the other, premeditated and systematic. Tlie 
old romancer may be compared to a man who trusts his reins 
to hia horse ; his palfrey often blunders, and occasionally 
breaks his pace, soraetimes from vivacity, oftener through in- 



His wither'd cheek, and tresses gray, 
Seem'd to have known a better day ; 
Tlie harp, liis sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 

dolence. Mr. Scott sets out with the intention of diversifying 
his journey by every variety of motion. He is now at a trot, 
now at a gallop ; nay, he sometimes slops, as if to 

' Make graceful caprioles, and prance 
Between the pillars.' 

A main objection to this plan is to be found in the shock which 
the ear receives from violent and abrupt transitions. On tito 
other hand, it must be allowed, that as different species of 
verse are individually better suited to the expression of the 
ditfereiit ideas, sentiments, and passions, which it is the object 
of poetry to convey, the happiest eflforts may be produced by 
adapting to the subject its most congenial structure of verse." 
—Critical Review, 1805. 

" From the novelty of its style and subject, and from the 
spirit of its execution, Mr. Scott's Lay 6f the Last Minstrel 
kindled a sort of enthusiasm among all classes of readers ; and 
the concurrent voice of the public assigned to it a very exalted 
rank, which, on more cool and dispassionate examination, its 
numerous essential beauties will enable it to maintain. For 
vivid richness of coloring and truth of costume, many of its 
descriptive pictures stand almost unrivalled ; it carries os back 
in imagination to the time of action ; and we wander with the 
poet along Tweedside, or among the wild glades of Ettrick 
Forest." — Monthly Review, May, 1808. 

3 " We consider this poem as an attempt to transfer the re- 
fiucmeDla of modern poetry to the matter and the manner of 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



\i 



llic last of oU the Bards was he, 

Who sung of Border chivalry ; 

For, welladay 1 their date was And, 

His tuiK'ful bretliren all were dead; 

And he, nof^lected and oppress'd, 

Wish'd to bo with tliem, and at rest.* 

No more on prancing palfrey borne, 

He caroll'd, light as lark at mom ; 

No longer coiu'ted and caress' d, 

Higli placed in hall, a welcome guest, 

He pour'd, to lord and lady gay, 

The unpremeditated lay : 

Old times were changed, old manners gone ; 

A stranger fill'd the Stuarts' throne ; 

The bigots of the iron time 

Had cjiird liis harmless art a crime. 

A wandermg Harper, scorn'd and poor. 

He begg'd liis bread from door to door, 

And timed, to please a peasant's ear, 

The harp, a king had loved to hear. 

He pass'd where Newark's'' stately tower 

ihe ancient mrlrical romance. The author, enamored of the 
'ofty visions of chivalry, and partial to the strains in wliich 
lliey were formerly embodied, seems to have employed all the 
rt'^ources of his t^enius in endeavoring lo recall them to the 
avor and admiration of the public, and in adapting to the 
taste of modern readers a species of poetry wliich was once the 
delight of the courtly, but has long ceased to gladden any other 
eyes than those of the scholar and the antiquary. This is a 
romance, therefore, composed by a minstrel of the present day ; 
or such a romance as we may suppose would have been writ- 
Ion in modern times, if that style of composition had continued 
to be cultivated. an<i partakes consequently of the improve- 
ments wliich every branch of literature haa received since the 
time of its desertion." — Jeffrey, Aprii, 1805. 

1 '■ Turning to the nortliward, Scott showed us the crags 
and tower of Smailholme, and behind it the shattered frag- 
ment of Erceldoune, and repeated some pretty stanzas as- 
cribed to the lairt of the real wandering minstrels of this dis- 
trict, hy name Burn : 

'Sing Erceldoone, and Cowdenknowes, 

Where Homes had ance commanding. 
Ami Drygrange. wi' the milk-white ewes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing. 
The bird that flees through Redpalh trees 

And Gledswood banks each morrow. 
May chaunt and s\n%~Sv;ert Leader's haugkM 

And nanny howms of Yarrow. 
*But Minstrel Burn cannot assuage 

His grief while life endureth. 
To *pe the changes of this age 

Which fleeting time [irocureth ; 
For mony a place stands in hard cai>e. 

Where biythe folks kent nae sorrow. 
With Homes that dwelt on Leader side. 

And Scotts that dwelt on Yarrow.' " 

Life. vol. vi. p. 78. 

J " This is a massive square tower, now onroofed and 
rainou«, surrounded by an outward wall, defended by round 
flanking lurret.s. It is most beautifully situated, about three 
miles from Selkirk, upon the banks of the Yarrow, a fierce 
and precipitous stream, which unites with the Ettricke about 
a mile beneath the castle. 
3 



Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower : 
The Minstrel gazed with wisliful eye — 
No humbler resting-place was nigh, 
With hesitating step at last. 
The embattled portal arch he pass'd. 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
Hail oft roU'd back the tide of war, 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess^ mark'd his weary pace, 
His timid mien, and reverend face, 
And bade her page the menials tell, 
That they should tend the old man well : 
For she had linown adversity, 
Though bt)ru in such a liigh degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ! 

Wlien kindness had liis wants suppUed, 
And the old man was gratified, 
Began to rise his minstrel pride : 
And he began to talk anon, 



" Newark Castle was built by James 11. The royal arms, 
with the unicorn, are engraved on a stone in the western side 
of the tower. There was a much more ancient castle in it? 
immediate vicinity, called AuUlwark, founded, it is sai J, hy 
Alexander IlL Both were designed for the royal refii.leuce 
when the king was disposed to take his pleasure in the exten- 
sive forest of Ettricke. Various grants occur in the rceorJs 
of the Privy Seal, bestowing the keeping of the Ca-tle ot 
Newark upon different barons. There is a popular tradition 
that it was once seized, and held out by the outlaw Murray, 
a noted character in song, who only surrendered Newark upon 
condition of being made hereditary sheritF of the forest. A 
long ballad, containing an account of this transaction, is pre- 
served in the Border Minstrelsy (vol. i. p. 369). Upon the 
marriage of James IV. with Margaret, sister of Henry VHL, 
the Castle of Newark, with the whole forest of Ettricke, was 
a-isigned to her as a part of her jointure lands. Bnt of thi.; slie 
could make little advantage ; for, after the death of her bus 
band, she is found complaining iieavily, that Buccleuch had 
seized upon these lands. Indeed, the oflicc of keeper was lat- 
terly held by the family of Buccleuch, and with so linn a 
grasp, that when the Forest of Ettricke was disparked, tlif^y 
obtained a grant of tlie Castle of Newark in property. It was 
within the courtyard of this castle that General Lesly did mili- 
tary execution upon the prisoners wliom he had taken at the 
battle of Philiphaugh. The castle continued to be an occa- 
sional seat of tiie Buccleuch family for more than a century ; 
and here, it is said, the Duchess of Monmouth and Buccleucl: 
was brought up. For this reasoTi, probably, Mr. Scott h;is 
chosen to make it the scene in which the Lay of the Last Min- 
strel is recited in her presence, and for her amusement.' -- 
Scuetky's Illustrntivns- of the T./nj vf the Last MtnstrJ. 

It may be added that Bowhill was the favorite residence 
of Lord and Lady Dalkeith (afterwards Duke and Ducliess 
of Buceleuch), at the time when the poem was composed ; the 
ruins of Newark are all but included in the park attached to 
that modem seat of the family ; and Sir Walter Scott, no 
doubt, was itifluenced in his choice of the locality, by tha 
predilection of the charming lady who suggested the Buhject 
of his Lay for the scenery of the Yarrow — a beautiful walk on 
wiioso banks, leading from the house to the old castle, Ls called, 
in memory of her, the Duchess's JValk. — Ed. 

' Anne, Duchesa of Buccleuch and Monmouth, representa> 



18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 1. 



Of good Earl Francis," dead and gone, 

And of Earl Walter,^ rest Iiim, God ! 

A braver ne'er to battle rode ; 

And how full many a talc he knew. 

Of tlie old warriors of Buccleuch : 

And, would the noble Duchess deign 

To listen to an old man's strain. 

Though stift' liis hann, his voice though weak, 

lie thouglit even yet, the sooth to speak. 

That, if slie loved the harp to hear. 

He could make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtain'd ; 
Tlie Aged Miiistrel audience gain'd. 
But, when he reacli'd the room of state, 
Where she, with all her ladies, sate, 
Percliance he wish'd liis boon denied : 
For, when to tune his harp he tried. 
His trembUng hand had lost the ease, 
Which marks security to please; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 
Came wildering o'er liis aged brain — 
He tried to tune his harp in vain !' 
The paying Duchess praised its chime, 
And gave him heart, and gave him time. 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blended into harmony. 
And then, he said, he would full fain 
He could recall ."ui ancient strain. 
He never thouglit to shig again. 
It was not framed for village churls, 
But for liigh dames and mighty earls ; 
He had play'd it to King Charles the Good, 
When he kept court in Holyrood ; 
And much he wish'd, yet fear'd, to try 
The long-forgotten melody. 
Amid the strings his fingers stray'd, 
And an uncertam warbhng made. 
And oft he shook liis hoary head- 
But when he caught the measure wild. 
The old man raised liia face, and smiled ; 

tlve of the ancient Lord? of Buccleuch, and widow of the nn- 
fortunate James, Dui^e ol' Monmoutii, wlio was beheaded in 
1685. 

1 Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father of the Duchess. 

5 WtiUer, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather of the Duoliess, 
and a c'lL'lirated warrior. 

■' "Mi. W. Dundas (see Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. ^6), says, 
that Flu repeated the lines, describii.„ the old harjier's embar- 
rassment when asked to play, and said, — ' This is a sort of thing 
which I might have expected in painting, but could never have 
fancied capable of being given in poetry.' " 

* " In the very first rank of poetical excellence, we are in- 
clined to place the introductory and concluding lines of every 
canto, in which the ancient strain is suspended, and the feel- 
ings and situation of the minstrel himself described in the words 
of the author. The elegance and the beauty of this setting, 
if we may so call it, though entirely of modern workmansliip, 
appears to us to be fully more worthy of admiration than the 
bolder relief of the antiques which it encloses, and lends us to 
rtgrct that the author should have wasted, in imitation and 



And Ughten'd up hia faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
He swept the sounding chords along; 
The present scene, the future lot, 
His toils, his wants, were all forgot: 
Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
In the full tide of song were lost ; 
Each blank, in faitliless memory void, 
The poet's glowing thought supphed ; 
And, while his harp responsive rung, 
'Twas thus the L.^test iliNsxEEL sung.* 



aijc Caj) of tlje £ast JHinstrd. 



CANTO FUtST. 



The feast was over in Branksnme tower,* 
And tLe Ladye had gone to her secret bower; 
Her bower that was guarded by word and by 

spell, 
Deadly to hear and deadly to ivU — 
Jesu Maria, shield ua well ! 
No living wight, save the Ladye alone, 
Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 

II. 

The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all ; 

Knight, and page, and lunisohold squire, 
Loiter'd tlu-ough the lofty hall, 

Or crowded round the ample fire; 
The stag-hounds, weary with tlie cliase, 

Lay stretch'd upon the rusliy floor. 
And urged, in dreams, the forest race. 

From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor.^ 

antiquarian researches^ so much of those porvrrs which seem 
fully equal to the task of raisina- him an indcpciidcnt repu- 
tation.'^ — Jeffrby. 

6 See Appendix, Note A. 

* "Tlie atificnt romance owes niucli of it") interest to the 
lively picture which it affords of the times of cliivalry, and of 
those usages, manners, and institutions, wliiuh we have been 
accustomed to associate in our minds, with a certain combina- 
tion of magnificence with simplicity, and ferocity witij roman- 
tic honor. The reprcjentalions contairied in those perform- 
ances, however, are, forthe most part, toornde and nalied to give 
complete satisfaction. The execution is always extremely un- 
equal ; and though the writer sometimes touclies upon the ajv 
propriate feeling with great effect and felicity, still this appears 
to be done more by accident than design ; and he wanders away 
immediately into all sorts of ridiculous or uninteresting details, 
without any apparent consciousness of incongruity. These 
defects Mr. Scott has corrected with admirable addn.'ss and 
judgment in tlie greater part of the w^ork now before us ; and 
while ho has exhibited a very striking and impressive picture 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



19 



III. 

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung then* aliielils in BranlvSume-H;UI ;^ 
Nine-and-twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds to bower from stall ; 
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
Waited, duteous, on them all : 
They were all knights of mettle true. 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 

IV. 

Ten of them were sheathed in steel, 
With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
They quitted not their liarness bright, 
Neither by day, nor yet by night : 

Tliey lay down to rest, 

With corslet laced, 
PiUow'd on buckler cold and hard ; 

They carved at tlie me.al 

With gloves of steel. 
And they drank the red wine through the helmet 
barr'd. 

V. 
Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men. 
Waited the beck of the wartlers ten ; 
Tliirty steeds, both fleet and wight. 
Stood saddled in stable day and night. 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow , 
And with Jedwood-axe at saddlebow ;' 
A himdred more fed free in stall : — - 
Such was the custom of Branksome-Hall. 

VI. 

Why do these steeds stand ready dight ! 
Wliy watch these warriors, arm'd, by night ? — 
They watch, to hear the blood-hound baying: 
They watch to hear the war-horn braying ; 
To see St. George's red cross streaming, 
To see the midnight beacon gleaming : 
They watcli, against Southern force and guile, 

of the old feudal usages and institutions, he has shown still 
greater talent in engrafting upon tiiose deseriptions all the ten- 
der or magnanimous emotions to whieii tlie circumstances of 
tlie story naturally give rise. Williout impairing the antique 
air o( the whole piece, or violnting tlie simplicity of the bal- 
lad style, he has contrived, in this way, to impart a much 
greater dignity and more [lowertnl interest to his production, 
than could ever be obtained by the unskiU'ul and unsteady 
delineations of the old romancers. Nothing, we think, can 
all'orj a finer illustration of this remark, than the opening 
stanzas of the whole poem ; they transport us at once into the 
days of knightly daring and fenilal hostility, at the same time 
tlmt they suggest, in a very interesting way, all those softer 
sentiments which arise out of some parts of the description." 
— Jefkrkv. 

t See .\ppendix. Note B. 
* See Appendix, Note C. 

'See Appendix, Note D. and compare these stanzas with 
*he description of Jamie Telfer's appearance at Braukaome. 



Lest Scroop, or How.ard, or Percy's powers. 
Threaten Branksonic's lordly towers. 
From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle.' 

VII. 

Such is the custom of Branksome-Hall. — ' 

M;uiy a valiant knight is here ; 
But he, the chieftain of them all. 
His sword hangs rusting on the wall, 
Besitle his broken spear 
Bards long shall tell 
How Ltjrd Walter fell P 
Wlien startled burghers fled, afar. 
The furies of the Border war ; 
When the streets of liigh Dunedin* 
Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, 
And heard the slogan's' deadly yell- 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell. 

VIII. 

Can piety the discord heal. 

Or standi the death-feud's emnity ? 
Can Christitm lore, can patriot zeal. 

Can love of blessed charity ? 
No ! vainly to each holy shrine. 

In mutual pilgrimage, they drew ; 
Implored, in vain, the grace divine 

For chiefs, their own red falchions slew ; 
While Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 

Willie Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
Tlic slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, 
The havoc of the feudal war. 

Shall never, never be forgot ?° 

IX. 

In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 

The warUke foresters had bent ; 
And many a flower, and many a tear, 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent ; 
But o'er her warrior's bloody bier 
Tlie Ladye dropp'd nor flower nor tear !' 

Hall (Botiler Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 5), to claim the jirotectioD 
of" Auld Buccleuch" — and the ensuing scene (page 9). 

" The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran, 
Sae starkly and sae steadilie ! 
And aye the ower-word o* the thrang 
Was — ' Rise for Branksome readilie,' " &c. 

Compare also the Ballad of Kinmont Willie (vol. ii. p. 33). 
" Now word is gane to the bauld keeper. 
In Branksome ha' where that he lay," &c. — Ed. 

* There are not many passages in English poetry more im- 
pressive tlian some jiarts of Stanzas vii. viii. ix. — Jeffrey. 

6 See Appendix, Note E. 

* Edinburgh. 

' The war-cry, or gathering-word, of a Border clan. 
■ Bee Appendix, Note F. 

" Oriff. (1st Edition,) " The Ladye dropp'd nor sigk nor 
tear." 



20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Canto i. 



Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, 

Had lock'd the source of softer woe ; 
And burning jjride, and liigh disdain, 

Forbade tlie rising tear to flow ; 
Until, aniid his sorrowing clan, 

Her son lisp'd from tho nurse's knee — 
" And if I live to be a man. 

My father's death revenged shall be !" 
Then fast the mother's tears did seek 
To dew the infant's kindling cheek. 



All loose her negligent attire, 

All loose her golden hair, 
Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, 

Anil -wrc-pt in wild dei^pair : 
But nt* alone the bitter tear 

Had filial grief supplied ; 
For hopeless love, and anxious fear. 

Had lent their mingled tide : 
Nor in her mother's alter'd eye 
Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan, 

"With Carr in arms had stood,' 
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran 

AU purple with their blood ; 
And well she knew, her mother dread, 
Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed," 
Would see her on her dying bed. 

XI. 

Of noble race the Ladye camc^ 
Her father was a clerk of fame. 

Of Bethune's hne of I'icardie ;' 
He learn'd the art that none may name, 

In Padua, far beyond the sea.* 
Men said, he clianged liis mortal frame 

By feat of magic mystery ; 
For when, in studious nnwd, he paced 

St. Andrew's cloister'd liall,^ 
His form no darkenmg shadow traced 

Upon the sumiy wall !" 

XII. 

And of liis skill, as bards avow. 

He taught that Ladye fair. 
Till to her biiltUng she could bow 

The viewless forms of air.' 
And now she sits in secret bower. 
In old Lord David's western tower, 
AikI listens to a heavy sound, 
Tliat moans the mossy turrets round. 

1 See Appendix, Note G. (The name is spelt differently by 
Ihe various families who bear it. Carr b selected, not as the 
moPt correct, bat as the most poetical reading.) 

* See Appendix, Note H. 

• See Appendix, Note I. 



Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, 

That chafes against the scaur's' red side J 

Is it the wind that swings tho oaks I 

Is it the echo from the rocks ? 

What may it be, the heavy sound. 

That moans old Branksome's turrets round ? 

XIII. 

At the sullen, moanitig sound, 

The ban-dogs bay and howl ; 
And, from the turrets round. 

Loud whoops the startled owl. 
In the liaU, both squire and knight 

Swore that a sttirm was near. 
And looked forth to view the night ; 

But the night was still and clear ! 

XIV. 
From the sound of Teviot's tide, 
Chafing with the mountain's side, 
From the groan of the wind-swung oak. 
From the sullen eclio of the rock. 
From the voice of the coming storm. 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke. 

And he called on the Spirit of the Fell. 

XV. 
RrVEE spmiT. 
" Sleep'st thou, brother ?" — 

MOUNTAIN SriEIT. 

— *' Brother, nay — 
On my hills the moonbeams play. 
From Craik-cross to Skelfliill-pen, 
By every rill, in every glen. 

Merry elves their morris pacing. 

To aerial minstrelsy. 
Emerald riirgs on brown heath tracing. 

Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet I 
Up, and list their music sweet !" — 

XVL 

RIVER spmrr. 
" Tears of an imprison'd maiden 

Mix with my pt)lluted stream ; 
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden, 

Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. 
Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars. 
When shall cease these feudiU jars! 
What sliall be the maiden's fate ? 
Who shall be the maiden's mate t" — 



* See Appendix, Note K. 

s Finit Edition — " .S(. Eentigcrnc* s hall.' 
Kentigeme, is the patron saint of Olasgoto. 
6 Pee Appendix, Note L. 
' See Appendi.x, Note ]\I. 

* Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth. 



-St. Man: 



OANTO I. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



21 



XVII. 

MOUNIWIN SPIRIT. 

" Arthur's slow waiii his course doth roll, 

In utter darkness rouud the pole ; 

The Notheni Bear lowers black aud grim; 

Orion's stutWed belt is dim ; 

Twinkling; faint, ;md distant far, 

Shiuuuers thr<iugh mist eadi planet star; 

HI may I read theu lii;,di decree ! 
But no kind influence deifjn they shower 
On Tevi^tt's tide, :md Brauksome's tower, 

Till pride be quell'd, and love be free." 

XVIII. 

The unearthly voices ceast. 

And the heavy sound was still ; 
It died on the river's breast, 

It died on the side of the hill. 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound still floated near ; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower, 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
She raised her stately head. 

And her heart throbb'd high with pride : — 
" Your mountains shall bend. 
And your streams ascend. 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride 1" 

XIX. 

The Ladye sought the lofty hall, 

Where m.any a bold retainer lay. 
And, with jocund din, among them all, 

Her son pursued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper,' the boy 

The truncheon of a spear bestrode, 
And round the hall, right merrily, 

In mimic foray'' rode. 
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, 

Share in liis froUc gambols bore, 
Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, 

■Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
For the gray warriors prophesied. 

How the brave boy, in future war. 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride,' 

Exalt the Crescent and the Star.* 

XX. 

The Ladye forgot her purpose Iiigh, 

One moment, and no more ; 
One moment gazed with a mother's eye, 

As she paused at tlie arched door : 
Then, from amid the armed train. 
She caU'd to her WiUiam of Deloraine.' 

1 See Appendix, Note N. 

2 Foray, a predatory inroad. 

3 This line, of wliich the metre appears defective, wonld 
nave its full complement of feet according to the pronunciation 
of the poet himself — as all who were familiar with his atter- 
ynx of the letter r will bear testimony. — Ed. 



XXL 

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he. 
As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee : 
Through Solway sands, through Tarras 

moss, 
Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross; 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
Had baffled Percy's "best blood-hounds ;* 
In Eske or Liddel, fords were none. 
But he would ride them, one by one- 
Alike to him was time or tide, 
December's snow, or Jidy's pride : 
Alike to him was tide or time. 
Moonless midnight, or matin prime ; 
Steady of heart, and stout of hand. 
As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; 
Five times outlawed had he been, 
By England's King and Scotland's Queen. 

XXIL 

" Sir William of Deloraine, good at need. 
Mount thee on the wightest steed ; 
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, 
Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; 
And in Melrose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of St Mary's aisle. 

Greet the Father well from me ; 
Say that the fated hour is come, 

And to-night he shall watch with thee. 
To win the treasure of the tomb : 
For this wiU be St. Michael's night, 
And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; 
And the Cross, of bloody red, 
WiU point to the grave of the mighty dead. 

XXIIL 

" Wliat he gives thee, see thou keep ; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll, or be it book. 
Into it. Knight, thou must not look ; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 
Better hadst thou ne'er been bom." — 

XXIV. 

" O swiftly can speed my dapple-gray steed. 

Which drinks of the Teviot clear ; 
Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, 

" Again will I be here : 
And safer by none may thy errand be done, 

Tlian, noble dame, by me ; 
Letter nor line know I never a one, 

Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee.'" 

« See Appendix, Note O. ' Ibid. Note P. 

' Ibid. Note Q. 

' Hairibce, the place of executing the Bonier marauders at 
Carlisle. The 7ifck-vcrse, is the beginning of the 51st Psalm, 
Miserere me?, &c.. anciently read by criminals claiming the 
benefit of clergy. ["In tiie rongh but spirited sketch of the 



22 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i. 


XXV. 


Down from the lakes did raving come ; 


Soon in his saddle sate he fast, 


Each wave was crested with tawny foam, 


And soon the steep descent he past, 


Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 


Soon eross'd the sounding barbican," 


In vain I no torrent, deep or broad. 


And soon the Teviot side he won. 


Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. 


Eastward the wooded path he rode. 




Green hazels o'er his basnet nod; 


XXIX. 


He pass'd the PeeP of Goldiland, 


At the fir.st plunge the horse sunk low. 


And eross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand ; 


And the water broke o'er the saddlebow : 


Dimly he view'd the Moat-hiU's mound, 


Above the foaming tide, I ween, 


Wliere Druid shixdes stUl thtted round ;' 


Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; 


In Hawicli twinkled many a light ; 


For he was barded" from counter to taU, 


Behind him soon they set m night ; 


And the rider was armed complete in mail ; 


And soon he spurr'd his courser keen 


Never heavier man and horse 


Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.' 


Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force. 




The warrior's very plimie, I say 


XXVI. 


Was daggled by the dashing spray ; 


Tlie clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ; — 


Yet through good heart, and Our Ladye's grace, 


" Stand, ho ! thou courier of the dark." — 


At length he gain'd the landing place. 


" For Br:mksome, ho !" the knight rejom'd, 




And left the friendly tower beliind. 


XXX. 


He turn'd him now from Teviotside, 


Now Bowden Moor the march-man won. 


And, guided by the tinkling rill. 


And sternly shook his plumed head. 


Northward the dark ascent did ride, 


As glanced his eye o'er Halidon -^ 


And gain'd the moor at HorsUehill ; 


For on his soul the slaughter red 


Broad on the left before liim lay. 


Of that unhallow'd morn arose. 


For many a mile, the Roman way.' 


■When first the Scott and Carr were foes ; 


1 


"Wlien royal James beheld the fray, 


XXVII. 


Prize to the victor of the day ; 


A moment now he slack'd his speed, 


When Home and Douglas, m the van, 


V moment breathed his panting steed ; 


Bore down Buccleuch's retning clan. 


Drew saddle-gu-th and corslet-band. 


TiU gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 


And loosen'd in the sheath liis brand. 


Reek'd on dark EUiofs Border spear. 


On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint,' 




Where Barnhill hew'd his bed of flint ; 


XXXI. 


Who flung Ills outlaw'd limbs to rest, 


In bitter mood he sptn*red fast, 


Where falcons hang then giddy nest, 


And soon the hated heath was past ; 


Mid chffs, from whence liis eagle eye 


And far beneath, in lustre wan. 


For many a league liis prey could spy ; 


Old Melros' rose, and fau- Tweed ran : 


Cliff's, doubling, on their echoes borne, 


Like some tall rock with lichens gray. 


Tlie terrors of the robber's horn ? 


Seem'd dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. 


Chffs, which, for many a later year, 


When Hawick he pas.s'd, had curfew rung, 


The warbling Doric reed shall hear. 


Now midnight lauds'" were in Melrose sung 


When some sad swain shall teach the grove. 


The sound, upon the fitful gale. 


Ambition is no cure for love ! 


In solemn wise did rise and fail. 




Like that wild hai'p, whose magic tone 


XXVIII. 


Is waken'd by the winds alone. 


Unchallenged, thence pass'd Delorame, 


But when Melrose he reach'd, 'twas silence .all ; 


To ancient Riddel's fair domain,' 


He meetly stabled his steed in stall, 


Where AiU, from moimtains freed. 


And sought the convent's lonely wall." 


marauding BorJerer, and in the naiveti of his last declaration, 


c See Appendix, Note T. ''.Ibid. Note U. 


the reader will recognize some of the most striking features of 


e Barded, or barbed, — applied to a horse accoutred with de- 


the ancient ballad." — Critical Revirip.'] 


fensive armor. 


' Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 


8 Halidon was an ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cessford, now 


a Ptet, a BordeMower. 


demolished. About a quarter of a mile to the northward lay 


3 See Ap|)eiidi.\-, Note R. 


the field of battle betwixt Bucclench and Angus, which is 


< See Appendix. Note S. 


called to this day the Skirmish Field. — See Appendix, Note D. 


'■' \n ancient Roinau road, crossing through |iart of Rox- 


1" Ltufls, the midnight service of the Catholic church. 


oarghshire- 


11 See Appendix. Note 'V. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



23 



Here paused the harp ; and with its swell 

The Master's fire and courage -fell ; 

Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd, 

And, gazing timid on the crowd, 

He seem'd to seek, in erery eye, 

If they approved his minstrelsy ; 

And, ditiident of present praise. 

Somewhat he spoke of former days, 

And how old age, and wand'ring long, 

Had done liis hand and harp some wrong. 

The Duchess, and her daughters fair, 

And every gentle lady there, 

Each after each, in due degree, 

Gave praises to liis melody ; 

His hand was true, his voice was clear. 

And much they long'd the rest to hear. 

Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, 

After meet rest, again began. 



©Ijc £au of tl)c £ast ilTinstrd. 



OAOTO SECOND. 



I. 

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,' 

Go visit it by the pale moonliglit ; 

For the gay beams of hghtsome day 

Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 

When the broken arches ai'e black in night, 

And each .shafted oriel glimmers white ; 

When the cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruin'd central tower ; 

■When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem friuned of e'uon and ivory ; 

'Wlien sUver edges the imagery. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ■' 

When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 

Tlien go — but go alone the while — 

Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ;' 

And, home returning, sootlily swear, 

Was never scene so sad and fair ! 

IL 

Short halt did Deloraine make there ; 
Little reck'd he of the scene so fair : 
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, 
He struck full loud, and struck fuU long. 

1 " In the description of Melrose, which introduces the Sec- 
ond Canto, the re.ider will ohserve how skilfully the Author 
calls in the aid of sentimental a.ssociations to heighten the effect 
of the picture which he presents to the eye." — Jeffrey. 

* See Appendi.\, Note W. 

s David I. of Scotland, purchased the reputation of sanctity, 
by founding, and liberally endowing, not only the monastery 
of Meliose, but those of Relso, Jedburgh, and many others ; 



The porter hurried to the gate — 
" Who knocks so loud, ;uid knocks so late V 
" From Branksome, I," the warrior cried ; 
And straight the wicket open'd wide : 
For Branksome's Cliiefs had in battle stood. 

To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 
And lands and livuigs, many a rood, 

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.* 

III. 

Bold Deloraine his errand said ; 
The porter bent his humble head ; 
With torch in hand, and feet unshod. 
And noiseless step, the path he trod : 
The arched cloister, far and wide. 
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, 
Till, stooping low liis lofty crest. 
He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest. 
And lifted his barred aventayle,' 
To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

IV. 

" The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me ; 

S.ays, that the fated hour is come. 
And that to-night I sh.all watch with thee. 

To win the treasure of the tomb." 
From sackcloth couch the monk arose. 

With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd ; 
A hundred years had flimg their snows 

On his thin locks and floating beard. 



And strangely on the Knight look'd he, 

And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide ; 
" And, darest thou. Warrior ! seek to see 

What heaven and heU alike would hide ? 
My breast, m bolt of iron pent. 

With shirt of hair and scoiu-ge of thorn ; 
For threescore years, in penance spent. 
My knees those flinty stones have worn ; 
• Yet aU too httle to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be known. 
Wouldst thou thy every future year 

In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, 
Yet wait thy latter end with fear — 
Then, daring Warrior, follow me !" — 

VI. 
" Penance, father, will I none ; 
Prayer know I hardly one ; 

which led to the well-known observation of his successor, that 
he was a sore saint for the crown. 

* The Buccleuch family were great benefactors to the Abbey 
of Melrose. As early as the reign of Robert II., Robert Scott, 
Baron of Murdieston and Ranklebnrn (now Buccleuch), gave 
to the monks the lands of Ilinkery, in Ettrick Forest, pro so- 
iute aninuE suit. — Chartulanj of Melrose, 28lh May, 1415. 

8 Aventayte, visor of the helmet. 



24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO If: 



For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, 

Save to patter aii Ave Mary, 

"Wlien I ride on a Border foray.' 

Other prayer can I none ; 

So speed me my errand, and let me be gone." — 

VIL 

Again on the Knight look'd the Chui'chman old, 

And again he sighed heavily ; 
For he had himself been a warrior bold. 

And fought in Spain and Italy. 
And he thought on the days that were long 

since by 
When his limbs were strong, and his courage was 

high :— 
Now, slow and faint, he led the way, 
Wliere, cloister'd round, the garden lay ; 
Tlie piUar'd arches were over their head. 
And beneath their feet were the bones of the 
dead." 

VIII. 
Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 
Glisten'd with the dew of night ; 
Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten'd there. 
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 
The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon, 

Then into tlie night he looked forth ; 
And red and bright the streamers Ught 

"Were dancing in the glowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Ca.stile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start ;' 
Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
And hurl the unexpected dart. 
He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright. 
That spirits were riding the northern liglit. 

IS. 

By a steel-clenched postern door. 
They enter"d now the chancel tall ; 

The darken'd roof rose high aloof 
On pillars lofty and light and small : 

The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, 

"Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ; 

The corbells* were carved grotesque and grim ; 

And the pillars, with cluster'd sliafts so trim, 

' See Appendix, Note X. 

- The cloisters were frequently used as places of sepulture. 
An instance occurs in Dryburgli Abbey, where the cloister has 
&n inscription, bearing. Hie jacet f rater Arckihaldus, 

8 See Appendix, Note Y. 

* Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, 
usually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. 

6 " With plinth and with cajntal Oourish'd around." 

First Edition. 

•See Appendix, Note Z. ' Ibid. Note2 A. » Ibid. Note 2B. 

" '' Bombay, September 25, 1805. — I began last night to read 
Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, as part of my even- 
ing readings to my children. I was extremely delighted by the 
•wietical beauty of some passages, the Abbey of Melrose for 



With base and with capital fiourish'd aroiuid," 
Seem'd bimdles of lances which garlands had 
boimd. 

X. 

FuU many a scutcheon and banner riven, 
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, 

Aroimd the screened altar's pale ; 
And there the dying lamps did burn. 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gallant Chief of Otterburne !' 

And tliiiie, dark Knight of Liddesdale !'' 
O fading honors of the dead ! 
high ambition, lowly laid ! 

XL 
The moon on the east oriel shone' 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 

By fohaged tracery combmed ; 
Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand. 

In many a freakish knot, had twined ; 
Then framed a spell, when the work was done, 
And changetl the willow-wreaths to stone. 
The sUver liglit, so pale and faint, 
Show'd many a prophet, and many a sahit. 

Whose image on the glass was dyed ; 
Full in the midst, his Cross of Red 
Triimiphant Michael brandished. 

And trampled tlie Apostate's pride. 
The moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane. 
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.° 

XII. 

They sate them down on a marble stone," — 

(A Scottish monarch slept below) ; 
Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tt>ue : — 

" I was not always a man of woe ; 
For Paynlm countries I have trod. 
And fought beneath the Cross of God : 
Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, 
And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. 

XIII. 
" In these far climes it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ;" 

example, and most of the prologues to the cantos. The cos 
tume, too, is admirable. The tone is antique ; and h nti^'hl 
be read for instruction as a picture of the manners of the mill 
die ages." " JV'ouC7/t/yfr 2. 1S05. — We are perfectly enchanted 
with Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. He is surely 
the man born at last to translate the Iliad. Are not the jrood 
parts of his poem the most Homeric of any thing in our lan- 
guage? There are tedious passages, and so are there in Ho- 
mer." — Sir James Macki.ntosh, Life, vol. i. pp. 254. 2G2. 

'0 A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed 
out as the monument of .\lexander II., one of the greatesl of 
our early kings ; others s.ay. it is the resting-jilace of Waldeve, 
one of the early abbol.s, who died in the odor of sanctity. 

11 See Appendix, Note 2 C. 



CAS JO 11. THE LAV OF THE LAST MIN8TREL. 25 


A wizard, of ssiich dreadeil fame, 


XVII. 


Tliat when, ill Salamanca's care,' 


" Lo, Warrior ! now, the Cross of Red 


Him listed his miujic wand to wave, 


Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; 


Tlio bolls would ring in Notre Dame !' 


Witliin it burns a wondrous Ught, 


Some of liis skill he taught to me ; 


To chase the spiiits that love the night : 


And, Warrior. I could say to thee 


Tliat lamp shall burn miquenchably, 


The words that cleft Eildon hills in tliree,' 


Until the eternal doom sliall be."^ — 


And bridled the Tweed with a curb of 


Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone. 


stone : 


Which the bloody Cross was traced upon : 


But to speak them were a deadly sin ; 


He pointed to a secret nook ; 


And for having but thought them my heart 


An iron bar the Warrior took f 


within, 


And the Monk made a sign with liis wither'd hand, 


A treble penance must be done. 


The grave's huge portal to expand. 


XIV. 


XVIII. 


" 'When Michael lay on his dying bed, 


With beating heart to the task he went ; 


His conscience was awakened : 


His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent ; 


He bethought him of his sinful deed, 


With bar of iron heaved amain, 


And he gave me a sign to come with speed : 


Till the toil-drops fell from liis brows, like rain. 


I was in Spain when the morning rose. 


It was by dint of passing strength, 


But I stood by Iiis bed ere evening close. 


That he moved the m;issy stone at lengtli. 


Tlie words may not ag.ain be said. 


I would you had been there, to see 


That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ; 


How the light broke forth so gloriously. 


Tliey would rend this Abbaye's massy nave. 


Stream'd upward to the chancel roof. 


And pile it in heaps above liis grave. 


And tlirough the galleries far aloof ! 




No eartlJy flame blazed e'er so bright : 


XV. 


It shone like heaven's own blessed hght 


" I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 


And, issuing from the tomb. 


Tliat never mortal might therein look ; 


Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, 


And never to fell where it was hid. 


Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail, 


Save at his Chief of Branksome's need : 


And kiss'd liis waving plume. 


And when that need was past and o'er, 




Again the volume to restore. 


XIX. 


I buried him on St. Michael's night. 


Before their eyes the Wizard lay, 


When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was 


As if he had not been dead a day. 


bright, 


His hoary beard in silver roll'd, 


And I dug his chamber among the dead, 


He seem'd some seventy winters old ; 


Wlien the floor of the chancel was stained red, 


A palmer's amice wrapp'd liini round. 


That his patron's cross might over him wave, 


With a wrought Spanish baldric bAuiid, 


And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. 


Like a pilgrim fi'om beyond the sea : 




His left hand held liis Book of Might ; 


XVL 


A sUvcr cross was in his right ; 


" It was a night of wo and dread. 


The lamp was placed beside his knee . 


Wlien Michael in the tomb I hiid ! 


High and majestic was liis look. 


Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd. 


At wliich the fellest fiends had shook, 


The banners waved without a blast" — 


And all unruffled was liis face : 


— Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd 


They trusted his soul had gotten grace." 


one . — 
I tell you. that a braver man 


XX. 


Than William of Deloraine, good at need. 


Often had William of Deloraiae 


Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed ; 


Rode through the battle's bloody plain. 


Yet somewhat was he cliill'd with dread. 


And tnunpled down the warriors slain, 


And his liair did bristle upon his head. 


And neither known remorse nor awe ; 


1 See Appendix, Note 2 D. ^ Ihi.l. Note 2 E. 


he had loved with brotherly affection— the horror of Delorain©, 


• Sec Appendii, Note 2 F. < Ibid. Note 2 G. 


and his beUef that the corpse frowned, as he withdraw the 




magic volume from its grasp, are. in a succeeding part of ths 


* OrifT. — A bar from thrnce the warrior took. 


narrative, circumstances not more liappily coneeived thau e»- 


■ "The agitation of the monk attlie sight of tlie m.in whom 


quisitely wrought." — Critical Revicia 



26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO II. 



Yot now remorse and awe he own'd ; 

His breath came thick, liLs head swam romid, 

Wlien tliis strange scene of death he saw. 
BewiUIer d and unnerved he stood. 
And the priest pray'd fervently and loud : 
With eyes averted prayed he ; 
He niii;ht not endui'e the sight to see, 
Of tile man he had loved .so brotherly. 

XXI. 
And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, 
Thus unto Deloraine he said : — 
" Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, 
Or, Wamor, we may dearly rue ; 
For those, thou mayst not look upon. 
Arc gathering fast round the yawning stone !" 
Then Delor.aine, in terror, took 
From the cold hand the Mighty Book, 
With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound : 
Ho thought, as he took it, the dead man frowii'd ;' 
But the glare of the sepulchral light, 
Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 

XXII. 

Wlien the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 

The night return'd in double gloom ; 

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were 

few; 
And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, 
With wavering steps and dizzy brain. 
They hardly mi^lit the postern gain. 
'Tis said, as througli the aisles they pass'd, 
Tliey heard strange noises on the blasst ; 
And through the cloister-g.alleries small, 
Wliich at mid-height thread the cluuicel wall. 
Loud s<)bs. and laughter louder, ran, 
And voices unlike the voice of man ; 
As if the fiends kept holiday. 
Because these spells were brought to day. 
I cannot tell how the truth m.ay be ; 
I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 

XXIII. 
" Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, 
"And when we are on death-bed laid, 
may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, 
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done !" — 
The Monk return'd him to his cell, 

And many a prayer .and penance sped; 
Wlien the convent met at tlie noontide bell — 
The Monk of St. Mary's ai.sle was dead ! 
Before the cross was the body laid. 
With hands clasp'd fast, as if stiU he pray'd. 

> See Appendix, Note 2 H. 

* A mountain on the Bonier of Eii^'l.ind, above Jedburgh. 

3 " How lovely and exhilarating Ls tlie fresh, cool morning 
'andscapf which relieves the ";ind after die hoiTOrs of the spell, 
fua ded tomli!" — A.nna Sewaed. 



XXIV. 
The Knight breathed free in the morning 

wind. 
And strove his hardiliood to find : 
He was glad when he pass'd the tombstones 

gray. 
Which girdle round the ftiir Abbaye ; 
For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest. 
Felt Uke a load upon his breast ; 
And Ills joints, with nerves of iron twined. 
Shook, like tlie aspen leaves in wind. 
Full fain was he when the dawn of day 
Began to brighten Cheviot gray ; 
He joy'd to see the cheerful hght, 
And he said Ave Mary, as well ho might. 

XXV. 

The sun had brighten'd Cheviot gray. 

The stm had brighten'd the Carter's' side ; 
And soon beneath the rising day 

Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot's tide. 
The wild birds told their warbluig tale. 

And waken'd every flower that blows ; 
And peeped forth the violet Jiale, 

And spread her breast the mountain rose. 
And lovelier than the rose so red. 

Yet paler than the violet pale. 
She early left her sleepless bed. 

The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 

XXVI. 

Why does fair Margaret so early awake,' 

And don her kirtle so hastilie ; 
And the silken knots, which in hurry she would 
make, 

Wliy tremble her slender fingers to tie ; 
Wliy does she stop, and look often around. 

As she glides down the secret stair ; 
And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hountl. 

As he rouses him up from his lair ; 
And, though she passes the postern alone. 
Why is not the watcliman's bugle blown ? 

XXVII. 

The ladye steps in doubt and dread. 

Lest her watchful mother lie.ar her tread . 

The lady caresses the rough blood-hound. 

Lest Ills voice should waken the castle romid ; 

The watchman's bugle is not blown. 

For he was her foster-father's son ; 

And she glides through greenwood at dawn ot 

light 
To meet Baron Heiu'y, her own true kniglit. 

i " How true, sweet, and original 13 this descrijition ol 
Mar-Taret — the trembling haste with which she attires her 
self, descends, and speeds to Uie bower!" — An.va &k- 
WARD. 



CANTO II. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



27 



XXVIII. 
The Knight ami ladye fair are met, 
And under tlie hawtliorn's bougha are set. 
A fairer pair were never seen 
To meet beneatli the ha\rthorn green. 
He was stately, and young, and tall; 
Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall : 
And she, when love, scarce told, scai'ce hid, 
Lent to her cheek a Uvelicr red ; 
When the half sigh her swelling breast 
Against the silken ribbon prest ; 
WTnen her blue eyes their secret told, 
Though shaded by her locks of gold — 
Where would you find the peerless fair. 
With Margaret of Branksome might compare I 

XXIX. 
And now, fail- dames, raethinks I see 
You listen to my minstrelsy ; 
Tour waving locks ye backward tlirow. 
And sidelong bend yoiu" necks of snow ; 
Te ween to hear a melting tale, 
Of two true lovers in a dale ; 

And how the Knight, with tender fire, 

To paint his faithful passion strove ; 
Swore he might at her feet expire. 

But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blush'd, and how she sigh'd, 
And, h:ilf consenting, half denied. 
And said that she would die a maid ; — 
Yet, might the bloody feud be stay'd, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. 

XXX. 

Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain 1 
My harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 

Its lightness would my age reprove : 
My hail's are gray, my limbs are old. 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold : 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 

XXXI. 
Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld. 
The Baron's Dwai'f his courser held,' 
And held his crested helm and spear : 

' See Appendix, Note 2 I. 

2 The iiiea of the imp domesticiting himself with the firet 
person he met, and subjectin'j himself to that one's authority, 
IS perfectly consonant to old opinions. Ben Jonson. in his play 
of " The Devil is an Jlss,*^ has founded tlie leading incident 
of that comedy upon this article of the popular creed. A 
ficrul. styled P«if, is ambitious for frguring in the world, and 
petitions liis superior for permission to exhibit himself upon 
earth. The devil grants him a day-rule, but clogs it with this 
condition, — 

" Satan — Only thus more. 1 bind you 
To serve the first man that vou meet : and him 



That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, 
If the tales were true that of him ran 

Through all the Border, far and near. 
'Twas said, when the Baron a-hunting rode 
Thrtiugh Reedsdalc's glens, but rarely trod. 

He hoard a voice cry, " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 

And, like tennis-b.all by racket toss'd, 
A leap, of tliirty feet and tliree. 

Made from the gorse this elfin shape. 

Distorted like some dwarfish ape. 

And hghted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. 

Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismay'd ; 

'Tis said that five good miles he rade, 
To rid him of liis company ; 
But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran fotir, 
And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. 

XXXIL 

Use lessens marvel, it is said : 
Tliis elvish Dwarf with the Baron .staid ; 
Little he ate, and less he spoke. 
Nor mingled with the menial flock : 
And oft apart his arms he toss'd. 
And often mutter'd " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 
He was waspish, arch, and htherUe,' 
But well Lord Cranstoun served he : 
And he of his service was full fain ; 
For once he had been ta'en or slain. 

An it had not been for Ms ministry. 
All between Home and Hermitage, 
Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's GobUn-Page. 

XXXIIL 
For the Baron went on pilgrimage, 
And took with liini this elvish Page, 

To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes ; 
For there, beside our Ladye's lake. 
An offering he had sworn to make. 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branlisome gather'd a band 
Of the best that would ride at her command :' 

The trysting place was Newark lee. 
Wat of Harden came tliither amain. 
And thither came Jolm of Tliirlestane, 
And thither came William of Deloraine ; 

They were three himdred spears and three. 

I'll show yon now ; observe him, follow hira ; 
But, once engaged, there you must stay and fix.*' 

It is observable that in the same play, Pug alludes to the 
Bpareness of his diet. Mr. Scott's goblin, though "waspish, 
arch, and lithertie," proves a faitliful and honest retainer t< 
the lord, into whose service he had introduced himself. Thir 
sort of inconsistency seems also to form a prominent part of the 
diabolic cnaracter. Thus, in the romances of tlie Round 
Table, we find Merlin, the son of a devil, exerting himself 
most zealously in the cause ol virtue and religion, the friend 
and counsellor of King Arthur, the chastiser of wrings, ai.l 
the scourge of the infidels. 

3 Sec Appendix, Note 2 K 



28 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto in. 


Through Douglas-bm-n, up Yarrow stream," 


And that I might not sing of love ? — 


Their horses prance, theu- lances gleam. 


How could I to the dearest theme. 


They came to St. Mary's lake ere day ; 


That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream. 


But the chapel was void, and the Biu'on away. 


So foul, so false a recreant prove I 


They burn'<l tlie chapel for very rage. 


How could I name love's very name. 


And cui-sed Lord Craiistoun's Goblin-Page. 


Nor wake mv heart to notes of fliime ! 


XXXIV. 


II. 


And now, in Branksome's good green wood. 


In peace, Love tmies the shepherd's reed , 


As under the aged oak he stood, 
The Baron's courser pricks his ears, 


In war, he mounts the warrior's steed ; 


In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 


As if a distant noise he hears. 


In hamlets, dimces on the green. 


The Dwarf waves liis long lean arm on high, 


Love rules the comt, tile camp, the grove, 


And signs to the lovers to part and fly ; 


And men below, and saints above ; 


No time was then to vow or sig-h. 


For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 


Fair Margaret tlu-ough the hazel grove. 




P'lew like the st;u-tle(l cushat-dove :^ 


III. 


'I'he Dwarf the stii rup held and rein ; 


So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, 


\'aulteil the Knight on liis steed mnain, 


Wliile, pondering deep the tender scene, 


And, pondermg deep that morning's scene. 


He rode through Braiiksome's hawthorn green. 


Rode eastward tlu'ougli the hawthorns green. 


But the page shouted wild mid shi-Ul, 




And scarce his helmet coukl he don. 




While thus lie pour'd the lengthen'd tale, 


When downwiu'd from the shady liill 


Tlie Minstrel's voice bogan to fail : 


A stately knight came pricking on. 


Full slyly smiled the observant page, 


That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray. 


Aiid gave the wither'd hand of age 


Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay , 


A goI)let, erown'd with mighty wine, 


His armor red with many a stain : 


The blood of Vtilez' scorched vine. 


He seem'd in such a weary plight. 


He raised the silver cup on high, 


As if he had ridden the hve-long night ; 


And, wliile the big drop fill'd liis eye, 


For it was WiUi:un of Deloraine. 


I'rayd God to bless the Duchess long, 




And all who cheer'd a son of song. 


IV. 


The attending maidens smil'd to see 


But no whit weary did he seem. 


Ho-v long,'liow deep, how zealously. 


When, duncing in the sunny beam. 


The precious juice tlic Minstrel quaff'd ; 


He m.irk'd the crane on the Baron's crest ;' 


And he, embolden'd by the d^au^dlt, 


For Ilia ready spear was in his rest. 


Look'd gayly back to tlium, and laugh'd. 


Few were the words, and stern and high. 


Tlie cordial nectar of the bowl 


That mark'd the foemen's feudal hate ; 


Swell'd his old veiii-s, and cheer'd hia soul; 


For question fierce, and proud reply. 


A livelier, lighter prehule ran. 


Gave signal soon of dhe debate. 


Ei"e thus his tale again began. 


Their very com-sers seem'd to Imow 




That each was other's mortal foe. 




\iid snorted fire when wheel'd around 




To give each knight his vantage-ground. 


(Sl)c Can of tl)c fast iHiustrfl. 


V. 

In raj lid round the Baron bent ; 




CANTO THESD. 


He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer ; 
The prayer was to his patron saint. 




I. 


The sigh was to liis ladye fair. 


Am) said I that my limbs were old. 


Stout Deloraine nor sigh'd nor pray'd. 


And said I that mv bl()od was cold. 


Nor saint, nor ladye, call'd to md ; 


And tliat my kindly fire was fled. 


But he stoop'd liis head, and couch'd his spoar, 


And my poor wither'd heart Wiis dead. 


And spurr'd his steed to full career. 


1 See notes on T/te Douglas Tragedy in the Minstrelsy, 


3 The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is a 


vol. iii. p. 3.— Ed. 


crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an vmnhatic 


» VVooil-pigeon. 


border motto. Thou sliatt Jcant ere I Kent. 



CANTO III. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



29 



The meeting of these cliampions proud 

Seem'd like the bursting thuudcr-cloud. 

VI. 
Stern was the dint the Borderer lent I 
The stiitel)' Baron backwards bent ; 
Bent backwards to Ids horse's tail, 
And his plumes went scatteruig on the gale ; 
The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 
Into a thousand flinders &ew. 
But Cr.anstoun's lance, of more avaU, 
Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail ; 
Througli shield, and jack, and acton, past, 
Deep in his bosom broke at last. — 
StiU sate the -warrior saddle-fast, 
Till, stumbUng in the mortal shock, 
Down -went the steed, the glrtliing broke, 
Hm-l'd on a heap lay man and horse. 
The Baron onward pass'd his course ; 
Nor knew — so giddy roU'd his brain — 
His foe lay stretch'd upon the plain. 

VII. 
But when he rein'd his courser round, 
And s.aw his foeman on the ground 

Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 
He bade Ids page to stanch the woimd 

And there beside the wiirrior stay. 
And tend him in his doubtful state, 
And lead hini to Branksome castle-gate : 
His noble mind was inly moved 
For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 
" This shalt thou do without delay : 
No longer here myself may stay ; 
Unless the swifter I speed away. 
Short shrift will be at my dying day." 

VIII. 
Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode ; 
The Goblin Page behind abode ; 
His lord's command he ne'er withstood. 
Though small his pleasure to do good. 
As the corslet off he took. 
The dwarf espied the Mighty Book ! 
Much he marvell'd a knight of pride. 
Like a book-bosom'd priest should ride :' 
He thought not to search or stanch the wound. 
Until the secret he had found. 

IX. 

The iron band, the iron clasp. 
Resisted long the elfin grasp : 
For when the first he had undone, 
It closed as he the next begun. 
Those iron clasps, that iron band, 

' See Appendix, Note 2 L. 
' Ma^cat delusion 



Would not yield to unchristen'd hand. 

Till he sinear'd the cover o'er 

With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 

A moment then the volume spread, 

And one short spcU therein he read : 

It had much of glamour' might, 

Could make a ladye seem a knight ; 

The cobwebs on a dungeon wall 

Seem tapestry in lordly hall ; 

A nutshell seem a gilded barge, 

A sheeling' seem a palace large, 

And youth seem age, and age seem youth — 

AH was delusion, nought was truth.* 

X. 

He had not read another spell. 

When on his cheek a buffet fell. 

So fierce, it stretch'd him on the plain, 

Beside the wounded Deloraine. 

From the ground he rose dismay'd. 

And shook liis huge and matted head ; 

One word he mutter'd, and no more, 

" Man of age, thou smitest sore !" — 

No more the Elfin Page durst try 

Into the wondrous Book to pry ; 

The clasps, though smeared with Christian gore 

Shut faster than they were before. 

He hid it underneath his cloak. — 

Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 

I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 

It was not given by man alive.' 

XL 
Unwillingly himself he address'd, 

To do his master's high behest : 

He lifted up the living corse, 

And laid it on the weary horse ; 

He led him mto Branksome Hall, 

Before the beards of the warders all ; 

And each did after swear and say. 

There only pass'd a wain of hay. 

He took him to Lord David's tower, 

Even to the Ladye's secret bower ; 

And, but that stronger spells were spread, 

And the door might not be opened, 

He had laid him on her very bed. 

Whate'er he did of gramatye," 

Was always done maliciously ; 

He flung the warrior on the ground, 

And the blood w«ll'd freshly from the wound 

XII. 
As he repass'd the outer court, 
He spied the fair young child at sport : 
He thought to train him to the wood ; 



' A sliepiierd's hut. 
s Ibid, Note 3 N. 



' Set' .\ppendix, Note il M. 
' Magic 



30 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto hi. 


For, at a word, be it understood. 


At cautious distance hoarsely bay'd. 


He was always for ill, and never for good. 


But still in act to spring ; 


Seem'd to the boy, some comi'ade gay 


Wben dash'd an archer tlirough the glade. 


Led him forth to the woods to play ; 


And when he saw the hound was stay'd, 


On the drawbridge the warders stout 


He drew liis tough bow-string ; 


Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. 


But a rough voice cried, " Shoot not, hoy 1 




Ho ! shoot not, Edward — -'Tis a boy !" 


XIII. 




Ho led the boy o'er bank and fell. 


XVL 


Until they came to a woodland brook ; 


The speaker issued from the wood, 


The running stream dissolved the spell,' 


And check'd his fellow's surly mood, 


And his own elvish shape he took. 


And quell'd the ban-dog's ii-e : 


Could he have had Iiis pleasure vilde, 


He was an Enghsh yeoman good, 


Hu had crippled the joints of the noble child ; 


And bom in Lancashire. 


Or, witli Itis fingers long and lean. 


"Well could he hit a fallow-deer 


Had strangled liira in fiendish sjjleen : 


Five hundred feet him fro ; 


But his awful mother lie had in dread, 


With hand more true, and eye more clear, 


And also his power was lunited ; 


No archer bended bow. 


So he but scowl'd on the startled child, 


His coal-black hau-, shorn round and close, 


And darted through the forest wild ; 


Set oS' liis sun-burn'd face : 


The woodland brook he bounding cross'd. 


Old England's sign, St. George's cross, 


And laugh' d, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 


His barret-cap did grace ; 




His bugle-horn hung by his .side. 


XIV. 


All in a wolf-skm baldric tied ; 


Full sore amazed at the wondrous change. 


And his short falchion, sliarp and clear, 


And frighteu'd as a cliild might be, 


Had pierced the tlu-oat of many a deer. 


At the wild yell and visage strange. 




And the dark words of gramarye, 


XVIL 


The cliild, amidst the forest bower, 


His kirtle, made of forest green. 


Stood rooted like a lily flower ; 


Reach'd scantly to liis knee ; 


And when at lengtli, with trembling pace. 


And, at liis belt, of arrows keen 


He sought to find where Branksome lay. 


A furbish'd sheaf bore he ; 


He fear'd to see that grisly face. 


His buckler, scarce in breadth a span. 


Glare from some thicket on Ids way. 


No larger fence had he ; 


Thus, starting oft, he journey'd on. 


He never counted liim a man. 


And deeper in the wood is gone, — 


Would strike below the knee :' 


For aye the more he sought liis way, 


His slackcn'd bow was m his hand. 


The farther still he went astray, — 


And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band. 


Until he heard the mountains round 




Riug to the baying of a hound. 


XVHI 




He would not do the fair cliild lurm, 


XV. 


But held him with liis powerful arm, 


And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 


That he might neither tiglit nor flee , 


Gomes nigher stUl, and nigher : 


For the Red-Cross spied he. 


Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound. 


The boy strove long and violently. 


His tawny muzzle track'd tlie ground, 


" Now, by St. George," the archer cries. 


And his red eye shot fire. 


" Edward, methinks we have a prize ! 


Soon as the wUder'd child saw he. 


This boy's fair face, and courage free. 


He flew at liira right furiouslie. 


Show he is come of liigh degree." 


I ween you would have seen with joy 




Tlie bearing of the gallant boy, 


XIX. 


When, worthy of his noble sne. 


" Yes ! I am come of high degree. 


His wet cheek glow'd 'twist fear and ire ! 


For I am the hen- of bold Buccleuch ; 


He faced the blood-hound manfuUy, 


And if thou dost not set me free, 


And held liis little bat on high ; 


False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 


So fierce be struck, the dog, afraid, 


For Walter of Harden shall come with speed, 


' See Appendix, Note 2 0. 


a Ses Appendii, Nolc 9 P 



f . — 

CANTO, in. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 31 


And William of Deloraine, good at need, 


XXIII. 


And every Scott from Esk to Tweed ; 


She drew the splinter from the wound. 


And if thou dost not let me go, 


And with a charm she stanch d tlie blocd;' 


Despite thy arrows, imd thy bow. 


She bade the gash be cleansed imd boimd : 


I'll have thee himg'd to feed the crow !" — 


No longer by liis couch she stood ; 




But she has ta'en the broken lance. 


XX. 


And wash'd it from the clotted gore. 


" Gramercy, for thy good-wUl, fair boy ! 


And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.* 


My miiid was never set so liigh ; 


WiUiam of Deloraine, in trance. 


But if tliou art chief of sucli a clan, 


Whene'er she tiu-u'd it round and roimd. 


And art the son of such a man, 


Twisted as if she giill'd his wound. 


And ever comest to thy connn.aud. 


Then to her maidens she did say. 


Our wardens had need to keep good or- 


Tliat he should be whole m:m and sound, 


der ; 


Within the course of a night and day. 


My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 


Full long she toil'd ; for she did rue 


Thou'lt make them work upon the Border. 


Mishiip to friend so stout and true. 


Meantime be pleased to come with me. 




For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 


XXIV.' 


I think our work is well begun. 


So pass'd the day — the evening fell. 


When we have taken thy father's soa" 


'Twas near the time of cm-few bell ; 




The an- was mild, the wind was calm. 


XXI. 


The stream was smooth, the dew was balm ; 


Although the child was led away. 


E'en the rude watchman, on the tower. 


In Branksome stUl he seem'd to stay, 


Enjoy'd and bless'd the lovely hour. 


For so the Dwarf his part did play ; 


Far more ftiir Margaret loved and bless'd 


And, in the shape of that young boy, 


The hour of silence and of rest. 


He wrought the castle much aimoy. 


On the high turret sittmg lone. 


The comrades of the young Buccleuch 


She waked at times the lute's soft tone ; 


He pincii'd, and beat, and overthrew ; 


Touch'd a wild note, and all between 


Nay, some of them he weUnigh slew. 


Tliought of the bower of hawthorns green. 


He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire. 


Her golden hair stream'd fi-ee from band. 


Ai^d, as Sym Hall stooti by the fire. 


Her fiiir cheek rested on Iter hand. 


He liglited the matcli of his bandolier,* 


Her blue eyes sought the west afar. 


And wofully scorch'd the hackbuteer.* 


For lovers love the western .star. 


It may be hardly thought or said. 




Tlie mischief that the urchin made. 


XXV. 


TUl many of the castle guess'd. 


Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 


That the young Baron was possess'd ! 


That rises .slowly to her ken. 




And, spreading broad its wavering light. 


XXII. 


Shakes its loose tresses on the night ? 


Well I ween the charm he held 


Is yon red glare the western star ? — 


The noble Ladye had soon dispell'd ; 


0, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war ! 


But she was deeply busied then 


Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breath, 


To tend the wounded Deloraine. 


For weU she knew the fire of death ! 


Much she wouder'd to find him lie. 




On the stone threshold stretch'd along ; 


XXVI. 


She thought some spirit of the sky 


The Warder view'd it blazing strong. 


Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong ; 


And blew his war-note loud and long. 


Because, despite her precept dread. 


Till, at the liigh and haughty sound. 


Perchance he in the Book had read ; 


Rock, wood, and river rimg around. 


But the broken lance in his bosom stood, 


The blast alarm'd the festal hall. 


And it was earthly steel and wood. 


And startled forth the warriors all ; 


1 BandrUer, belt for carrying ammunition. 


* " As another illustration of the prodigious improvement 


3 Hfickbuteer, musketeer. 


which the style of the old romance is capable of receiving from 




a more liberal admixture of pathetic sentiments and gentle 


3 See Appendix, Note 2 Q. 


affections, we insert the following passage (Stanzas x.\iv. to 




xsvii.], where tlie effect of the picture is finely assisted by tha 


' Ibid. Note 2 R. 


contrast of its two comoaj-tuients." —Jeffrey. 



32 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto hi. 


Far downwai-d, in the Ciistle-3'ard, 


Each from each the signal caught ; 


Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 


Each after each they glanced to sight. 


And helms and plumes, confusedly toss'd. 


As stars arise upon the night. 


Were in the blaze half-^een, half-lost ; 


They gleam'd on many a dusky tarn,' 


And spears in wiUl disorder shook, 


Haimted by thf* lonely earn ;** 


Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 


On many a cah-n's^ g^'^y pyramid. 




Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ; 


xxvn. 


TiU high Dunedin the blazes saw, 


The Seneschal, whose silver hair 


From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; 


Was redden'd by the torches' glare, 


And Lothian heard the Regent's order, 


Stood in the midst, with gesture proud. 


That all should bowne' them for the Border. 


And issued forth liis mandates loud : — 




" On Penchiyst glows a bale' of fire, 


XXX. 


And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire ; 


The hvelong night in Branksome rang 


Bide out, ride out. 


The ceaseless sound of steel ; 


The foe to scout ! 


The castle-bell, with backward clang, 


Mount, mount for Braiiksome,'' every man ! 


Sent forth the larum peal ; 


Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan. 


Was frequent heard the heavy jar, 


That ever .ore true and stout — 


Where massy stone and iron bar 


Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 


Were piled on echoing keep and tower, 


For when they see the blazing bale, 


To wliehn the foe with deadlv shower ; 


Elliots and iVrmstrongs never fail.^ 


Was frequent heard the changing guard. 


Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life ! 


And watchword from the sleepless ward ; 


And warn the Warder of the strife. 


While, wearied by the endless din, 


Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze, 


Blood-hoimd and ban-dog yell'd within. 


Our kin, and clan, and friends to rfiise.'" 






XXXL 


XXVIII. 


The noble Dame, amid the broil. 


Fan- Margaret, from the turret head. 


Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil. 


Heard, far below, the coursers' tread, 


And spoke of danger with a smile ; 


While loud the harness rung, 


Cheer'd the young knights, and council ?age 


As to their seats, with clamor di-ead. 


Held with the cliiefs of riper age. 


The ready horsemen sprung : 


No tidmgs of the foe were brought. 


And tramphng hoofs, and iron coats. 


Nor of liis numbers knew they aught. 


And leaders' voices, mingled notes. 


Nor what in time of truce he sought. 


And out ! and out ! 


Some said, that there were thousands ten ; 


In hasty route. 


And others ween'd that it was naught 


The horsemen gallop'd forth ; 


But Leven clans, or Tynedale men, 


Dispersing to the south to scout. 


Who came to gather in black-mail ■,'" 


And east, and west, and north. 


And Liddesdale, with small avail. 


To view their coming enemies, 


Might drive them lightly back agen. 


And warn their vassals and alhes. 


So pass'd the anxious night away, 




And welcome was the peep of day. 


XXIX. 




The ready page, with hurried hand,* 
Awaked the need-fire's^ .sUmiberuig brand, 






And ruddy blu.sli'd the heaven : 




For a sheet of flame, from the turret high. 


Ceased the high sound — the listening tlirong 


Waved like a blood-flag on the sky, 


Applaud the Master of the Song : 


All flaimg and uneven ; 


And marvel much, in helpless age. 


And soon a score of fires, I ween. 


So hard should be liis pilgrimage. 


From height, and hill, and chfF were seen ; 


Had he no friend — no daughter dear. 


Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 


His wandering toil to share and cheer ; 


' See Ap[tendix, Note 2 S. 


J\reed-Jire, beacon. 


- Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of t}ie Scott*. 


« Tarn, a mountain lake. 


3 See A[i|iendi.v, Note 2 T. 


' Earn, a Scottish eagle. '' See .\i)pendi.\. Note 2 U. 


* " We absolutely see the fires kindling, one after another, in 


9 Bouone, make ready. 


the following animated description." — Annual Review, 1804. 


>o Protection money exacted by freebooters. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTKEL. 



33 



No son to be his father's stay, 
And guide liim on the ru^^god way ? 
" Ay, oucc he had — but he was dead 1" — 
Upon the harp he stoop'd liis head, 
And busied liimself the strings withal. 
To liide tlic tear tiiat fain wrndd hdL 
In soU^nn measure, soft and slow, 
Arose a father's notes of woe." 



iJljc Caw of tl)e Cast fiVmstrcl. 



CANTO FOUBTH. 



Sweet Teviot ! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more, 
No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willow'd shore ;' 
Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill. 
All, all is peaceful, all is still, 

As if thy waves, since Time was born, 
Since first they roU'd upon the Tweed,^ 
Ead only heard the shephenrs reed, 

Nor started at the bugle-horn. 

II. 
Unlike tlie tide of human time, 

'\\niich. thfHigh it change in ceaseless flow, 
Retnins each grief, retains each crime 

Its earliest course was doom'd to know; 
And, darker as it doAmward bears, 
Is stain d with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebb'd with me, 
It still reflects to Memory's eye 
The hour my brave, my only boy. 

Fell by the side of great Dundee.* 

* "Nothing can excel the simple concise pathos of the 
Close of tills Canto — nor the touching picture of the Ban! when, 
with a59umed business, he tries to conceal real sorrow. How 
well the poet understands the art of contrast — and how jadl- 
cinusly it is exerted in the exordium of the next Canto, where 
onr ruourning sympathy is exchanged for the thrill of pleas- 
ure !" — Ansa Seward. 

1 ■' What luxury of sound in this line !" — Amsa Seward. 

3 Oria-. — " Since first ihey rolled thrir way to Tweed." 

< Tlie Visconnt of Dundee, slain in the battle of Killicrankie. 

6 " Some of the most interesting passages of the poem are 
those in which the author drops the business of his story to 
moralize, and apply to hi^ own situation the images and reflec- 
tions it has suggested. After concluding one Canto with an 
account of the warlike array winch was prepared for the re- 
ception of the English invaders, he opens the succeeding one 
with the following heautiful verses, (Stanzas J. and ii.) 

'* Thsre are several other detached passages of equal beauty,* 

No one will diEfi«nt from Ihis, who reaJs, in partirulnr, the firsl two 
■ nd hesr*-;jlowinj Btaoens of Canto VI.— note, by astocialion of the past, 
-'U'Urec the morp alTectinif -Ed 



Why, when the volleying musket play*d 
Against the bloody Highland blade, 
Why was not I beside hun laid ! — - 
Enough — ho died the death of fame; 
Enough — lie died with conqueruig Graeme.* 

III. 

Now over Border, dale and fell. 

Full wide and far waa terror spread; 
For patliless marsh, and mountain cell, 

The peasant left liis lowly shed.' 
The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent 
Beneath the peel's rude battlement ; 
And maids and matrons dropp'd the tear, 
Wliile ready warriors seized the spear. 
From Branksome's towers, the watchmau'a eye 
Dim wreaths of distant smoke can spy, 
Wliich, curUng m the rising sun, 
Showed southern ravage was begmx.* 

IV. 

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried — 
" Prepare ye all for blows and blood ; 
Watt Tinlinn,® from the Liddel-side, 
Comes wading through the flood.'" 
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate, and prove the lock ; 
It was but last St. Barnabriglit 
They sieged liim a whole summer nia^ht, 
But fled at mornmg : well they knew. 
In vain he never twang'd the yew. 
Right sharp has been the evening shower, 
That drove him from hia Liddel tower ; 
And, by my faitli," the gate-ward said, 
" I think "twill prove a Warden-Raid"" 



While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman " 
Enter'd the echoing barbican. 

which might be quoted in proof of the effect which is produced 
by tills dramatic interference of the narrator." — Jeffrey. 

■" See Appendix, Note 2 V. 

e Ibid. Note 2 W. o Ibid. Note 2 X. 

10 " And when they cam to Branksorae lia', 

They shouted a' baith loud and hie, 

Till up and spak him antd Buccleuch, 

Said — ' While's this brings the fraye to me ?'— 
'It's I, Jamie Telfer, o' the fair Dodhead, 
And a Iiarried man I think I be,' " Stc. 

Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 8. 

>i An inroad commanded by the Warden in person. 

13 " The dawn displays the smoke of ravag'ed tieli?a, and shep- 
herds, with their flocks, flying before the storm. Tidings 
broaght by a tenant of the family, not used to seek a shelter 
on light occasions of alarm, disclose the strength and object 
of the invaders. This man is a character of a lower and of m 
rougher cast than Deloraine. The portrait of the rude re- 
tainer is iiketched with the same masterly hand. Here, agam; 
Mr. Scott has trod in the fo(.tsteps of the old roraancer9, whu 



34 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He led a small aud shaggy nag, 

Tliat tlu'ough a bog, from hag to hag,' 

Could bound like any Billliope stag.^ 

It bore liis wife and children twain ; 

A lialf-clothed serf^ was all their train; 

His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd, 

Of silver brooch aud bracelet proud,* 

Laugh'd to }ier friends among the crowd. 

He was of stature passing tall. 

But sparely forra'd, and lean withal ; 

A batter'd morion on his brow ; 

A leather jack, as fence enow. 

On liis broad shoulders loosely hung ; 

A border axe behind was slung ; 

His spear, six Scottish ells iu length, 
Seem'd newly dyed with gore ; 

Hia shafts and bow, of wondrous strength, 
His hardy partner bore. 

VI. 

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 

The tidings of the English foe : — 

" Belted Will Howard ' is marching here, 

And hot Lord Dacre,° with mimy a spear. 

And all the German hackbut-men,' 

■ftnio have long lain at Askerten : 

They cross'd the Liddel at curfew hour, 

And burn'd my Uttle lonely tower : 

The fiend receive their souls therefor ! 

It had not been burnt this year and more. 

Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, 

Served to guide me on my ffight ; 

But I was chased the hvelong night. 

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus GriEme, 

Fast upon my traces came. 

Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, 

And shot their liorses in the bog, 

Slew Fergus with my lance outright — 

I had him long at high despite : 

He drove my cows last Fastern's night." 

VII. 
Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, 
Fast hurrying iu, confirm'd the tale ; 

confine not themeelves to the display of a few personages who 
Btalk over the stage on stately slilL>j, but asnally reflect all 
the varieties of character that marked the era to wliich they 
belong. The interesting e.\ample of manners thus preserved 
to Ds is not the only advantage wljich results from this pecn- 
Uar structure of tlieir plan. It is this, amongst other circum- 
stances, wli uh enables them to carry us along with them, 
under I know not what species of fascination, and to make 
ns, as it were, credulous spectators of their most extravagant 
scenes. In this they seem to resemble the painter, who, in 
tlie dehneation of a battle, while he places the adverse heroes 
of the day combating in the front, takes care to fill his back- 
ground with subordinate figures, wliose appearance adds at 
once both spirit and an air of probability to the scene." — 
Critical Review, 1805. 
* The broken ground in a bog. 



As far as they cotdd judge by ken, 

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand 
Three thousand armed Englishmen — 

Meanwltile, full many a warlike band, 
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade. 
Came in, their Cliief 's defence to .aid. 

There was saddling and mounting in ha.ste, 

There was pricking o'er moor and lea ; 
He that was last at the trysting-place 

Was but lightly held of his gaye ladye.° 

VIII. 

From fair St. Mary's silver wave, 

From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height. 
His ready lances Thirlestjme brave 

Array "d beneath a banner bright. 
The tressured fletu--de-luce he claims. 
To wreath his shield, since royal James, 
Fjicamp'd by Fala's mossy wave. 
The proud distinction grateful gave, 

For faith 'mid feudal jars; 
What tunc, save Thirlestane alone. 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons noue 

Woidd march to southern wars ; 
And hence, m fair remembrance worn. 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne ; 
Hence liis high motto shines reveal'd — 
" Ready, aye ready," for the field.' 

IX. 

An aged Knight, to danger steel'd. 

With many a moss-trooper, came on ; 
And azure in a golden field. 
The stars and crescent graced his shield. 

Without the bend of Mm-dieston.'" 
Wide lily Ms hands round Oakwood tower, 
And wide round haimted Castle-Ower : 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood. 
His wood-embosom'd mansion stood ; 
In the dark glen, so deep below. 
The herds of plunder'd England low ; 
His bold retainers' daily food, 
And bought with danger, blows, and blood. 
Mai'auding chief! his sole delight 

5 See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 
s Bondsman. 

4 As the Borderers were indiff'erent about the furnitaiB of 
tlicir habitations, so much exposed to he burned and plun- 
di.rcil. tlu^y were proportionally anxious to display splendor in 
decorating and ornamenting their females. — See Lkslbv de 
.Moribas Limitaneorum. 

6 See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 
s Ibid. Note 3 A. 

7 Musketeers. See Appendix, Note 3 B. 

6 The four last lines of stanza vii. are not in the lat Editioa 
—Ed. 
* See Appendi-x, Note 3 C. 
10 Ibid. Note 3 D. 



CANTO IV. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



iiSi 



The mooulight r.iid, thr morning fight ; 
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's cluirnis, 
In youth, might tame ills riige for arms ; 
And still, in ago, he spurn'd at rest, 
And still his brows the helmet press'd, 
Albeit the bliuichod locks below 
Were white as Diiilay's spotless snow ; 

Five stately w-arriors drew the sword 
Before their father's band ; 

A braver knight than Harden's lord 
Ne'er belted on a brand.' 



Scott3 of Eskdale, a stalwart band,' 

Came trooping down the Todshawhill ; 
By the sword they won their land, 

And by the sword they hold it still. 
He.irken, Ladye, to the tale, 
How thy sires won fair Eskdale. — 
Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair. 
The Beattisons were his vassals there. 
The Earl was gentle, and nuld of mood. 
The vassala were warlike, and fierce, and rude ; 
High of heart, and haughty of word, 
Little they reck'd of a tame liege lord. 
The Earl into fair Eskdale came, 
Homage and seignory to claim : 
Of Gilbert the GaUiard a heriot' he sought, 
Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought." 
— " Dear to me is my bonny white steed, 
Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need ; 
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow, 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou." — 
Word on word gave fuel to fire, 
Till so Iiighly blazed the Beattison's ire. 
But that the Earl the flight had ta'en. 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and spur, 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale mmr ; 
And it fell down a weary wight. 
Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. 

XI. 

The Earl was a wrathful man to see, 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke, 
Saying — " Take these traitors to thy yoke ; 
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold. 
All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold : 
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan 
K thou leavest on Eske a landed man ; 

1 See, besides the note on this stanza, one in the Border 
Minstrevsy, vol. ii. p. 10, respecting Wat of Harden, the An- 
ihor's ancestor. 

A iatirical piece, entitled "The Town Eclogue," which 
made much noise in Edinburgh shortly at\er the appearance of 
tlie Minstrelsy, has these lines : — • 

" A modern antlior spends a hundred leaves, 
To prove liis ancestore notorious thieves "—Ed. 



But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, 

For he lent me his horse to escape upon." 

A glad man then was Branksome bold, 

Down he ilimg him the pm-se of gold ; 

To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain, 

And with huu five hundred riders has ta'cn. 

He left his merry men in the midst of the liill. 

And bade them hold them close and still ; 

And alone he wended to the plain. 

To meet with the Galliard and all his train. 

To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said : — 

" Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head ■ 

Deal not with me as with Morton tame, 

For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 

Give me in peace my heriot due. 

Thy boimy white steed, or thou shalt rue. 

If my horn I tlu-ee times wind, 

Eskdale shall long have the soimd in mind." 

XII. 

Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn ; 

" Little care we for thy winded horn. 

Ne'er shall it be the GaUiard's lot, 

To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 

Wend thou to Branksome back on foot, 

With rusty spur and miry boot." — 

He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse. 

That the dim deer started at fair Craikcross ; 

He blew again so loud and clear. 

Through the gray mountain-mist there did lancea 

appear ; 
And the third blast rang with such a din. 
That the echoes answer'd from Pentoun-linn, 
And all his riders came hghtly in. 
Then had you seen a gallant shock. 
When saddles were emptied, and lances broke I 
For each scornful word the Galhard had said, 
A Beattison on the field was laid. 
Hi a own good sword the chieftain drew, 
And he bore the Galliard through and tliroiigh ; 
Where the Beattisons' blood mix'd with the rill. 
The GaUiard's-Haugh men call it stiU. 
The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan, 
In Eskdale they left but one landed man. 
The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source, 
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse. 

XIIL 
'Whitslade the H.awk, and Headshaw came. 
And warriors more than I may name ; 
From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaugh-awair,* 

3 Stanzas x. xi. xii. were not in the iii^t Edition. 

* See Appendix, Note 3 E. 

The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to tha 
best horse of the vassfU, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld. 

^ Thia and the three following lines are not in the first edl 
tlon. — Ed. 



3C SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto it. 


From 'WoodhouseUe to Chester-glen. 


And though the wound soon heal'd again, 


Troop'd man and horse, and bow and spear ; 


Yet, as lie ran, he yell'd for pain ; 


Tlieir gathering word was Bellenden.' 


And Watt of Tinlimi, much aghast. 


And better hearts o'er Border sod 


Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 


To siege or rescue never rode. 




The Ladye mark'd tlie aids come in, 


XVI. 


And high her heart of pride arose ; 


Soon on the lull's steep verge he stood. 


She bade her youthful son attend, 


That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood ; 


That he might know his father's friend, 


And martial murmurs, from below. 


And learn to face liis foes. 


Proclaim'd the approacliing southern foe. 


" The boy is ripe to look on war ; 


Tlu-ough the dark wood, in mingled tone. 


I saw liim draw a cross-bow stifl^ 


Were Border pipes smd bugles blown ; 


And liis true ari'ow struck afar 


The coursers' neighing he could ken, 


The raven's nest upon the cliff ; 


A measured tread of marching men ; 


The red-cro.ss, on a southern breast, 


While broke at times the solemn hum, 


Is broader than the raven's nest : 


The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum ; 


Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him Ins weapon to 


And baimers tall, of crimson sheen. 


wield. 


Above the cop.se appear; 


And o'er him hold liis father's shield." 


And, glistening through the hawthorns 


XIV. 


green. 
Shine hehn, and shield, and spear. 


Well may you think, tlie wily page 




Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 


XVII. 


He counterfeited childish feai', 


Light forayers, first, to view the ground. 


And shriek'd, and shed fuU many a tear, 


Spm-r'd then- fleet coursers loosely round ; 


And moan'd and plaui'd ui manner wUd. 


Behind, m close array, and fast. 


The attendants to the Ladye told, 


Tlie Kendal archers, all in green. 


Some fairy, sure, had changed the child. 


Obedient to the bugle blast, 


That wont to be so free and bold. 


Advancing from the wood were seen. 


Then wrathful was the noble dame ; 


To back and guard the archer band. 


She blusli'd blood-red for very shame : — 


Lord Dacre's bUl-men were at hand : 


" Hence 1 ere the clan liLs fauitness view ; 


A hardy race, on Irthing bred. 


Hence with the wealding to Buccleuch! — 


With kirtles white and crosses red. 


Watt Tinlimi, thou shalt be liis guide 


Array'd beneath the banner tall 


To Rangleburn's lonely side. — 


That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer'd wall; 


Sure some foil fiend has cursed our line. 


And minstrels, as they march'd in order. 


That coward should e'er be son of mine 1" 


Play'd, " Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on Uie 




Border." 


XV. 




A heavy task Watt Tmlinn had, 


xvin. 


To guide the counterfeited lad. 


Behind the Enghsh bill and bow, 


Soon as the palfrey felt the weight 


The mercenaries, firm and slow, 


Of that ill-omen' d-elfish freight. 


Moved on to fight, in dark array. 


He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain, 


By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 


Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rem. 


Who brought the band from distant Rhme, 


It cost Watt Tinhnn mickle toil 


And sold their blood for foreign pay. 


To di'ive him but a Scottisli mile ; 


The camp their home, then- law the sword. 


But as a shallow brook they cross'd. 


They knew no country, own'd no lord :' 


The elf, amid the running stream, 


Tliey were not arm'd hke England's sons, 


His figure changed, like form in dream. 


But bore the levm-darting guns ; 


And fled, and shouted, "Lost! lostl lostl" 


Buff coats, all frounced and 'broider'd o'er. 


FuU fast the urchin ran and laugh'd, 


And morsing-horns' and scarfs they wore ; 


But faster stiU a cloth-yard shaft 


Each better knee was bared, to aid 


■Wliistled from startled TmUnn's yew. 


Tlie warriors in the escalade ; 


And pierced his shoulder through and through 


AU, as they march'd, m rugged tongue, 


Although the imp might not be slain. 


Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 


' See Appendix, Note 3 F. 


i See Appendix, Note 3 G. = Powdel>flasks. 



CANTO IV. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



3V 



XIX. 

But lo\i(ler still the clamor grew, 

And liiuiler .«till the miiistiels blew, 

Wheii, froui beneath the greenwood tree, 

Rode forth Jjord Howard's cliivah-y; 

His nie!i-at-arms, witli glaive and spear, 

Brought U|) the Viattle's glittering rear: 

There many a youthful knight, full keen 

To gabi his spurs, in anna was seen ; 

With favor in his crest, or glove, 

Memorial of his ladye-love. 

So rode thev forth in fair array. 

Till full their Ifugthen'd hues display ; 

Then call'd a halt, and made a stand. 

And cried, " St. George, for merry England I'" 

XX. 

Now every English eye, intent 
On Branksome's armed towers was bent ; 
So near they were, that they might know 
The striiining luirsh of eadi cross-bow ; 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleani'il axe, and sjiear. and partisan ; 
Falcon and culver,' on each tower. 
Stood prompt their deadh' hail to shower ; 
And flashing armor frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable smoke. 
Where upon tower and turret head. 
The seethiug pitch and molten lead 
ReekVl like a witch's caldron red. 
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall. 
The wicket opes, and from the wall 
Rides forth the hoary Seneschal. 

XXI. 

Armed he rode, aU s,iTe the head. 

His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread ; 

Unbroke by age, erect his seat. 

He ruled his eager courser's gait ; 

Forced him, with eliasten'd fire, to praace. 

And, high curvetthig, slow advance : 

In sign of truce, his better hand 

Display'd a peeled willow wand ; 

His squire, attending ui the rear. 

Bore high a gauntlet on a spear.' 

'WTien they espied liim riding out, 

Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 

Sped to the front of their array. 

To hear what this old knight should say. 

xxn. 

" Te Enghsh warden lords, of you 
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 

' *' The stanzas, describing the murch of the English forces, 
and the investiture of the castle of Rratixholm, display a great 
knowledge of ancient coatuine, as welt as a most picturesque 
and lively pictore of feudal warfare." — Critical Review. 

J Ancient pieces cf artillery. 

* A ^lovQ opon a laace was the emblem Qf faith among the 



Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide, 

In hostile guise ye dare to ride. 

With Kenilal bow, and Gilsland brand, 

And all yon mercenary band. 

Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ? 

My Ladye reads you swith return; 

And, if but one poor straw you bum. 

Or do oiu- towers so much molest. 

As scare one swallow from her nest, 

St. Mary ! but we'll light a brand 

Shall warm your heartlis in Ctuaberlaud."— 

xxin. 

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord. 
But calmer Howard took the word : 
" May't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, 
To seek the castle's outw.ird wall. 
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show 
Both why we came, and when we go." — 
The message sped, the noble Dame 
To the wall's outward circle came ; 
Each chief around leim'd on his spear. 
To see the purstuvant appear. 
All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd, 
The Uon argent deck'd his breast ; 
He led a boy of blooming hue — 
O sight to meet a mother's view ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
Obeisance meet the herald made, 
And thus his master's will he said : — 

XXIV. 
" It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw theu' swords ; 
But yet they may not tamely see. 
All through the Western Wardenry, 
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride. 
And burn and spoil the Border side ; 
And ill beseems your rank and birth 
To make your towers a flemens-firth.* 
We claim from thee Wilham of Deloraine, 
That he may suffer march-treason' pain. 
It was but last St. Cuthbert's even 
He prick'd to Stapleton t>n Leven, 
Harried" the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Tlien, since a lone and widow'd Diune 
Tliese restless riders may not tame. 
Either receive witliin thy towers 
Two himdred of my master's powers. 
Or straight they sound their warrison,' 
And storm and spoil thy garrison : 

ancient Borderers, who were wont, when any one broke hli 
word, to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithlesi 
villain at tlie first Border meeting. This ceremony was much 
dreaded. See Lesley. 

* An asylum for outlaws. 6 See Appendi.x, Note 3 H. 

6 Plundered, ^ Note of assault. 



38 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n- 


And this fair boy, to London led, 


XXVIIL 


Shall good King Edwai-d's page be bred." 


" Ah ! noble Lords !" he breathless said, 




" What treason has your march betray 'd ? 


XXV. 


Wliat make you here, from aid so far, 


He ceased — and loud the boy did cry, 


Before you walls, aromid you war ? 


And stretch'd his httle arms ou hi,£jh ; 


Yom- foemen triumph in the thought, 


Implored for aid each wcU-known face. 


That in the toils the hon's caught. 


And strove to seek the Dame's embrace. 


Already on dark Ruberslaw 


A moment changed that Ladye's cheer, 


The Douglas holds liis weapon-schaw ;' 


G ush'd to her eye the unbidden tear ■ 


The lances, waving in his train. 


She gazed upon the leaders round, 


Clothe the dun heatli like autumn grain ; 


And dark and sad each -n-arrior frown'd ; 


And on the Liddel's northern strand. 


Then, deep within her sobbing breast 


To bar retreat to Cumberland, 


She luck'd the struggluig sigh to rest ; 


Lord Maxwell ranks his merry-men good, 


Unalter'd and collected stood. 


Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 


And thus replied, in dauntless mood : — 


And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, 




Have to proud Angus come ; 


XXVI. 


And all the Merse and Lauderdale 


" Say to your Lords of high emprize,' 


Have risen with haughty Home. 


Wlio war on womeu and on boys. 


An exile from Northumberlantl, 


Tliat either WiUi-'un of Deloraine 


In Liddesdale I've wander'd long ; 


WUl cleanse him, by oatli, of march-treason stain,' 


But stiU my heart was with merry Eng- 


Or else he will the combat take 


land, 


'Gainst Musgi-ave, for liis honor's sake. 


And cannot brook my country's wrong ; 


No knight in Cumberland so good. 


And hard I've spurr'd all night, to show 


But WiUiam may count with liim kin and blood. 


The mustering of the coming foe." 


Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,' 




When Enghsh blood swcU'd Ancram's ford ;* 


XXIX. 


And but Lord Dacre's steed was wight, 


" And let them come !" fierce Dacre cried ; 


And bare liim ably in tlie fliglit. 


" For soon yon crest, my father's pride. 


Himself had seen him dubb'd a knight. 


That swept the shores of Judah's sea. 


For the young heir of Brauksome's line. 


And waved m gales of Galilee, 


God be his aid, and God be mine ; 


From Brauksome's highest towers display' d. 


Tlirough me no friend shall meet his doom ; 


Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid 1 — 


Here, while I live, no foe finds room. 


Level each harquebuss on row ; 


Then, if thy Lords their purpose urge, 


Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 


Take our defiance loud and high ; 


Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry, 


Our slogan is their lyke-wake' dirge, 


Dacre for England, win or die !" — 


Om- moat, the grave where they shall lie." 






XXX. 


XXVIL 


" Yet hear," quoth Howard, " calmly hear, 


Proud she look'd round, applause to claim — 


Nor deem my words the words of fear : 


Then ligliten'd Thirlestane's eye of fliune ; 


For who, in field or foray slack, 


His bugle Wat of Harden blew ; 


Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back !' 


Pensils and pennons wide were flung, 


But thus to risk our Border flower 


To heaven tiie Border slogan rung 


In strife against a kingdom's power, 


" St. Mary for the young Buccleuch !*' 


Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousand.^ three, 


Tlie Enghsh war-cry answer'd wide. 


Ccrte-s, were desperate policy. 


And forward bent each southern spear ; 


Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, 


Each Kendal archer made a stride. 


Ere conscious of the advancmg aid : 


And drew the bowstring to liis ear ; 


Let Mu.sgravo meet fierce Deloraine' 


Eacli minstrel's war-note loud was blown; — 


In single fight, and, if he gain. 


But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown. 


He gains for us ; but if he's cross'd, 


A horseman gallop'd from the rear. 


'Tis but a suigle warrior lost : 


1 Ori(r. — " Say to tftij Lords of high emprize.** 


5 Lykc-waltc. the watching a corpse previous to iiuermml 


> See Appendii, Note 3 I. = Ibid. Note 3 K. 


fi Weapon-schntE, the military array of a coanly. 


1 Ibid Note 3 L. 


' See Appendix. Note 3 M. « Ibid. Note 3 N 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



39 



The rest, retreating as they came, 
Avoid defeat, aiid death, and shame." 

XXXI. 

Til cciuM till haughty Dacre brook 
Hi.^ brother Warden's sage rebuke; 
And yet bis forward step he staid, 
And slow and sullenly obey'd. 
But ne'er again the Border side 
Did these two lords in friendsliip ride ; 
And this slight discontent, men say, 
Cost blood upon another day. 

XXXII. 

'llie pursuivant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand ; 
His trumpet call'd, with ])arleying strain. 

The leaders of the Scottish biUid ; 
And he detied, in Musgrave's right, 
Stout Deloraine to single tight ; 
A gauntlet at their feet he laid, 
And thus the terras of fight ho said : — 
"If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 

'V:mquisli the knight of Deloraine, 
Your youthful cliieftain, Branksome's 
Lord, 

Shall hostage for his clan remain: 
If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, 
The boy his hberty shall have. 

Howe'er it faUs, the EngUsh band, 
TJnliarming Scots, by Scots unharm'd. 
In peaceful m.arch, lilie men unarm'd, 

Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 

XXXIII. 
Unconscious of the near relief, 
Tlu' proffer pleased each Scottish chief. 

Though much the Ladye sage gainsay'd ; 
For though their hearts were brave and 

true. 
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew 

How tardj' was the Regent's aid : 
And you may guess the noble Dame 

Durst not the secret prescience own. 
Sprung from the art she might not name, 

By which the coming help was known. 
Closed was the comjiact, and agreed 

That lists should be enclosed with speed. 
Beneath the castle, on a lawn ; 
They fix'd the morrow for the strife, 
Ou foot, with Scottish axe .and knife. 

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn ; 
When Delorjiine, from sickness freed, 
Or else a champion in his stead, 
Shoidd for himself and chieftain stand. 
Against stout Musgrave, hand to h-and. 

1 Sec Appenilix, Note 3 O. 



XXXIV. 

I know right well, that, in their lay, 
Full many minstrels sing and say. 

Such combat should be made on horse, 
On foaming steed, in full career. 
With brand to aid, when as the spear 

Should shiver in the course : 
But he, the jovial Iliirper,' taught 
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought. 

In guise which now I say ; 
He knew each ordinamx'. and clause 
Of Black Lord Archibald's battle-laws,' 

In the old Douglas' day. 
He brook'd not, ho, that scoffing tongue 
Should tax his muistrelsy with wrong. 

Or call his song untrue : 
For this, when they the goblet plied. 
And such rude ta\mt had chafed liis pride. 

The Bard of lieull he slew. 
On Teviot's side, in tight they stood. 
And tuneful hands were st;un'd with blood ; 
'Where still the thorn's white branches wave, 
Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 

XXXV. 

'Why should I tell the rigid doom. 
That dr-igg'd my master to his tomb ; 

How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, 
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim. 
And wrung their hands for love of him. 

Who died at Jedwood Air ? 
He died ! — liis scholars, one by one. 
To the cold silent grave are gone ; 
And I, alas ! survive alone. 
To muse o'er rivahies of yore, 
And grieve that I shaU hear no more 
The strains, with envy heard before ; 
For, with my minstrel brethren fled, 
My jealousy of song is dead. 



He paused ; the listening dames again 
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's .strain. 
With m.any a word of kindly cheer,— 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvell'il the Duchess how so well 
His legendary song could tell — 
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
Of feuds, whose memory was not ; 
Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 
Of towers, which harbor now the hare ; 
Of manners', long since changed and gone ; 
Of cliiefs, who under their gray stone 
So long have slept, that fickle Fame 
Had blotted from lier roUs their n.ame. 
And twined round some new minion's head 

' See Appcndii, Note 3 P. 



40 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The fading -wreath for whicli they bled ; 
In aooth, 'twas strange, tliis old man's verse 
Could Cixll them from their marble hearse. 

Tlie Harper smiled, well-pleased ; for ne'er 
Was flattery lost on poe t's ear : 
A simple race ! they waste their toil 
For the vain tribute of a smile ; 
E'en when in age their flame expires. 
Her dulcet breath can fan its fu'es : 
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, 
And strives to trim the short-Uved blaze. 

Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, 
And thus his tale continued ran. 



m]t £as of tl)e Cost Ulinstrcl. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 

Call it not vain : — they do not err, 
Who say, that when the Poet dies, 

Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 
And celebrates his obsequies : 

Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, 
, For the departed Bard make moan ; 

That momitaius weep in ciystal rill ; 

That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 

Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, 

And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; 

And rivers teach their rushing wave 

To murmur dirgea round his grave. 

II. 

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 
Those things inanimate C!ir moiu-n ; 
But that the stream, the wood, the gale, 
Is vocal with the plaintive wail 
Of those, who, else forgotten long. 
Lived in the poet's faithful song, 
And, with the poet's pai'ting breath, 
^\'^losc memory feels a second death, 
Tlie Maid's pale shade, who wails her lot, 
That love, true love, should be forgot, 
From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear 
Upon the gentle Minstrel's bier: 
The phantom Knight, his glory fled, 

* ' riff. — " Spear-kcads above the colamns don." — Ed. 
' See Appendix, Note 3 Q. 
3 In the first edition we read — 

" Vails not to tell what hundreds more 

From tlie rich Merse and Lammermore," &c. 
The lines on Wcdderburne and SwintOQ were Inserted i 
lie second edition. — Ed. 



Mourns e'er the field he heap'd with dead ; 

Mounts the wilil blast that sweeps amain, 

And shrieks along the battle-plain. 

The Chief, whose antique crownlet long 

Still sparkled in the feudal song. 

Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 

Sees, in the thanedom once liis own. 

His ashes undistiiiguish'd Ue, 

His place, his power, liis memory die : 

His groans the lonely caverns fill. 

His tears of rage impel the rill : 

All mourn the Minstrel's harp unstrung. 

Their name unknown, their praise unsimg. 

III. 

Scarcely the hot assault was staid. 

The terms of truce were scarcely made. 

When tliey could spy, from Branksome's towers, 

Tlie advancing march of martial powers. 

Thick clouds of dust afar appear'd. 

And trampling steeds were hiintly heard ; 

Bright spears,' above the columns dun. 

Glanced momentary to the sun ; 

And feudal banners fair display'd 

The banda that moved to Branksome's aid, 

IV. 

Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 

From the fair Middle M.orches came ; 
Tlie Bloody Heart blazed in tlie van, 

Aimouncing Douglas, dreaded name !* 
Vails not to teU what steeds did spurn,' 
WTiere the Seven Spears of Wedderburne' 

Tlieii' men in battle-order set ; 
And Swiiiton laid the lance in rest. 
That tamed of yore the sparkUng crest 

Of Clarence's Plimtagenet.' 
Nor list I say what hundreds more. 
From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 
And Tweed's fair borders, to the war. 
Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar, 

And Hepburn's mingled bimners come, 
Down the steep mountain ghttering fjir. 

And shouting still, " A Horne ! a Home !"' 

V. 
Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent. 
On many a courteous message went ; 
To every cliief and lord they paid 
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid ; 
And told them, — how a truce was made, 

4 Sir David Home of Wedderburne, who was slain in the 
fatal battle of Flodden, left seven sons by his wife, Isabel, 
daughter of Hoppringle of Galashiels (now Pringle of Wliile- 
bank). They were called the Seven Spears of Weddei^ 
burne. 

6 See Appendi.s, Note 3 R. 

6 Ibid. Note 3 .< 



tAMO V. THE LAY OF THE LAST MLXSTUEL. 41 


And liow ;i ilay of fight was ta'wi 


Had found a bloody sheath. 


'Twixt JJusgrave and stout Dt-loraine ; 


'Twixt trnce and war, such sudden change 


And how the Ladye pray'il tliem dear, 


Was not infrequent, nor held strange, 


Tliat idl would stay the figlit to see, 


In the old Border-dixy :' 


And deigu, m love and courtesy. 


But yet on Branksome's towers and town. 


To taste of Brauksome cheer. 


In peaceful merrunent suidi down 


Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot, 


The sun's declining ray. 


Were Entjland's noble Lords forgot. 




Himself, the hoary Seneschal 


VIII. 


Roile forth, in seemly terms to call 


Tlie blithsome signs of wassel gay 


'I'hoso g;dlant foes to Branksome Hall. 


Decay 'd not with the dying day ; 


Accepted Howard, than whom knight 


Soon tlu-oiigh the latticed windows tall 


Was never uubbd, more bold in fight ; 


Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall. 


Nor, when from war and armor fi-ee, 


Divided square by shafts of stone. 


More famed for stately courtesy : 


Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 


But ani^jy Dacre rather chose 


Nor less the gilded rafters rang 


In his pavilion to repose. 


With meiTv harp and beakers' clang : 




And frequent, on the darkening plain. 


VI. 


Loud hollo, whoop, or wliistle ran. 


Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask, 


As bands, then- stragglers to regain. 


How these two hostile armies met ! 


Give the .sluill watchword of their clan , 


Deeming it were no easy task 


And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 


To keep the truce wliich here was set ; 


Douglas or Dacre's conquering name. 


Where martial spirits, all on fire. 




Breathed only blood and mortal ire. — 


IX. 


By mutual mroads, mutual blows, 


Less frequent heard, and fainter still. 


By habit, and by nation, foes. 


At length the various clamors died : 


They met on Teviot's strimd ; 


And you might hear, from Branksome hili 


They met and sate them minjled down, 


No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 


Without a threat, without a frown. 


Save when the changing sentinel 


As brothers meet in foreign land : 


The challenge of his watch could tell ; 


The h:mds, the spear that lately grasp'd. 


And save, where, tlu-ough the dark profouml, 


Still in the mailed gauntlet clasp'd. 


The clanging axe and hammer's sound 


Were interchanged in greeting dear ; 


Rtmg from the nether lawn ; 


Visors were raised, and faces shown. 


For many a busy hand toil'd there. 


And many a friend, to friend made known. 


Strong pales to shape, and beams to squtite.' 


Partook of social cheer. 


The lists' dread barriers to prepare 


Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 


Against the morrow's dawn. 


With dice and di-aughts some chased the 




day ; 


X. 


And some, with many a merry shout. 


Margaret from hall did soon retreat. 


In riot, revelry, and rout. 


Despite the Dame's reproving eye , 


Pursuetl the foot-ball play.* 


Nor mark'd she, as she left her seat, 




FuU many a stified sigh ; 


VII. 


For many a noble warrior strove 


Tet, be it known, had bugles blown. 


To win the Flower of Teviot's love, 


Or sign of war been seen. 


And many a bold ally. — 


Those bands, so fair together ranged. 


With throbbing head and anxious heart. 


Those hands, so frankly interchanged, 


All in her lonely bower apart. 


Had dyed with gore the green : 


In broken sleep she lay : 


Tlie merry sliout by Teviot-side 


By times, from silken couch she rose ; 


Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, 


While yet the banner'd hosts repose. 


And in the groan of death ; 


She view'd the dawning day : 


And wliingers,'' now in friendship bare, 


Of all the hundreds stmk to rest. 


The social meal to jjiul and share. 


Fu-st woke the loveUest and the best 


> See Appendix, Note 3 T. 


= See Appenilix, Note 3 U. « Ibid. Note 3 V 


* A sort of knite or poniard. 


* This line is not in the first edition. 



42 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v 


XL 


The heart of them that loved so well 


She gazed upon the iimer court, 


True love's the gift wltich God has given 


WTiich in the tower's tail shadow lay ; 


To man alone beneath the heaven : 


Where courser's clang, and stamp, and snort, 


It is not fantasy's hot fire. 


Had rung the livelong yesterday ; 


"Whose wishe.?, soon as granted, fly ; 


Now stiU as death ; till stalking slow, — 


It liveth not in fierce desire. 


The jinglijig spiu-s announced his tread, — 


With dead desire it doth not die ; 


A stately warrior pass'd below ; 


It is the secret sympathy, 


But when he raised his plumed liead — 


The silver link,' the silken tie. 


Blessed Mary ! can it be ? — 


Which heart to heart, and mind to mind. 


Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, 


In body and in soul can bind. — 


He walks through Branksome's hostile towers. 


Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, 


With fearless step and free. 


To tell you of the approacliiug fight. 


She dared not sign, she dared not speak — 




Oh ! if one page's slumbers break. 


XIV. 


His blood the price must pay ! 


Their warning blasts the bugles blew. 


Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, 


The pipe's shrill port^ aroused each clan ; 


Not Margaret's yet more precious tears. 


In haste, the deadly strife to view. 


Shall buy liis Hfe a day. 


The troopmg warriors eager ran : 




Thick round the Usts then l.ances stood. 


XII. 


Like blasted pines m Ettrick wood ; 


Tet was his hazard small ; for well 


To Bnmksome many a look they threw. 


You may bethink you of the spell 


The combatants approach to view. 


Of that sly urchin p.age ; 


And bandied many a word of boa,st. 


This to liis lord he did impart. 


About the knight each favor'd most. 


And made liim seem, by glamour art. 




A knight from Hermit:xge. 


XV. 


Unchallenged thus, the warder's post. 


Meantime full anxious was tlie Dame ; 


The court, unchallenged, tlius he cross'd. 


For now arose disputed chiim. 


For all the vassalage : 


Of who sltould fight for Dcloraiue, 


But ! what magic's quaint disguise 


'Twist Harden and 'twixt Tliirlestaine ■? 


Coidd blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 


Tliey 'gan to reckon kin and rent. 


Slie started from her seat ; 


And frowning brow on brow was bent ; 


WTiile with surprise and fear she strove. 


But yet not long the strife — for, lo ! 


And both could scarcely master love — 


Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 


Lord Henry's at her feet. 


Strong, as it seem'd, and free from pahi. 




In armor sheatli'd from top to toe. 


XIIL 


Appear'd, and craved the combat due. 


Oft liave I mused, what purpose bad 


Tlie Dame her charm successful knew,* 


That foul malicious urcliin had 


And the fierce cliiefs their claims withdrew. 


To bring tliis meeting round ; 




For happy love's a lieaveuly sight. 


XVL 


And by a vile malignant sprite 


Wlien for the lists they sought the plain, 


In such no joy is fomid ; 


The stately Ladye's silken rein 


And oft I've deem'd, perchance he thought 


Did ni»ble Howard liold ; 


Tlieir erring passion might have wrought 


LTnarmed bv her side he walk'd. 


Sorrow, and sm, and shame; 


And nmcli, in courteous phrase, the)- talk'd 


And death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight, 


Of feats of arms of old. 


And to the gentle lad ye bright. 


Costly liis garb — his Flemish ruff 


Disgrace, and loss of fame. 


Fell o'er his doublet, sliaped of butf. 


But earthly spirit could not tell 


With satin slash'd and lined ; 


' In tile first edition, " tlie silver cord ;" — 


8 It may be noticed that the late Lord Na;.ier. tlio represen- 


" Yes, love, indeed, is li^'iit from lieaven ; 


tative of the Si;otts of Thirlcstane, was Lord Lieutenant ol 


A S|iarl£ of tliat immortal fire 


Selkirkshire (of which the author was sherilV-depule; at the 


With angels shared, by Alia given. 


lime when the poem was written ; the competitor for the hon- 


To lift from earth our low desire," &c. 


or of supplying Deloraine's place was the poet's own ances- 


Tlie Oiiwur. 


tor.— Ed. 


* A martiai piece of masio*, adapted to the bagpipes. 


* See Canto 111. Stanza xxiii. 



CANTO V. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 43 


Tawny Ws boot, and gold his spur, 


He sayeth, that William of Delorame 


His cloak waa all of Poland fur, 


Is traitor false by Border laws ; 


His liose with sUver twined ; 


Tills with his sword he will maintain. 


His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, 


So liclii him Gotl, .ind liis good cause I" 


Hung in a broad and studded belt ; 




Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still 


XX. 


Call'd noble Howai-d, Belted Will. 


SCOTTISH HERALD. 




" Here standetli William of Deloraine, 


XVII. 


Good kniglit and true, of noble strain. 


Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, 


Who sayeth, tliat foul treason's stain. 


Fair Margaret on her palfrey came. 


Since he bore arms, ne'er soil'd his coit ; 


Wlioae foot-cloth swept the ground : 


And that, so help him God above ! 


Wliite was her wimple, and her reil, 


He will on Musgrave's body prove. 


And her loose locks a cbaplet pale 


He lies most foully in his throat." 


Of white.'it roses bound ; 


LORD DACRE. 


The lordly Angus, by her side, 


" Forward, brave champions, to the fight ! 


In courtesy to cheer her tried ; 


Sound trumpets !" — *— 


Without liis !ud, her hand in vain 


LORD HOJIE. 


Had strove to guide her broider'd reia 


— " God defend the right 1"'— 


He deem'd, she shudder'd at the .sight 


Then, Teviot ! how thuie echoes riuig. 


Of warriors met for mortal tight ; 


When bugle-sotmd and trumpet-clang 


But cause of terror all unguess'd. 


Let loose the martial foes. 


Was fluttering in her gentle breast. 


And in mid list, with shield poised high. 


When, in their chahs of cruuson placed, 


And measured step and wary eye. 


The Dame and she the barriers graced. 


The combat.ants did close. 


XVIIL 


XXL 


Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 


111 would it suit your gentle ear. 


An English knight led forth to view ; 


Ye lovely listeners, to hear 


Scarce rued the boy liis present pUght, 


How to the axe the helms did sound. 


So much he long'd to see the light. 


And blood pmu"'d down from many a wound ; 


Withm the lists, in knightly pride. 


For desperate was the strife and long. 


High Home and haughty Dacre ride ; 


And either warrior fierce and strong. 


Tlieir leading staffs of steel they wield. 


But, were each dame a listening knight, 


As marsluils of the mortal field ; 


I well could tell how warriors fight ! 


Wliile to each knight their care assign'd 


For I have seen war's Ughtniug flashing. 


Like vantage of the sun and wind.' 


Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, 


Then heralds lioarse did loud proclaim. 


Seen tlu-ough red blood the war-horse dashing, 


In King and Queen, and Warden's name. 


And scorn'd amid the reehng strife. 


That none, wliile lasts the strife. 


To yield a step for death or Ufe. — 


Should dare, by look, or sign, or word. 




Aid to a champion to afford, 


XXIL 


On peril of his fife ; 


'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow' 


And not a breath the silence broke. 


Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain ; 


Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke : — 


He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no ! 




Thence never shalt thou rise again ! 


XIX. 


He chokes in blood — some friendly liand 


ENGLISH HEE.\LD. 


Undo the visor's barred band. 


• Here st,andeth Richard of Musgrave, 


Unfi.x the gorget's iron clasp. 


Good knight and true, and freely bom. 


And give him room for Mfe to gasp ! — 


Amends from Deloraine to crave. 


0, bootless aid ! — haste, holy Friar,* 


For fold despiteous scathe and scorn. 


Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 


This conpteL v/s? aitded in the second edition. 


ducted acconling to the strictest ordinances of chivalry, anil 


After this, in the first edition, we read only. 


delineated with all the minuteness of an ancient romancer. 


" At the la5t words, with deadly blows. 


The modem reader will probably find it rather tedious ; al' 


The ready warriors fiercely close.** — Ed. 


out the concluding stanzas, which are in a loftier measure— 
* 'Tis done ! 'tis done !' " &c. — Jeffrey. 


» " The whole scene of the dnel, or jndicial combat, is con- 


* Fits; F^lition, " In vain — In vain! haste, holy Friar." 



44 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V, 



Of all his guilt let liim be sliriven, 

And smooth his path from earth to hearen! 

XXIII. 

In haste the holy Friar sped ; — 
His naked foot "was dyed with red, 

A.s tlirougli the lists he ran ; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high, 
That liail'd the conqueror's victor}'. 

He raised the dying mmi ; 
Loose waved liis silver beard and hair, 
As o'er him lie kneel'd down in prayer ; 
And still tile crucifix ou high 
He holds before his darkening eye; 
And still he bends an anxious ear. 
His faltering penitence to hear ; 

Still props liiin iVt)ia the bloody sod. 
Still, even when soul and body part, 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart. 

And bids him trust in God ! 
Unheard he prays ; — -the death-pang's o'er I' 
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 

XXIV. 

As if exhausted in the light, 
Or musing o'er the piteous sight, 

The silent victor stands ; 
His beaver did he not unclasp, 
Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp 

Of gratulatuig hands. 
When io ! strange cries of wild surprise. 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands ; 
And all, amid the throug'd array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man, 
Who downward from the castle ran : 
He cross'd the barriers at a bound. 
And wild and haggard look'd ai'ound. 

As dizzy, and in pain ; 
And all, upon the armed ground, 

luiew William of Deloraine ! 
Each ladye sprung from seat with speed ; 
Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; 

" And who art thou," they cried, 
" Wlio hast tliio battle fought and won ?" 
His plumed hehn was soon undone — 

" Cranstoun of Teviot-side ! 
For this fair prize I've fought and won," — 
And to the Ladye led her sou. 

XXV 

Full oft the rescued boy she kiss d. 
And often press'd him to her breast ; 
For, under all her dauntless show. 
Her heart had tluobb'd at every blow ; 

I Orig.—*' Unheard he prays ; — 'tis o'er ! His t'erl " 



Tet not Lord Cranstoun deign'd she greet, 
Though low he kneeled at her feet. 
Me hsts not tell what words were made. 
What Douglas, Home, and H(jward said— 

— For Howard was a generous foe — 
And how the clan united pray'd 

The Ladye would the feud forego. 
And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower. 

XXVL 

She look'd to river, look'd to hUl, 

Thought on the Spuit's prophecy, 
Tlien broke her silence stern and still, — 

" Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me ; 
Then influence kindly stars may shower 
On Teviot's tide and Brauksome's tower, 

For pride is quell'd, and love is free." — 
She took fan: Margaret by the hand. 
Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand 

Tliat hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she : — 
" As I am true to thee and thine. 
Do thou be true to me and mine ! 

This clasp of love our bond shall be ; 
For this is your betrothing day, 
And all these noble lords shiill stay, 

To grace it with then- company." 

XXVIL 
All as they left the Usted plain. 
Much of the story she did gain ; 
How Cranstoun fouglit with Deloraine, 
And of his page, and of the Book 
Which from the wounded knight he took; 
And how he sought her castle liigli, 
That morn, by help of gramarye ; 
How, m Sir Wilham's armor dight. 
Stolen by liis page, wliile slept the knight, 
He took on him the single fight. 
But half his tale he left unsaid. 
And hnger'd till he joiu'd the maid. — 
Cared not the Ladye to betray 
Her mystic arts in view of day ; 
But well she thought, ere midnight came. 
Of that strange page the pride to tame. 
From Ills foul hands the Book to save. 
And send it back to Michael's grave. — 
Needs not to tell each tender word 
'Twixt MargiU'et and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord , 
Nor how she told of former woes, 
And how her bosom fell jmd rose, 
While he and Musgrave bandied blows. — 
Needs not tliese lovers' joys to teU : 
One day, fan- maids, you'll know them weU. 

xxvin. 

William of Delorame, some chance 
Had waken'd from liis deatlihke trance ; 



OANTO V. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



46 



And taught that, in the listed plain, 
Another, in his arms and sliield, 
Agiiinst fierce Musgravc axe did wield, 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field, unarm'd, he r;m. 
And hence Ills presence scared the clan, 
Wlio held him for some fleeting wraith,' 
And not a man of blood and breath. 

Not much this new ally he loved, 

Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, 
Ho greeted him right heartilie : 
He would not walcen old debate, 
For he was void of rancorous hate, 

Though rude, and scant of courtesy ; 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood, 
Unless when men-at-arms withstood, 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe : 

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now, 

Wlien on dead Musgrave he look'd dowp , 

Grief darken'd on his rugged brow, 
Though half disguised with a fi-own ; 
And thus, while sorrow, bent his head, 
His foeman's epitaph he made. 

XXIX. 
" Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here 1 

I ween, my deadly enemy ; 
For, if I slew thy brother dear, 

Thou slew'st a sister's son to me 
And when I lay in dungeon dark. 

Of Naworth Castle, long months three, 
Till ransora'd for a thousand mark. 

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 
And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, 

And thou were now aUve, as I, 
No mortal man should us divide, 

TiU one, or both of us did die : 
Yet rest thee God ! for well I know 
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
In all the northern counties here. 
Whose word is SnafiJe, spur, and spear," 
Thou wert the best to foUow gear 1 
'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind. 
To see how thou the chase couldst wind. 
Cheer the dark blood-hoimd on his way, 
And with the bugle rouse the fray I^ 

1 The spectral apparition of a living person. 

" " The lands that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear. 
Have for their blazon h^d, the snalfle. spur, and spear." 

Polij-Mbion, Song 13. 

• See Appendi-x. Note 3 VV. 

* " The style of the oM romancers has been very soccess- 



I'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musg;rave were alive again."* — 

XXX. 

So mourn'd he, till Lord Dacre's band 
Were bowiiiug back to Cumberland. 
They raised brave Musgrave from the field, 
And laid him on his bloody shield ; 
Ou levell'd lances, fom' and four. 
By ttu-ns, the noble burden bore. 
Before, at times, upon the gale. 
Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail ; 
Behind, four priests, in sable stole, 
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul: 
Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; 
And thus the gallant knight they bore, 
Tlu-ough Liddesdale to Leven's shore ; 
Thence to Holme Coltraine's lofty nave, 
And laid him in his father's grave. 



The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the s(jng. 
The mimic march of death prolong ; 
Now seems it far, and now a-near. 
Now meets, and now eludes the ear ; 
Now seems some mountain side to sweep. 
Now faintly dies in vaUey deep ; 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail. 
Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closmg grave, 
Rimg the full choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell. 
Why he, who touch'd the harp so well. 
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil. 
Wander a poor and thankless soil. 
When the more generous Southern Land 
Would well requite his skilful hand. 

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er 
His only friend, !us harp, was dear. 
Liked not to hear it rank'd so high 
Above liis flowing poesy ; 
Less liked he .still, that scornful jeer 
Misprised the land he loved so dear ; 
High wiis the sound, as thus again 
The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. 

fully imitated in the whole of this scene ; and the speech of 
Deloraine, who. roused from his bed of sickness rushes into 
the lists, and apostrophizes his fallen enemy, brought to our 
recollection, as well trom the peculiar turn of expression in 
its commencement, as in the tone of sentiments which it con. 
veys, some oi yXic funebrcs oraiiones of iMe Mart Arthur.*^ - 
Critical Rcvicip 



46 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI. 



^l]e £au of tl)c Cast fUiiistrcl. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



I. 

Bre.\the9 there the m.in with soul so dead, 
Wlio never to liimself hath said, 

This is my own, my native Umd ! 
Wliuse lieart hath ne'er within Wm burn'd, 
As home his foosteps he hath turn'd. 
From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
If such there breatlie, go, mark him well ; 
For liuu no Minstrel ra)3tures swell ; 
High though liis titles, proud liis name. 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all ui self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from wlience he sprung, 
Unwept, unlionor'd, and unsung. 

II. 
Caledonia ! stern and wild,* 
Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 
_;and of brown heath and shaggy wood, 
Land of the mouutaiu aud the flood, 
Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 
Can e'er untie the filial baud. 
That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 
Still, as I view each well-known scene, 
Tliink what is now, and what hath been, 
Seems as, to me, of all bereft, 
Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; 
And thus I l(jve them better still, 
Even in extremity of ill. 
By Yarrow's streams still let me stray. 
Though none should guide my feeble way ; 
StUl feel the breeze down Ettrick break. 
Although it chill my wither'd cheek ■' 
Still lay my head by Teviot Stone,' 
Though there, forgotten and alone, 
The Bard may draw his j^arting groan. 

IIL 

Not scorn'd like me ! to Branksome HaU 
The Minstrels came, at festive call ; 
Trooping they came, from near and far, 
The jovial priests of mirth and war ; 
Alike for fea.st and fight prepared. 
Battle and banquet both they shared. 

1 •' Tlie Lady of tlie Lake lias nothing so good as the ad- 
ilress lo Scotland." — McIntosu. 

2 The preceding four linea now form the inscription on the 
monument of Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Sel- 
Itirk. — See Life, vol x i. 257. 



Of late, before each martial clan, 

Thcj' blew tlieir death-note in the van, 

But now, for every merry mate. 

Rose the portcullis' iron grate ; 

They sound the pipe, they strike the string, 

They dance, they revel, and they sing, 

Till the rude tmrets shake aud ring. 

IV. 

Me Usts not at this tide declare 

The splendor of the spousal rite, 
How rauster'd in the chapel i;ui- 

Both maid and matron, squire and knight ; 
Me Usts not tell of owches rare, 
Of mantles green, aud braided hair, 
Aud kirtles fmr'd with miniver ; 
What plumage waved the altar round. 
How spurs and ringing chainlets sotind ; 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek ; 
That lovely hue which comes and flies, 
As awe and shtuue alternate rise ! 



Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 
Chapel or altar came not nigh ; 
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace. 
So much she fear'd each hoi)' place. 
False slanders these : — I trust right well 
She wi-ought not by forbidden speU ;' 
For mighty words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in plauetaiy hour : 
Yet scarce I praise their venturous part, 
Who tamper with such dangerous art. 

But tliis for ftiithful truth I say. 
The Ladye by the alttir stood, 

Of sable velvet her array. 

And on her head a crimson hood. 
With pearls embroider'd and entwined. 
Guarded with goUl, with ermine lined; 
A merlin sat upon her wrist* 
Held by a leash of silken twjst. 

VI 
The spousal rites were ended soon : 
'Twas now the merry hour of noon, 
And in the lofty arched haU 
Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward aud squire, with heedful haste 
Marshall'd the rank of every guest ; 
Pages, with ready blade, were there, 
The mighty meal to carve and share : 
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane, ' 



s The line ' 
edition. — Ed. 



' Still lay my head," &c., was not in the first 



4 See Appendix, Note 3 X. 
s Ibid. Note 3 Y. 



CANTO VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



47 



And princely peacock's gilded train,' 

And o'er the boiir-liead, ganiish'd brave, 

And cygnet from St. Mary's wave ;" 

O'er ptarmigan and venison. 

The priest had spoke liis benison, 

Tlicn rose tlie riot and the din, 

Above, beneath, without, witliin I 

For, from tlie lofty balcony, 

Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery ; 

Their clanging bowls old warriors quaff'd. 

Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd ; 

Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild. 

To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 

The hooded liawk.s, liigli perch'd on beam, 

The clamor join'd with whistUng scream. 

And flapp'd theu' wings, and shook ( heir bells, 

In concert with the stag-hounils' yells. 

Round go the flasks of ruddy wine. 

From Bor<leaux. Orlean.=, or the Rliine ; 

Then- tasks the busy sewers ply, 

And all is mirth and revelry. 

VII. 

The Goblin P.age, omitting stUl 

No opportunity of ill. 

Strove now, while blood ran hot and high. 

To rouse debate and je.alousy ; 

Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfcnstein, 

By nature fierce, and warm with wine, 

And now in humor highly cross'd. 

About some steeds his band had lost. 

High words to words succeeding still. 

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill ;' 

A hot and hardy Rutherford, 

'WTiom men call Dickon Draw-the-sword. 

He took it on the page's saye, 

Hunthill had driven these steeds away. 

Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, 

The kindling discord to compose : 

Stern Rutherford right little said. 

But bit his glove,' !md shook his head. — 

A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 

Stout Cotirade, cold, and drench'd in blood. 

His bosom gored with many a womid. 

Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found ; 

Unknown the manner of Ms death. 



1 Ppe Appendix, Note 3 Z. 

2 There nre orten flights of wiM swanfl upon St. lVTp.ry's 
Lake, at the head of the river Yarrow. See Wordsworth's 
i'arrow Visited. 

" The swan on still St. Mary's Lake 
Floats double, swan and shadow." — Ed. 

3 See Appendix. Note 4 A. 
< Ibid. Note 4 B. 

^ The person hearing this redonlahle jtom ilr tri crrc was an 
Elliot, and resided at Tliorlesliope. in Liddesdalc He occurs 
ill the list of Border rider?, in 1597. 

* See .\ppsndix. Note 4 C. 
■* Tie appearance and dress of tlia coiQpanj assembled in 



Gone was liis brand, both sword and sheath ; 
• But ever from that tune, 'twas said, 
Tliat Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 

vin. 

The dwarf, who fear'd his master's eye 
Might his fold treachery espie, 
Now sought the castle buttery. 
Where many a yeonmn, bold and free, 
Revell'd as merrily and well 
As those that sat in lordly selle. 
Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise 
The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes ;* 
And he, as by his breeding bound. 
To Howard's merry-men sent it rovmd. 
To quit them, on the English side, 
Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 
" A deep carouse to yon fau- bride 1" 
At every pledge, from vat and pail, 
Foani'd forth in floods the nut-brown ale ; 
While shout the riders every one : 
Such day of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan, 
Since old Buccleuch the name did gain. 
When in the clench the buck was ta'en ° 

IX. 

The wily page, with vengeful thought, 

Remember'd liim of TinI inn's yew. 
And swore, it .should be deai-ly bought 

That ever he the arrow drew. 
First, he the yeoman did molest. 
With bitter gibe and taimtiug jest ; 
Told, how he fled at Solway strife. 
And how Hob Ai-mstrong cheer'd liis wife ; 
Then, shunning still his powerful arm. 
At unawares he wrought him harm ; 
From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 
Dash'd from his lips his can of beer ; 
Then, to liis knee sly creepuig on. 
With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 
The venom'd wound, and festering joint, 
Long after rued that bodkin's point. 
The startled yeoman swore and spurn'd, 
And board and flagons overturn'd.'' 
Riot and clamor wild began ; 
Back to the hall the Urchin ran ; 



the chapel, and the description of the sabsequent feast, in 
which tile hounds and hawiis are not the least important p< r- 
aonages of the drama, are again happy imitations of those au- 
thors from whose rich hut unpolished ore Mr. Scott has wrou-rlit 
much of his most exquisite imagery and description. A m>- 
ciety, such as that assembled in Branxholm Castle, inflamed 
with national prejudie^ s. and heated with wine, seems to have 
contained in itself sufficient seeds of spontaneous disorder ; but 
the goblin page is well introduced, as applying a torch to this 
mass of combustibles. Ciuarrels, highly characteristic of Bor- 
der manners, both in their cause and the manner in which thev 
are supported, ensue, as well among the lordly guests, as lh» 
yeomen assembled in the buttery." — Critical Reaiew 1805 



48 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vl 


Took in a tlarklijig nook liis post, 


And died for her sake in Palestine, 


And giina'd and imitter'd, " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 


So Love was still the lord of ail. 


X. 

1 


Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 


By this, the Dame, lest farther fray- 


(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 


Should mar the concord of the day, 


Pray for their soids who died fi>r love, 


Had bid the Minstrels tune then- lay. 


For Love shall still be lord of all 1 


And first stepp'd forth old Albert Graeme, 




The Minstrel of that ancient name :' 


XIIL 


Was none who struck the harp so -well, 


As ended Albert's simple lay, 


AVithin the Land Debateable ; 


Arose a bard of loftier port ; 


Well friended, too, Ms hardy kui. 


For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay, 


Whoever lost, were sure to win ; 


Renown'd in hauglity Henry's court : 


Tliey sought the beeves that made their broth. 


There rung thy harp, unrivall'd long. 


In Scotland and in England both. 


Fitztraver of the silver song 1 


In homely guise, as nature bade, 


The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — 


His simple song the Borderer said. 


Who has not heard of Surrey's fame S* 




His was the hero's soul of fire. 


XL 


And Itis the bard's immortal name, 


ALBERT GR.EirE.' 


And his was love, exalted high 


It was an EngUsh ladye bright, 


By all the glow of chivalry. 


{Tlae sun shines fair on Carh^le wall,)' 




And she would marry a Scottisii knight. 


XIV. 


For Love will still be lord of aU. 


They souglit, together, chines afar. 




And oft, withui some oHve grove, 


BUthely they saw the rising sun. 


When even came with twinkluig star, 


■ftTien he shone fair on Cai-lisle wall ; 


They sung of Surrey's absent love. 


But they were sad ere day was done, 


His step the Italian peasant stay'd. 


Though Love was still the lord of aU. 


And deem'd, that spirits from on high, 




Round where some hermit saint was laid, 


Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, 


Were breathing he.avenly melody ; 


When the sun shines fan- on Carlisle wall; 


So sweet diil harp and voice combine," 


Her brother gave but a flask of wme, 


To praise the name of Geraldine. 


For ire tliat Love was lord of all. 






XV. 


For she had lands, both meadow and lea. 


Fitztraver ! what tongue may say 


Where the sun sliines fair on Carlisle wall. 


The pangs thy faithful bosom knew, 


And he swore her death, ere he would see 


When Surrey, of the deathless lay. 


A Scottish knight the lord of all ! 


Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew? 




Regardless of the tyrant's frown, 


xn. 


His harp call'd wrath and vengeance down. 


That wine she had not tasted well. 


He left, for Naworth's non towers, 


(The sun sliiues fair on CarUsle wall,) 


Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers, 


When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell. 


And faithful to his patron's name. 


For Love was still the lord of all ! 


Witli Howard still Fitztraver came ; 




Lord William's foremost favorite he. 


He pierced her brother to the heart. 


And chief of aU his minstrelsy. 


Where the sun shines fan- ou CarUsle wall : 




So perish all would true love part, 


XVL 


That Love may still be lord of all ! 


riTZTK.WER." 




'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart bu.it 


And then he took the cross divine. 


high; 


(Where the sun shines fan- on Carhsle wall,) 


He heard the midnight beU with anxious start, 


• See Appemlix. Note 4 D. 


direct and concise narrative of a tragical occurrence.** — Jef- 


3 •• It is the rtuthor's object, in these songs, to exemplify the 


frey. 


ehfiereiit styles of liallatl narrative which prev.ailed in this isl- 


s See Appendix, Note 4 E. 


and at difTerenl periods, or in different conditions of society. 


4 Ibid. Note 4 F. 


The first (Albert's) is conducted upon the rude and simi)le 


* First Etlit. — " So sweet t/tcir h.irp avil voices join.** 


model of the old Border ditties, and produces its effect by tlie 


*' The second song, that of Fitztraver, the bawl of the ao 



CANTO VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



49 



Wiich tolil the mystic hour, approaching nigli, 

Wlieii wise Cornelius promised, by his art, 
To show to liim the ladye of his lieart, 

Albeit betwixt them roar'd the ocean grim; 
Yet so the sage had higlit to play his part, 
That he shoulil see her form in life and limb, 
ind mark', if still she loved, and still she thought 
of him. 

XVII. 
D.irlj was the vaulted room of gramarye. 

To which the wizard led the gallant Knight, 
Save tliat before a mirror, huge and higli, 

A hallowM taper shed a glimmering light 
Ou mystic implements of niiigic might; 

On cross, and character, and talisman. 
And almagest, and altar, nothing bright : 

For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan. 
As watchlight by the bed of some departing 



XVIII. 
But soon, witliin that mirror huge and higli. 

Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 
And forms upon its breast the Earl 'gan spy, 

Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream ; 
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 

To form a lordly and a lofty room, 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 
Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in 
gloom. 

XIX. 

Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair 

The slender form, wliich lay on couch of Ind ! 
O'er her wliite bosom stray'd her hazel hair. 

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; 
All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, 

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine. 
Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to find ; — 

That favor'd strain was Surrey's raptured line. 
That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldiue. 

XX. 

Slow roll'd the clouds upon the lovely form. 
And swept tlie goodly vision all away — 

So royal envy roll'd the murky storm 
O'er my beloved Master's glorious day. 

Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay 
On thee, and on thy children's latest line, 

The wild caprice of thy despotic sway. 



The gory bridal bed, tlie plunder'd shrine. 
The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of Gei.J- 
dine ! 

XXL 
Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong 
Applauses of Fitztraver's song ; 
These hated Henry's name as death. 
And those still held the ancient faith. — 
Then, from his seat, with lofty air, 
Rose Hai'old, bard of brave St. Clair ; 
St. Cl.air, who, feasting high at Home, 
Had with that lord to battle come. 
Harold was born where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ;' 
'Where erst St, Clairs held prmcely sway 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — • 
Still nods their palace to its fall. 
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — '^ 
Thence oft he mark'd fierce Pentland rave, 
As if grun Odin rode her wave ; 
And watch'd, the whilst, with visage pale. 
And throbbmg heart, the struggling sail ; 
For all of wonderful and wild 
Had raptm-e for the lonely child. 

XXII. 

And much of wild and wonderful 
In these rude isles might fancy cull ; 
For thither came, in times afar. 
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, 
The Norsemen, train'd to spoil and blood, 
SkiU'd to prepare the raven's food ; 
Kings of the main their leaders brave. 
Their barks the dragons of the wave." 
And there, in many a stormy vale. 
The Scald had told his wondi-ous tale ; 
And many a Runic column high 
Had witness'd grim idolatry. 
And thus had Harold, in his youth, 
Learn'd many a Saga's rhyme uncouth,— 
Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous cm-l'il. 
Whose monstrous circle gu'ds the world ;' 
Of those dread Maids,' whose hideous yell 
Maddens the battle's bloody swell ; 
Of Ciiiefs, who, guided tlu'ough the gloom 
By the pale death-lights of the tomb, 
Ransack'd the graves of warriors old. 
Their falchions wrench'd from corpses' hold,' 
Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms. 
And bade the dead arise to arms ! 
With war and wonder all on flame. 



complished Surrey, has more of the riclinesg and polish of the 
Italian poetry, and is very beautifully written in a stanza re- 
lembling that of Spenser.*' — Jeffrey. 

' See Appendii, Note 4 G. 3 Ibid. Note 4 H. 

• The chiefs of the Vakingr^ or Scandinavian pir-ltos, as- 



sumed the title of ^mkonungr or Sea-kings. Ships, in the in- 
flated language of the Scalds, are often termed the serpents of 
tlie ocean. 

< See Appendix, Note 4 I. « Ibid. Note 4 K. 

6 Ibid. Note 4 L. 



50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



To Roslin's bowers young Harold came, 
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree. 
He learn'd a milder minstrelsy ; 
Yet something of the Northern spell 
Mix'd with the softer numbers well 

XXIII. 

n.tROLD.^ 

O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay. 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.' 

— " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Rayensheuch," 

Nor temj5t the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackening wave is edged with white : 
To inch'* and rock the sea-mews fly ; 

The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. 

" Last night the gifted Seer did view 

A wet shroud swathed' round ladye gay ; 

Then stay thee, Ftiir, in Ravensheuch : 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?" — 

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 

To-night at RosHn leads the baU, 
But that my ladye-mother there 

Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

" 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide, 
If 'tis not iUl'd by Rosabelle." — 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night, 

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire's hght. 
And redder than the bright moon-beam. 

1 " The third song is intended to represent that wild style of 
com])osition which prevailed among the hards of the Northern 
Continent, somewhat softened and adorned by the Minstrel's 
residence in tlie south. We prefer it, njwnthe whole, to either 
of the two former, and shall give it entire to our readers, who 
will probably be strucli with the po'Uical effect of the dramatic 
form into whicli it is thrown, and of the indirect description by 
whicii every thing is most expressively told, without one word 
of di:*tinct narrative. ' ' — Jeffrey. 

5 This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. Henry 
St. Clair, the second of the line, married Rosabelle, fourth 
daughter of the Earl of Stratherne. 

s See Appendix, Note 4 M. 4 Inch, isle, 

s First Edit. " A wet shroud roU'd." 

6 First Edit. " It reddened" &c. 

' First Edit. " Both vaulted crypt," &c. 

8 See Appendix, Note 4 N. 

8 First Edit, "But the kelpie rung and the mermaids sung." 



It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
It rudched' all the copse-wood glen ; 

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak. 
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. 

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie. 

Each Baron, for a sable sliroud, 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seem'd all on fire withiu, around, 

Deep sacristy' and altar's pale ; 
Shone every pillar fohage-bound. 

And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail* 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly hne of high St. Clan-. 

There are twenty of RosUd's barons bold 
Lie buried witlun that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! 

And each St. Clair was buried there. 
With candle, with book, and with knell ; 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds stmg, 
The dh'ge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXIV. 

So sweet was Harold's piteous lay,'° 

Scarce mark'd the guests the darken'd hall, 
Though, long before the sulking day, 

A wondrous shade involved them all : 
It was not eddying mist or fog, 
Draiu'd by the sun from fen or bog ; 

Of no echpse had sages told ; 
And yet, as it .-ame on apace, 
Each one could scarce his neighbor's face. 

Could scarce his own stretch'd hand behold. 
A secret horror check'd the feast, 

to " I observe a great poetic climax, designed, doubtless, in 
tlie two last of these songs from the first." — Anna Se\v-\rd. 

"We (G. Ellis and J. H. Frere) entertain some doubts 
about the propriety of dwelling so long on the minstrel songs 
in the last canto. I say we doubt, because we are not awar« 
of your having ancient' authority for such a practice; but 
though the attempt was a bold one, inasmuch as it is not usual 
to adil a -' b«le canto to a story which is already finished, we 
are Jar ln.rn wishing that you had left it unaltempted."-- 
Etlis to Hcfitt. " The sixth canto is altogether redundant ; 
for the poem should certaiidy have closed with the union 
of the lovers, when the interest, if any, was at an end. But 
what could I do ? I h.id my book and my page still on my 
hands, and must get rid of them at all events. Manage them 
as I would, their catastrophe must have been insufljcient to 
occupy an entire canto ; so I was fain to eke it out with the 
songs of the minstrels." — Scott to JUiss Seward — ii '"c, vol. il . 
pp. 218, 2iB ' 



CANTO VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



51 



And chill'd the soiJ of every guaet 
Even the high Dame stood half aghast. 
She know some evil on the blast ; 
The elvish page fell to the ground, 
And, shuddering, mutter'd, " Found ! found 1 
found 1" 

XXV. 

Then sudden, through the darken'd ah" 

A flash of lightmng came ; 
So broad, so bright, so red the glare, 

The castle seem'd on flame. 
Glanced every rafter of the hall. 
Glanced every shield upon the wall ; 
Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone, 
Were instant seen, and instant gone ; 
Full through the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless flash'd the levin-branJ, 
And fiU'd the hall with smouldering smoke, 
As on the elvish page it broke. 

It broke, with thunder long and loud, 

Dismay'd the brave, appall'd the proud, — 
From sea to sea the lariun rung ; 

On Berwick wiill, and at Carlisle withal. 
To arms the startled warders sprung. 
When ended was the dreadful roar. 
The elvish dwarf was seen no more 1' 

XXVI 
Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some. 
Cry, with loud summons, " Gixbin, come 1" 
And on the spot where bm'st the brand. 

Just where the p.ige had flung him down, 
Some saw an arm, .and some a hand. 
And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence pray'd and shook, 
And terror dinim'd each lofty look. 

1 " The Goblin P'lge is, in onr opinion, the capital deform- 
ity of the poem. We have already said the whole machinery 
is useless ; but the magic studies of the lady, and the rifled 
tomb of Michael Scott, give occasion to so much admirable 
poetry, that we can, on no account, consent to part with 
them. The page, on the other hand, is a perpetual burden 
to the poet and to the readers; it is an undignitied and im- 
probable fiction, which excites neither terror, admiration, 
nor astonishment, but needlessly debases the strain of the 
whole work, and excites at once our incredulity and con- 
tempt. He is not a 'tricksy spirit,' Hie Ariel, with whom 
the imagination is irresistibly enamored, nor a tinv monarch, 
like Oberon. disposing of the destinies of mortals ; he rather 
appear to 03 to be an awkward sort of a mongrel between 
Puck and Caliban, of a ser^'ile and brutal nature, aud limited 
in his poweR to the indnlgence of petty malignity, and tlie 
infliction of despicable injuries. Besides this objection to his 
character, his existence hiia no sujiport from any general or 
established superetition. Fairies and devils, ghosts, nngels, 
and witches, are creatures with whom we are all familiar, 



and who excite in all classes of mankind emotions with which j 



But none of all the astonish'd train 
Was so dism.ay'd as Deloraine ; 
His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 
'Twas fear'd his mind would ne'er return ; 

For he was speechless, ghastly, wan. 

Like him of whom the story ran. 

Who spoke the spectre-hound in ilau." 
At length, by fits, he darkly told. 
With broken liint, .and shuddering cold- ■ 

That he had seen, right certainly, 
A shape with amice wrapped around. 
With a virought Spanish baldric bound, 

Like pilgrim from beyond the sea ; 
And knew — but how it matter'd not — 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 

XXVII. 
The anxious crowd, with horror pale. 
All trembling heard the wondrous tale ; 

No soimd was made, no word was spoke. 

Till noble Angus silence broke ; 
And he a solemn sacred pUght 

Did to St. Bride of Douglas make,' 

That he a pilgrimage would take 

To Melrose Abbey, for the sake 
Of ilichael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast. 
To some bless'd saint his prayers address'd : 
Some to St. Modan made their vows, 
Some to St. Mtiry of the Lowes, 
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to oiu- Ladye of the Isle ; 
Each did his patron witness make. 
That he such pUgrimage would take. 
And monks should sing, and bells should toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's souL 
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were pray'd, 
'Tis said the noble dame, dismay'd, 
Renoimced, for aye, dark magic's aid. 



we can easily be made to sympathize. But the story of Gilpin 
Horner was never believed out of the village where he is said 
to have made his appearance, and has no claims upon the cre- 
dulity of those who were not originally of his acquaintance. 
There is nothing at all interesting or elegant in the scenes of 
which he is the hero ; and in reading these passages we really 
could not help suspecting that they did not stand in the ro- 
mance when the aged minstrel recited it to the royal Charles 
and his mighty earls, but were inserted afterwards to suit the 
taste of the cottagere among whom he begged his bread on the 
border. We entreat Mr. Scott to inquire into the grounds of 
this suspicion, and to take advantage of any decent pretext he 
can lay hold of for purging the ' Lay' of this ungraceful 
intrud^r.^ We would also move for a ijuo warranto against 
the Spirits of the River aud the Mountain ; for though they 
are come of a very high lineage, we do not know what lawful 
business they could have at Branksome Castle in the yeaa 
1550." — Jeffrey. 
" See Appendix, Note 4 0. = Ibid. Note 4 P. 

4 See '±e Author's Introduction to the ' Lay,' p. 13 



52 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VL 



XXVIII. 

Naught of the bridal will I tell, 
Wliich after in short space befell ; 
Nor how brave sons and daughters fair 
Bless'd Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's lieii 
After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain 
To wake the note of mirth again. 
More meet it were to mark the day 

Of penitence and prayer divine, 
"Wlien pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array^ 

Souglit Melrose' holy .shrine. 

XXIX. 

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest, 
And arms enfolded on his breast, . 

Did every pilgrim go ; 
The standers-by might hear uneath, 
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath. 

Through all the lengthen'd row : 
No lordly look, no martial stride, 
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, 

Forgotten their renown ; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts they gUde 
To the liigh altar's haUoVd side. 

And there they knelt them down: 
Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 
Beneath the letter'd stones were laid 
The ashes of their fathers dead ; 
From many a garnish'd niche around. 
Stern saints and tortured martyrs frown'd. 

XXX. 

And slow up the dim aisle afar. 
With sable cowl and scapular, 
And snow-white stoles, in order due, 
The holy Fathers, two and two. 

In long procession came ; 
Taper and host, and book they bare, 
And holy banner, flourish'd fair 

With the Redeemer's name. 
Above the prostr.ate pilgrim band 
The mitred Abbot stretch'd liis hand, 

And bless'd them as they kucel'd; 
With holy cross he sign'd them aU, 
And pray'd they might be sage in hall. 

And fortunate in tield. 
Then mass was sung, and prayers were said, 

1 — " the vale unfolds 



Ridi groves of lofty stature. 
With Yarrow winding through the pomp 

Of cultivated nature ; 
And, rising from those lofty groves. 

Behold 3 ruin hoary. 
The -shatter'd front of Newark's towers, 

Renown'd in Border story. 

" Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom. 
For sportive youth to stray in ; 



And solemn requiem for the dead ; 
And bells toll'd out their mighty peal, 
For the departed spirit's weal ; 
And ever in the office close 
The hynm of intercession rose ; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The awful burden of the song, — 

Dies ih.e, dies illa, 

Sol VET S.ECHTM in f.willa ; 
Wlule the pealing organ rung ; 

Were it meet with sacred strain 

To close my lay, so hght and vain, 
Thus the holy Fathers svmg. 

XXXI. 

HYilX FOa THE DEAD. 

That day of wrath, that dreadful day. 
When heaven and earth .shall pass away. 
What power shall be the sinner's stay ? 
How shall he meet that dreadful day ? 

When, slu-ivelling like a parched scroll 
The flammg heavens together roil ; 
When louder yet, and yet more dread. 
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead I 

Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day. 
When man to judgment wakes from clay. 
Be Tuou the trembUng simier's stay, 
Though heaven and earth shall pass away I 



Hush'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 
And did he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indigence and age. 
To linger out his pilgrimage ? 
No ; close beneath proud Newark's tower,' 
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 
A simple hut ; but there was seen 
The little garden, hedged with green, 
The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 
There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze, 
Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
For much he loved to ope his door. 
And give the aid he begg'd before. 
So pass'd the winter's day ; but still. 
When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill,' 

For manhood to enjoy his strength ; 
And age to wear away in." &c. 

Wordsworth's Yarrow Visited. 

9 Bowhill is now, .is has been mentioned already, a seal of 
the Duke of Bnccleueh. It stands immediately below Newark 
Hill, and above the junction of the Yarrow and the Ettrick. 
For the other places named in the text, the reader is referre»i 
to various notes on the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border — 
Ed. 



l'AXTO VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



53 



Ami July's eve, with balmy broiith, 
Waved tlie blue-bells ou Newark heath; 
When throstles sun^ in Harehead-sliaw, 
Ami corn was green on Carterhaugh •/ 
And flourish'd, broad, Blackandro's oak, 
The a^ed Harpci""s soul awoke ! 
Then would ho sing achievements high, 

1 Oriir.—-' And grain waved green on Carterhaugh." 

2 "The arch iillusions which run through all these Introditc- 
tious, wilhout ill the least interrupting tlie truth and graceful 
pathos of tlicir main impression, seem to me exquisitely cliar^ 
acteristic of Scott, whose delight and pride was to play with 
the genius which nevertheless mastered him at will. For. in 
irntli, what is it that jjives to all his works their unique and 
marking charm, except the matchless eft'ect which sudden 
L'tfusions of the purest heart-blood of nature derive from their 
lifiiig poured out, to all appearance involuntarily, amidst dic- 
tion and sentiment cast equally in the mould of the busy 
world, and the seemirigly habitual desire to dwell on nothing 
hut what might be likely to excite curiosity, without too much 
disturbing deeper feelings, in the saloons of polished life? 
Such outbursts come forth dramatically in all his writings ; 
liut in the interludes and passionate parentheses of the Lay 
of the Last Minstrel we have the poet's own inner soul and 
t-rnpenimeut laid bare and throbbing before us. Even here, 
indeed, he has a mask, and he trusts it — but fortunately it is a 
transparent one. 

•■ Many minor personal allusions have been explained in the 
notes to the last edition of tlie 'Lay.' It was hardly neces- 
sary even then to say that the choice of the hero had been 
dictated by the poet's affection for the living descendants of 
the Baron of Cranstoun ; and now — none who liave perused 
the i)receding pages can iloubt that he had dressed out his 
Margaret of Branksome in the form and features of his own 
tir^t love. This poem may be considered as the ' bright con- 
suinmale flower' in which all the dearest dreams of his youth- 
l':il fancy had at length found expansion for their strength, 
Sjiirit, tenderness, and beauty. 

'■ III the closing lines — 

' Hush'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone ; 
And did he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indigence and age. 
To linger out his pilgrimage? 
No ! — close beneath proud Newark's tower 
Arose the Minstrel's humble bower,' &c. — 

— in these charming lines he has embodied what was, at the 
lime when he penned them, the chief day-dream of Ashestiel. 
From the moment that his uncle's death placed a considerable 
fum of ready money at hi? command, he pleased himself, as 
we have seen, with the idea of buying a mountain farm, and 
becoming not only the 'sheriff* (as he had in former days 
ileliglited to call himself), but ' the laird of the cairn and the 
suaur.' '* — LocKHART. lAfc of -Scott, vol. ii. p, 212. 

"The large quotations we have made from this singular 
poem must have convinced our readers that it abounds equal- 
ly with poetical description, and with circumstance curious 
to the antiquary. These are farther illustrated in copious and 
very entertaining notes: they, as well as the poem, must be 
particalarly interesting to those who are connected with Scot- 
tish families, or conversant in their history. The author has 
managed the versification of the poem with great judgment, 
and the most happy effect. If he had aimed at the grave 
aud stately cadence of the epic, or any of orr more regular 



Aud cu'cumstance of chivahy, 
Till the rapt traveller would stay, 
Forgetful of the closing day ; 
And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
Aiul Yarrow, as he roU'd along, 
Bore burden to the iliustrers song. ' 

measures, it would have been impossible for him to have 
brought in such names as IVatt Tinlinn^ Black John, Prtest- 
kaugk, Scrogg, and other Scottish names, or to have spoken 
of the lyke-wake, and the slogan, and dri'^'ig of cattle, which 
Pope and Gray would have thought as impossible to introduce 
into serious poetry, as Boileau did the names of towns in the 
campaigns of Louis IV. Mr. Scott has. therefore, very judi- 
ciously thrown in a great mixture of the familiar, and varied 
the measure ; and if it has not the finished harmony, which, 
in such a subject, it were in vain to have attempted, it has 
great ease and spirit, and never tires the reader. Indeed we 
think we see a tendency in the public taste to go back to the 
more varied measun?s ami familiar style of our earlier poets ; 
a natural consequence of having been satiated with the regu- 
lar harmony of Pojte and his school, and somewhat wearied 
with the stiffness of lofty poetic language. We now know 
what can be done in that way, and we seek entertainment and 
variety, rather than tinished modulation and uniform dignity. 
We now take our leave of this very elegant, spirited, and stri 
king poem." — Annual Review, 1804. 

" From the various extracts we have given, our readers will 
be enabled to form a tolerably correct judgment of the poem , 
and, if they are pleased with those portions of it which have 
now been exhibited, we may venture to assure them that they 
will not be disappointed by the perusal of the whole. The 
whole night journey of Deloraine — the opening of the Wizard's 
tomb — the march of the English battle — and the parley before 
the walls of the castle, are all executed with the same spirit 
and poetical energy, which we think is conspicuous in the 
specimens we have already extracted ; and a grerit variety of 
short passages occur in every part of the poem, which are still 
more striking and meritorious, though it is impossible to detach 
them, without injury, in the form of a quotation. It is hut 
fair to apprize the reader, on the other hand, that he will 
meet with very heavy passages, and with a variety of details 
which are not likely to interest any one hut a Borderer or an 
antiquary. We like very well to hear of ' the gallant Chief 
of Otlerburne,' or ' the Dark Knight of Liddesdale,' and feel 
the elevating power of great names, when we read of the 
tribes that mustered to the war, ' beneath the crest of Old 
Dunbar and Hepburn's mingled banners.' But we really can- 
not so far sympathize with the local partialities of the author, 
as to feel any glow of patriotism or ancient virtue in hearing of 
the Todrigor JohrAton clans, or of Elliots, Ar/nstrongs, and 
Tinlinns ; still less can we relish the introduction of Black 
Jock of Atheist anc. fVhitslade the Hawk, Arthur Fire-tkc- 
Braes, Red Roland Forstcr, or any other of those worthies, 
who 

•Sought the beeves that made their hrolli, 
In Scotland and in England both,' 

into a poem which has any pretensions to seriousness or dig- 
nity. The ancient metrical romance might have admitted 
these homely personalities ; but the present age will not en- 
dure them ; and Mr. Scott must either sacrifice his Borilei 
prejudices, or offend all his readers in the other part of tht 
empire." — Jeffrey. 



54 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
The feast -was over in Branksome tower. — P. 18. 

In the reign of James I., Sir William Scott of Baccleach, 
I hief of tlie clan bearing tliat nam;, exchanged, with Sir 
Tliomx-J Inglis of Manor, the e'^late of Murdiestone, in Lanark- 
shire, for one-half of the barony of Branksome, or Brank- 
holm,i lying upon the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick. 
He was probably induced to this transaction from tlie vicinity 
of Branksome to ttie extensive domain which he possessed 
in Ellrick Forest and in Teviotdale. In the former district 
he lield by occupancy the estate of Buccleuch,2 and much of 
the forest land on the river Ettrick. In Tevioulale, he en- 
joyed the harmony of Eckford, by a grant from Robert TI. to 
hia ancestor, Walter Scott of Kirkurd, for tlie apprehending 
of Gilbert Ridderford, contirmed by Robert III., 3d May, 14:^4. 
Tradition imputes the exchange betwixt Scott and Inglis to a 
conversation, in which the latter — a man, it wouI<l appear, 
of a mild and forbearing nature, complained much of the in- 
jnties which he was exposed to from the English Borderers, 
who frequently plundered his lands of Branksome. Sir Wil- 
liam Scott instantly offered him tlie estate of Murdiestone, in 
exchange for that which was subject to such egregious incon- 
venience. When the bargain was completed, he dryly re- 
marked, that the cattle in Cumberland were as good as those 
of Teviotdale ; and proceeded to commence a system of repri- 
sals upon the English, which was regularly pursued by his suc- 
cessors. In the next reign, James II. granted to Sir Walter 
Scott of Bianksome, and to Sir David, his son, the remaining 
half of the barony of Branksome, to be held in blanche for the 
payment of a red rose. The cause assigned for the grant is, 
their brave and faithful exertions in favor of the King against 
the house of Douglas, with whom James had been recently 
tugging for the tiirone of Scotland. This charter is dated the 
2d February, 14-13; and, in the same month, part of the barony 
of Langholm, and many lands in Lanarkshire, were conferred 
upon Sir Walter and his son by the same monarch. 

After the period of the exchange with Sir Thomas Inglis, 
Branksome became the principal seat of the Buccleuiih family. 
The castle was enlarged and strengthened by Sir David Scott, 
the grandson of Sir William, its first possessor. But, in 
1570-1, the vengeance of Elizabeth, provoked by the inroads 
of Buccleuch, and his attachment to the cause of Q,ueen 
Mary, destroyed the castle, and laid waste the lands of Brank- 
some. In the same year the caslle was repaired and enlarged 
by Sir Walter Scott, its brave possL-ssor ; but the work was 
not completed until after his deatli. in 1574, when the widow 
finished the building. This a|ipears from the following in- 
scriptions. Around a stone, bearing the arms of Scolt of 
Buccleuch, appears the following legend ; — ** ^fv 55?^. 

Srott of ISvanvfteim llnQt oe of 5bfr WfUiam 
Scott of BftUuvD B-HQt tirflan rjc bortt iipotx 
vt '24 of fttnrcl)e 1571 tear qiii)a ticj3avtft at 

CSotJ'S J)ICIS01IV JC 17 3lpril 1574," On a similar 
copartment are sculfiturcd the arms of Douglas, with this in- 
icription, "Dame MiROAUET Douglas his spous comple- 

1 Br.inxholm is the proper n,'\iiie of the bnrony ; but Bmnksomo has been 
adopted, Rs suitable to tho pronunci-ntion, and more proper for jioctry. 

2 There hfo no vejllRca of uiiy building ut Buccleuch, except the eito of 
«%iipel, wVere, ;iccordiiig to C'adition current in the time of Scott of 



TIT THE FORESAID WORK IN OCTOBER 1.576." Over an 
arched door is inscribed the following moral ver^e : — 

fin barlli. is. nocijt. nature. i)cs. broufl|)t. fiat. 

sal. lest. an. 
^Cftarcforc. scrbc. ffiotj. bcfp. bcil. iie. ton. t\)v. 

fame. sal. itocM, lirl^ai). 
Sir Waiter ^cott of Brattpljolm 3^nffl!it. 

ifttarflaret Boufllas. 1571. 

Branksome Castle coutinned to be the principal seat of the 
Buccleuch family, while security was any object in their 
choice of a mansion. It has since been the residence of the 
Commissioners, or Chamberlains, of the family. From the 
various alterations which the building has undergone, it is not 
only greatly restricted in Us dimensions, but retains little of 
the castellated form, if we except one sijuare tower of massy 
thickness, tlie only part of the original building which now 
remains. The whole forms a handsome modern residence, 
lately inhabited by my deceased friend, Adam Ogilvy, Esq., 
of Hartwoodmyres, Commissioner of his Grace the Duke of 
Buccleuch. 

The extent of the ancient edifice can still be traced by some 
vestiges of its foundation, and its strength is obvious from the 
situation, on a deep bank surrounded by the Teviot, and 
flanked by a deep ravine, formed by a precipitous brook. It 
was anciently surroundeii by wood, as ap])ears from ihe sur- 
vey of Roxburghshire, niiide for Font's Atlas, and pn^orved 
in the Advocates' Library. This wood was cut about fifty 
yeare ago, but is now replaced by the thriving plantations, 
which have been formed by the noble proprietor, for miles 
around the ancient mansion of his forefathers. 



Note B. 

J^ijic-nnfl-twcnty knights of fame 

Hung their shirlds in Branksome- Hall. — P. 19. 

The ancient barons of Buccleuch, both from feudal splendor 
and from their frontier situation, retained in their household at 
Branksome, a number of gentlemen of their own name, who 
held lands from their chief, for the military service of watching 
and warding his castle. Satchells tells us, in his doggrel 
poetry, 

*' No baron was better served in Britain ; 

The barons of Buckleugh they kept their call, 

Four and twenty gentlemen in their hall, 

All being of his name and kin ; 

Each two had a servant to wait upon them 

Before supper and dinner, most renowTied, 

The bells rung and the trumpets sowned ; 

And more than that, I do confess, 

They kept four and twenty pensioners. 

Think not I lie. nor do me blame, 

For the pensioners I can all name : 

Satchells, many of the ancient barnns of Buccleuch lie buried. There ii 
also said to have been a mill nc-vr ihis aolitiry spot ; an extrHordinary cir- 
cumstance, as little or no corn {n-nwii within several miles of BiiccleucU 
Satchellfl saj-a it was used to grind com for the bounds of thft cliiert«in. 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



There's men alive, elder tlian I, 

They know if I speak truth, or lie. 

Ev'cry pensioner ,i rooni' did gain, 

For service tiorie and to he done ; 

This let the reader understand, 

Tlie name both of tlie men and land, 

\Vhich they possessed, it is of truth. 

Both from the Lairds and Lords of Bnckleugh." 

Accordingly, dismounting from his Pegasus, Satchells gives 
u^, in prose, the names of twenty-four gentlemen, younger 
iTolIn-rs of ancient families, who were pensioners to the house 
ol BufclLMich, and describes the lands which each possessed for 
111-. Bonier service. In lime of war witli England, the garrison 
w'xs doubtless augmented. Satchells adds, "These twenty- 
liiree pensioners, all of his own name of Scott, and Walter 
(itadstanesof Wliilelaw, a near cousin of my lord's, as aforesaid, 
were ready on all oecasions, when his honor pleased cause to 
lulvLTtise ibem. It is known to many of the country better 
than it is to me, that the rent of these lands, wliicli the Lairds 
and Lords of Buccleueli did ti-eely bestow upon their friends, 
will amount to above twelve or fourteen thousand merks a- 
year." — History of the naine of Scott, p. 45. An immense 
Buni ill those times. 

1 /ioom, portion of land. 



Note C. 



with Mdwood-aie at sadtUrhoic. — P. 19. 

*' Of a truth," says Froissart, "the Scottish cannot boast 
great skill with the bow, but rather bear axes, with whicli. in 
time of need, they give heavy strokes." The Jt;dwood-;ixe 
was a sort of [larlisau, used by horsemen, as appears from the 
arms of Jedburgh, which boar a cavalier muunied, and armed 
with this weapon. It is also called a Jedwood or JeddartstatT. 



Note D. 



Theij watch, against Southern force and guile, 
J^est Scroop, or Howard, or Percy^s powers. 
Threaten Branksomc^s lordly toicers, 

From Warkworth, or J^awoTth, or merry Carlisle. — P. 19. 

Branksomc Castle was continually exposed to the attacks of 
the English, both from its situation and the restless military 
dispo>ition of its inhabitants, who were seldom on good terms 
with their neighbors. The following letter from the Earl of 
Northumherlaml to Henry Vlil. in 1533, gives an account of a 
Eiuxessl'ul inroad of the English, in which the country was 
plundered up to tlie gates of the castle, although tJie invaders 
failed in their prmcipal object, which wxs to kill, or make pris- 
onet, llie Laird of Buccleuch. It Occurs in the Cotton MS. 
Calig b. viii. f. 222. 

" rieaseth yl your mo-*t gracious highness to be adoertised, 
that my comjilrolier, with Raynald Cariiaby, desjred licence 
of me to invade the realnie of Scotlande. for the annoysaunce 
of your highnes eiiemys, where they tbonghi best exploit by 
iheyme might be done, and to haue to concur witlie theyme 
tiTir inhahi'anls of Northumberland, suclie as was towards me 
acconling to theyre assembly, and as by tlieyre discretions vpone 
the same they shulde thiiike most convenient; and soo they 
dyde meet vppone Monday, before night, being the iii day of 
this instant'Oionetbe. at Wawhope, upon Nortlie Tyne water, 
ihove Tvndaill. where lliey were !o the number of xv c men, 



and soo invadet Scotland at the hour of viii of the clok at 
nygbt, at a place called Whele Causay ; and before xi of the 
clok dyd send forth a forrey of Tyndaill and Ryddisdail. and 
laide all the resydewe in a bushment, and actyvely did set vpon 
a towne called Branxholme, where the Lord of Buelough 
dwcllythe, atid purpesed theynieselves with a trayne for liym 
lyke to ids accustomed manner, in rysynge to all frayes ; albeit, 
that knyght he was not at home, and so tliey brynt the said 
Branxholm, and other townes, as to say Wliicliestre. Which 
estre-helme, and Wlielley, and haid ordered theymself, soo 
that sundry of the said Lord of Buclough's servants, who dyd 
ii:*ue fourthe of his gates, was takyn prisoners. They dyd not 
leve one house, one stak of corne, nor one shyef, without the 
gate of the said Lord Bucloiigli vnbrynt ; and thus scrymaged 
and frayed, supposing tlie Lor.l of Buclougli to be within iii or 
iiii myles to have trayned him to the bushment ; and soo in the 
breyking of the day dyd the forrey and tlie bushment mete, 
and reculeil homewani, making theyre way westward from 
theyre invasion to beover Lyddersdaill, as intending yf the fray 
Irome theyre furst entry by the Scotts waiches. orotherwyse by 
warnying, shuld haue bene gyven to Gedworth and the coun- 
trey of Scotland tlieyrt-abouta of theyre invasion ; wliiche Ged- 
worth is from the Wbeles Causay vi miles, that thereby the 
Scotts shulde liave comen further vnto theyme, and more out 
of ordre ; and soo upon sundry good considerations, before tliey 
entered Lyddei-sdaill, as well accompting the inhabitants of the 
same to be towards your highness, and to enforce llieyme the 
more thereby, as alsoo to put an occasion of suspect to Uie 
Kinge of Scotts, and his counsaill, to be taken anensi tlieyme, 
amonges theymeselves, made proc lam ac ions, commanding, 
upon payne of dethe, assurance to be for the said inhabitants of 
Lyddersdaill, without any prejudice or hurt to bL' done by any 
Inglysman vnlo theyme, and soo in good ordre abowle the 
howre of ten of the clok before none, vppon Tewisday, dyd 
pass through the said Lyddersdail, wiien dyd come diverse of 
the said inhabitants there to my servauntes, under the said as- 
surance, olKrring iheymselfs with any service they couthe 
make; and thus, thanks be to Godde, your highnes' subjects, 
abowte tlie howre of xii of the clok at none the same .laje, 
came into this your highnes realme, bringing wt theyme above 
xl Scottsmen prisoners, one of theyme named Scot, of the sui^ 
name and kyn of the said Lord of Buclough. and of his howse- 
hold ; lliey brought aUo ccc nowte, and above l.\ horse and 
mares, ke|)ing in savetie frome losse or hurte all your said high- 
nes subjects. There was alsoo a towne, called Newbyggins, 
by diverse fotraen of Tyndaill and Ryddesdaill, takyn vp of 
the night, and sjjoyled. when was slayne ii Scottsmen of the 
said towne, and many Scotts there hurte ; your highnes sub- 
jects was xiii myles within the grounde of Scoilande, and is 
from my house at Werkworthe, above L\ miles of the most evil 
passage, where great snawes doth lye; heretofore the same 
townes now brynt iiaith not at any tyme in the mynd of man 
in any warrs been enterjirised onto nowe ; your sul)jeets were 
thereto more encouraged for the beltei advancement of your 
highnes service, the said Lord of Buclough bcyng always a 
mortall enemy to ttiis your Graces realme, and he dyd say, 
within xiii days before, he woulde see who dui^t lye near hym ; 
wt many other crutdl words, tlie knowledge whereof was cer- 
tainly haid 10 my said servaunts, before theyre enterprice maid 
vpon him : mo^t liumbly beseeching your majesty, tliat youre 
highnes thanks may concur vnto theyme, whose naines be here 
inclosed, and to have in your most gracious memory, the payn- 
fuU and diligent service of my poreservaunte Wharton, and thus, 
as I am most bounden. shall dispose wt them thai be under me 
f annoysaunce of your highnes enemys." h\ resent- 
ment of this foray, Bucdeuch, with otiier Border chiels. as- 
sembled an army of 300U riders, with which they penetrated 
into Northumberland, and laid waste the country as-far as the 
banks of Brainisli. They batiied, ordefeated, the Englisb for 
ces opposed to them, and returned loaded with prey. — Pinkkr- 
TOn's History, vol. ii. p. 318. 



66 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note E. 

Bards lovg skntl tell. 

How Lord fVaiterfdl.—V. 19. 

Sir Walter Scott of Buecleuch succeedec' to his grandfather, 
Sir David, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful haron. and 
Warden of the West Marches of Scotland, His death was 
the consequence of a feud betwixt the Scotts and Kerrs, the 
history of which is necessary, to explain repeated allusions iu 
the romance. 

In tlie year 1526, in the words of Pitscottie, " the Earl of 
Angus, and the rest of the Douglasses, ruled all which they 
liked, and no man durst say the contrary ; wherefore the King 
(James V. then a minor) was heavily displeased, and would 
fain have been out of their hands, if he might by any way : 
And, to that eftect, wrote a quiet and secret letter with his 
own hand, and sent it to the Laird of Buecleuch, beseeching 
him that he would come with his kin and friends, and all the 
force tiiat he might be, and meet him at Melross, at his home 
passing, and there to take liim out of the Douglasses bauds, 
and to put him to liberty, to use himself among the lave {rest) 
of his lords, as he thinks expedient. 

"This letter was quietly directed, and »ent by one of the 
King's own secret servants, which was received very thank- 
fully by the Laird of Buecleuch, who wa.s very glad theieof, 
to be put to such charges and familiarity with his j)rince, and 
did great diligence to jierform the King's writing, and to bring 
Uie matter to pass as the King desired : And, to that eftect, 
convened all his kin and friends, and all that would do for 
him, to ride with him to Melross. when lie knew of the King's 
homecoming. And so he brought with him six hundred spears, 
of Liddesiiale, and Annandale, and countrymen, and clans 
thereabout, and held themselves quiet while that the King 
returned out of Jedburgh, and came to Melross, to remain there 
all that night. 

" But when the Lord Hume, Cessfoord, and Fcrnyherst 
(the chiefs ol" the clan of Ken), took their leave of the King, and 
returned home, then appeared the Lord of Buecleuch in sight, 
and his company with him, in an arrayed battle, intending to 
have fulfilled the King's petition, and therefore came stoutly 
forward on the back side of Haliden hill. By that the Earl of 
Angus, with George Douglas, his brother, and sundry other 
of his friends, seeing this army coming, they marvelled what 
the matter meant; while at the last they knew the Laird of 
Buecleuch, with a certain company of the thieves of Annan- 
dale. With him they were less alfeard, and made them man- 
fully to the field contrary them, and said to the King in this 
manner, ' Sir, yon is Buecleuch, and thieves of Annandale 
with him, to unbeset your Grace from the gate' ((. c. interrupt 
your passage). ' I vow to God they shall either fight or flee : 
and ye shall tarry here on this know, and ray brother George 
with you, with any other company you please; and I shall 
pass, and put yon thieves off" the ground, and rid the gate unto 
your Grace, or else die for it.' The King tarried still, as was 
devised ; and George Douglas with him, and sundry other 
lords, such as the Earl of Lennox, and the Lord Erskine, and 
some of the King's own servants ; but all the lave {rest) past 
wi'h the Earl of Angus to the field against the Laird of Buc- 
cieu'.h. who joyned and countered cruelly both the said parlies 
in the field of Darnelinver,* either against other, with uncertain 
victory. But at the last, tlie Lord Hume, hearing word of that 
matter how it stood, returned again to the King in all possible 
haste, with him the Lairds of Cessfoord and Fernyhirst. to Uie 
number of fourscore spears, and set freshly on the lap and winf^ 
of Uie Laird of Buccleuch's field, and shortly bare them back- 
ward to the ground ; which caused the Laird of Buecleuch, 
and the rest of his friends, to go hack and flee, whom they fol- 

1 Dfttnwiek, near Melrose. The pW e of conflict is still ;nlled Skinner's 
Field, from a corruption of Skirmish Field. (See the Minstrelay of tlie 



~r 



lowed and chased ; and especially the Lairds of Cessfoord and 
Fernybir^t followed furioustie, tdl at the foot of a palli me 
Laird of Cessfoord was slain by the stroke of a spear by an 
Elliot, who was then servant to the Laird of Buecleuch. Rut 
when the Laird of Cessfoord was slain, the chase ceased. Tlit- 
Earl of Angus returned again with great merrincss and victory, 
and thanked God that he saved him from that chance, urid 
passed with the King to Melross, where they remained ali thai 
night. On the morn they past to Edinburgh with the Ki.i-. 
who was very sad and dolorous of the slaughter of the Laird ut 
Cessfoord, and many other gentlemen and yeomen slain by the 
Laird of Buecleuch, containing the number of foui-score and 
fifteen, which died in defence of tiie King, and at the coniniaiiil 
of his writing." 

I am not the first who has attempted to celebrate in verse thi- 
renown of this ancient baron, and his hazardous attein|)t to 
procure his sovereign's freedom. In a Scottish Latin poet we 
find the following verses : — 

Valterius Scotus Balclucbius, 

Egregio sascepto facinore, libertate Regis, ac aliis rebus gestls 
clarus, sob Jacobo V. Ao. Christi, 1526. 

"Intentata aliis, nulhque audita prlorum 

Audet, nee pavidum morsve, metusve quatit, 
Libertatem aliis soliti transcribere Regis : 

Subreptam banc Regi restituisse paras ; 
Si vincis, quanta 6 succedunt pra;mia dextrie ! 

Sin victus, falsas spes jace, pone animain. 
Hostica vis nocuit : stant altte robora mentis 

Atque decus. Vincet, Rege probante, fides 
Insita queis animis virtus, quosque acrior ardor 

Obsidet, obscuris nox premat an tenebris?" 

Heroes ex omni Historia Scotica lectissimi, Auctore Jolian 
Jonstonio Abredonense Scoto, 1603. 

In consequence of the battle of Melrose, there ensocd a 
deadly feud betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which, in 
spite of all means used to bring about an agreement, raged foi 
many year^ upon the Borders. Buecleuch was imprisoned, and 
his estates forfeited, in the year 1535, for levying war against 
the Kerrs. and restored by act of Parliament, dated 15th Mandi, 
1542, during the regency of Mary of Lorraine. But the mo^\ 
signal act of violence to which this quarrel gave rise, was the 
murder of Sir Walter himself, who was slain by the Kerrs in 
the streets of Edinburgh in 1552. This is the event allud-d 
to in stanza vii. ; and the poem is supposed to open shortly 
after it had taken place. 

The feud between these two farailies was not reconciled in 
1596, when both chieftains paraded the streets of Ediiibur^li 
with their followers, and- it was expected their first meeting 
would decide their quarrel. But. on July 14th of the same 
year, Colvil, in a letter to Mr. Bacon, informs him, " that there 
was great trouble upon the Borders, wliicli woulii continue till 
order should be taken by the Q,ueea of England and the King, 
by reason of the two young Scots chieftains, Cesford ami Bac- 
lugh, and of the present necessity and scarcity of corn amongst 
the Scots Borderers and riders. That there had been a private 
quarrel betwixt those two lairds on the Borders, which was 
like to have turned to blood ; but the fear of the general trouble 
had reconciled them, and the injuries which they thought to 
have committed against each other were now t"ansferred upon 
England: not unlike that emulation in France between the 
Baron de Biron and Mons. Jeverie, who. being both ambitioua 
of honor, undertook more hazardous enterprises against the 
enemy than they would have done if they had been at concord 
together." — Birch's .Memorials, vol. ii. p. 67. 



Scottish Border, vols. i. and ii., for farther particulars ronceming these 
places, of aU which tbeaiitbor of the Lay vras ulttinately proprietor Ed.) 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Note F. 

While Ccssford otrns the rule of Carr, 
While Kttrick boasts the line of Scott, 

The slaughtered chiefs, the mortal jar, 

The havoc of the feudal war. 
Shall never, never he forgot! — P. 19. 
Among other cxiicdienti resorted to for stanching the fend 
Ix'twixt tlie Strotts and tht- Kerrs, there was a. bond executed 
ill l.Vi'.l. between the h(.-ads of each clan, binding themselves 
10 jierform reeii)rocally tlie four principal pilgrimages of Scot- 
'atiii, for tlie bt-m-lit of the souls of iliose of tht- oppo^ite name 
who had fallen in the quarrel. This indenture is printed in 
'he ^Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol i. But either 
It never took effect, or else the feud was renewed shortly 
altfTwards. 

Such pactions were not uncommon in feudal times ; and, as 
might be ex|)ected, they were often, as in the present case, 
void of the effect desired. VVlien Sir Walter Mauny, the re- 
nowned follower of Edward UI., had taken the town of Ryol 
in GasL-ony, he remembered to have heard that his father lay 
there buried, and offered a huudreii crowns to any who could 
khow him his grave'. A very old man appeared before Sir 
Walter, and informed him of the manner of his father's death, 
mid the place of his sepulture. It seems the Lord of Mauny 
had, at a great tournament, unhorsed, and wounded to the 
cicath. a Gascon knight, of the house of Mirepoix, whose kins- 
HKin was Bishop of Cambray. For this deed he was lield at 
fi'ud by the relations of the knight, until he agreed to under- 
t;ike a jiilgrimage to the shrine of St. James of Compostella, 
for the benefit of the soul of the deceased. But as he returned 
through the town of Ryol. after accompUshment of his vow, 
he was beset and treacherously slain, by the kindred of the 
knight whom he had killed. Sir Walter, guided by the old 
man, visited the lowly tomb of Iiis father; and, having read 
the inscription, which was in Latin, he caused the body to be 
raised, and transported to his native city of Valenciennes, 
\vhere masses were, in the days of Froissart. duly said for the 
soul of the unfortunate pilgrim. — Ckronycle of Froissart, 
vol. i. p. I:ii3. 



KOTE G. 
With Carr in arms had stood. — P. 20. 

The family of Ker, Kerr, or Carr,' was very powerful on 
(he Border. Fynes Momson remarks, in his Travels, that 
their influence extended iVom the vilhige of Preston-Grange, 
in Lothian, to the limits of England. Cessford Castle, the 
ancient baronial residence of the family, is situated near the 
\illage of Morebattle, within two or Uiree miles of the Cheviot 
Hills. It lias been a [ilace of great strength and consequence, 
init is now rninons. Tradition affirms that it was founded by 
llalbert. or Habby Kerr, a gigantic warrior, concerning whom 
many stories are current in Roxburghshire. The Duke of 
Roxburghe represents Kerr of Cessford. A distinct and power- 
ful hran<:h of the same name own the Marquis of Lothian as 
their chief. Hence the distinction betwixt Kerrs of Cessford 
and Fairnihirst. 



Note H. 
Lord Cranstoun. — P. 20. 
The Cranstouns, Lord Cranstoun, are an ancient Border 
family, whose chief seat was at Crailing, in Teviotdale. They 
were at ihis time at feud with the clan of Scott ; for it ap- 
pears that the Lady of Buccleuch, in 1557, beset the Laird 
of Cranstoun, seeking his life. Nevertheless, the same Cran- 
Btouii, or perhaps his son, was married to a daughter of the 
same lady. 

1 Tho name U spelt differently by Iho rnrioui familieswho bear it. Carr 
l« wlected, not as tlie moet correct, but aa the mo&t po«ticaI -lAing. 



Note I. 
Of liethune's line of Picardie.—V. 20. 
The Bethunc's were of French origin, and derived thrii 
name from n small town in Artois. There were several dis- 
tiiignislie<i faniilie-s of the lietliuiies in the neighboring province. 
ofPicardy; they nuniber.-d among their descendants the cele- 
brated Due dc Sully ; and the name was accounted among *he 
mo'^t noble in France, while aught noble remained in that 
country. 2 The family of Belhune, or Beatoun, in F'fi*. p'o- 
iluced three learned and dignified jjrelates; nrimelj Car tiiia. 
Bcaton, and two successive Archbishops of Gliisgc v, ail ol 
whom flourished about the ilute of the romance. Of lliia 
family was descended Dame Janet Beaton, Lady Bu ;cK-uch, 
willow of Sir Walter Scott, of Branksome. She was a woman 
of masculine spirit, as appeared from her riding at the h.-ad of 
her son's clan, after her husband's murder. She also possessed 
the Iiereditary abilities of her family in such a degree that 
the superstition of the vulgar imputed them to supernatural 
knowledge. With this was mingled by faction, the foul ac- 
cusation of her liaving influenced Q.ueen Mary to the murder 
of her husband. One of the placards preserved in Buuhiinan's 
Detection, accuses of Darnley's murder "the Erie of Hotli- 
weil, Mr. James Balfour, the peisoun of Fliske, Mr. David 
Chalmers, black Mr. John Speus, who was principal devisL-r 
of the murder; and tlie Q,uene, assenting thairto, throw the 
persuasion of the Erie Bothwell. and the witchcraft of J.'idy 
Bucklcuch.^' 



Note K 



He learned the art that none may name. 
In Padua, far beyond the sea. — P. 20. 
Padua was long supposed, by the Scottish peasants, to be 
the principal school of necromancy. The Eari of Gowric, 
slain at Pertli, in IGOO, pretended, during his studies in Italy, 
to have acquired some knowledge of the cabala, by which, he 
said, he could charm snakes, and work other miracles; and, 
in particular, could produce children without the intercourse 
of the sexes. — See the examination of Wemyss of Bogie before 
the Privy Council, concerning Gowrie's Conspiracy. 



Note L. 

His form no darkening shadoio traced 

Upon the sunny wall ! — P. 20. 

The shadow of a necromancer is independent of the sun. 

Glycas informs us that Simon Magus caused his shadow to go 

before him, making people believe it was an attendant spirit 

— Heywood's Hierarchic, p. 475. The vulgar conceive. 

that when a class of students have made a certain progress in 

their mystic studies, they are obliged to run through a subtei^ 

raneous hall, where the devil literally catches the hindmosi 

in the race, unless he crosses the hall so speedily that the 

arch-enemy can only apprehend his shadow. In the hitter 

case, the person of the sage never after throws any shade . 

and those, who have thus lost their shadow, always prove the 

best magicians. 



Note M. 
The viewless forms of air. — P. 20. 
The Scottish vulgar, without having any very defined no- 
tion of their attributes, believe in the existence of an inter- 
mediate class of spirits, residing in the air, or in the waters ; to 
whose agency they ascribe floods, storms, and all such phe- 
nomena as their own philosophy cannot readily explain. They 
are supposed to interfere in the affairs of mortals, sometimei 

3 Tbis expression and eentjinent xrere dictated by the oituatton of France, 
in the year 1803, wben the poem was originally wrilteo. 1831. 



68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



irith a malevolent purpose, and sometimes with milder views. 
It is said, for example, that a gallant baron, having returned 
Crom the Holy Land to his castle of DiuininL-lziar, found his 
(air lady nursing a healthy ciilld, whose birth did not by any 
meaoi corn^poud to the date of his departure. Such an oc- 
currence, to the credit of the dames of the Crusaders be it 
spoken, was so rare, that it required a miraculous solution. 
Xhelady, tlieru'lbre, wa"; believed, when she averred confidently, 
that the Spirit of tlie Tweed had issued from tlie river while 
she was walking upon its bank, and compelled her to submit 
to his embraces; and the name of Tweedie w;is bestowed 
upon the child, who afterwards became Baron of Drummelziar, 
and chief of a powerful clan. To those spuits are also as- 
3ribed, in Scotland, the 

^" Airy tongues, that syllable men's names, 
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses." 

When the workmen were engaged in erecting the ancient 
church of Old Deer, in Aberdeenshire, upon a small hill called 
Bissau, they were surprised to find that the work was impeded 
by supernatural obstacles. At length, the Spirit of the River 
was heard to say, 

" It is not here, it is not here 
That ye shall build the church of Deer ; 
But on Taptillery, 
WJiere many a corjise shall lie." 

The site of the edifice was accordingly trausfen-ed to Tap- 
tillery, an eminence at some distance from the place where the 
building had been commenced. — Macfarlane's MSS. 1 
mention these popular fables, because the introduction of the 
River and Mountain Spirits may not, at first sight, seem to ac- 
cord with the general tone of the romance, and the superstitions 
of the country where the scene is laid. 



Note N. 

^fancied moss-trooper, fire. — P. 21, 

This was the usual appellation of the marauders upon the 
Borders! a profession diligently pursued by the inhabitants on 
both sides, and by none more actively and successfully than by 
Buccleuch's clan. Long after the union of the crowns, the 
moss-troopers, although sunk in reputation, and no longer en- 
joying the pretext of national hostiUty, continued to pursue 
their calling. 

Fuller includes, among the wonders of Cumberland, " The 
moss-troopers : so strange in the condition of their living, if 
considered in their Original, Increase, Height, Decay, and 
Ruine. 

*' 1. Original. 1 conceive them the same called Borderers 
in Mr. Camden ; and characterized by him to be a wild and 
warlike people. They are called moss-troopers, because dwell- 
ing in the mosses, and riding in troops together. They dwell 
in the bounds, or meeting, of the two kingdom^, hut obey the 
laws of neither. Tliey come to church as seldom as the 29th 
of February comes into the kalendar. 

"2. Increase. When England and Scotland were united 
m Great Britain, they that formerly lived by hostile incursions, 
betook themselves to the robbing of their neighbors. Their 
sons are free of the trade by their fathers' copy. They are like 
to Job, not in piety and patience, but in sudden plenty and 
poverty ; sometimes having flocks and herds in the morning, 
none at night, and perchance many again next day. They 
may give for their motto, vivitor ex rapto, stealing from their 
honest neighbors what they sometimes requb"e. They are a 
nest of hornets ; strike one^ and stir all of them about vour 
ears. Indeed, if they promise safely to conduct a traveller, 
they will perform it with the fidelity of a Turkish janizary ; 
otherwise, woe be to him that falleth into their quarlers ! 

" 3. Height. Amounting, forty years since, to some thou- 
sands. These compelled the vicinage to purchase their secu- 



rity, by paying a constant rent to them. When in theii 
greatest height, they had two great enemies, — the Laws of the 
Land, and the Lord fVilHam Howard of J^aworth. He sent 
many of them to Carlisle, to that place where tlie officer doth 
always his work by daylight. Vet these mos?-iroopers, if pos- 
sibly they could procure the pardon for a condemned [lerson of 
their company, would advance great sums out of their conmion 
stock, who, in such a case, cast in their lots amongst them- 
selves, and all have one purse. 

'*4. Decay. Caused, by the wisdom, valour, and diligence 
of the Right Honourable Charles Lord Howard, Earl of Car 
lisle, who routed these English Tories with his regiment. IIU 
severity unto them will not only be excused, but conimtnded, 
by the judicious, who consider how our great lawyer djth 
describe such persons, who are solemnly outlawed, Brac- 
TON, Hb. viii., trac. 2, cap. IL— ' £j tunc gerunt caput lupi- 
num, ita quod sine judiciali inquisitione rite pcrcant, e: 
secum suum judicium portent ; et merito sine lege pcreunt, 
qui secundum legem vivere rccusdrunt.^ — 'Thenceforward 
(after that they are outlawed), they wear a wolf's head, so that 
they lawfully may be destroyed, without any judicial inquisi- 
tion, as who carry their own condemnation about them, ami 
deservedly die without law, because they refused to live ac- 
cording to law:* 

"5. Ruine. Such was the success of this worthy lord's 
severity, that he made a thorough reformation among them ; 
and the ring-leaders being destroyed, the rest are reduced »/> 
legal obedience, and so, I trust, will continue." — Fuller's 
Worthies of England, p. 216. 

The last public mention of moss-troopers occurs during the 
civil wars of the 17th century, when many ordinances of 
Parliament were directed against them. 



Note 0. 

tame the Unicornis pride, 

Ezalt the Crescent and the Star. — P. 21. 

The arms of llie Kerrs of Cessford were. Vert on a cheveron, 
betwixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, three mullets sa- 
ble ; crest, a unicorn's head, erased proper. The Scotts of 
Buccleuch bore. Or, on a bend azure ; a star of six points be- 
twixt two crescents of the first. 



Note P. 



William of Deloraine. — P. 21. 

The lands of Deloraine are joined to those of Buccleuch in 
Ettrick Forest. They were immemorially possessed by the 
Buccleuch family, under the strong title of occujiancy, al- 
though no charter was obtained from the crown until 1545 
Like other possessions, the lands of Deloraine were occasionallj 
granted by them to vassals, or kinsmen, for Border service 
Satchells mentions, among the twenty-four gentlemen-pension- 
ers of the family, " William Scott, commonly called Cut-at 
the-Black, who had tlie lands of Nether Deloraine lor his sei^ 
vice." And again, " This William of Deloraine, commonly 
called Cut-at-the- Black, was a brother of the ancient house of 
Hainin"^. vvhkjh house of Haining is descended from the an- 
cient house of Hasseudean." The lauds of Deloraine now 
give an earl's title to tlie descendant of Henry, the second sur- 
viving son of the Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. I 
have endeavored to give William of Deloraine the attributes 
which characterized the Borderers of his day ; for which I 
can omy piead Froissart's apology, that, "it behoveth, in a 
lynage, some to be folyslie and outrageous, to maynteyne and 
sustayne the peasable." As a contrast to my Marcliman, I 
beg leave to transcribe, from the same author, the speech ot 
Amergot Marcell, a captain of the Adventurous Companiona, 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



59 



It rohhRT, and a pillager of the country of Auvergene, who had 
been liribed tti sell his strongholds, and to assume a more hon- 
orable military lifo under the banners of the Earl of Arningnac. 
But "when he rcinenihered alle this, he was sorrowful; his 
tresour he thought he wolde not mynysshe ; he wonte dayly 
to serche for ncwe pylliiges, wlievebye ennresed his profyte, and 
then he sawe that alle was closed fr.i' liym. Then he sayde 
and iHKfrL-yned, that to pyll and to robbe (all things considered) 
was a cuiid lyfe. and so repented hym of his good doing. On a 
time, ho said tu his old coiiipanymis, ' Sirs, there is no sjmrte nor 
gio/y in this wurlde anionge men of warre, but to use siiche 
lyfc as we have done in tyme past. What a joy was it to us 
when we rode forth at adventure, and somtyme found by the way 
a rich immr or merchaunt, or a route of mulettes of M<mnt- 
pellyer. of Xurbonne. of Lynieas, of Fongans, of Besyers, of Tholous, 
or of Carcasonne, laden with cloth of Brussels, or peltre ware 
coniyiige fro the favres, or laden \vith spycery fro Surges, fro 
Danias. or fro Alysaundre; whatsoever we met, all was ours, or 
els ransoumed at our pleasures ; dayly we gate new money, and 
the vyilaynes of Auvergne and of Lymosyn dayly provyded and 
brought to our caslell whete mele, good wynes, bedes, and fatle 
motions, puilnyne, and wylde foule : We were ever furnyshed as 
thn we had been kings. When we rode ftirthe. all the countery 
trymbled for feare : all was ours goyng and comynge. How tok 
we Carlast. I and the Bourge of Compayne, and f and Perot of 
Bemoys took Ciduset ; how dyd we scale, with lytell ayde. the 
ntnmg casttll of Marquell, pertayning to the £rl Dolphyn : I kept 
it nat past fyve days, but I received for it. on a feyre table, fyve 
thoiisande frankes, and fitrgave one thousande for the love of the 
Er! Dotphin's children. By my fayth. this was a fayre and a good 
lyfc ! wherefore 1 repute myselfe sore deceyved. in that I have 
rendered up the fortress of Aloys ; for it wolde have kept fro 
all the worlde, and the daye that I gave it up, it was foumyshed 
with v>'t3ylles, to have been kept seven yere without any re- 
vytayMinee. This Erl of Armynake hath deceived me: Olyve 
Barhe. and Perot le Bemoys, showed to me how I shulde repente 
myselfe : ccrtayne I sore repente myselfe of what I have done.' " 
■-Froissart, Yol. ii. p. 195. 



Note Q. 

Bf/ wily turns, by desperate bounds, 

Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds.— P. 21. 

The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Bordei^ 
riders, were sometimes obliged to study how to evade the pur- 
suit of blooil-houiids. Barbour informs us, that Robert Bruce 
was repeatedly tracked by sleuth-dogs. On one occasion, he 
escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, and ascending 
into a tree by a branch which overhung the water ; thus, leav- 
ing no trace on lanil of his footsteps, he baffled the scent. TJie 
pursutrs came up ; 

'* Rycht to the burn Uiai passyt ware, 
Hot the sleuth-hund made stinting thar, 
And waneryt lang tyme ta and fra, 
That he na certain gate couth ga ; 
Till at the last that John of Lome 
Perseuvit the hund the sleuth had lome." 

The Bruce, Book vh. 

A siye way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the 
track, which destroyed the discriminating fineness of hia scent. 
A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such ocf^asions. Henry 
the Min-strel tells a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this 
circumstance: — The hero's little baud had been joined by an 
Irishman, named Fawdoun, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and 
suspifious character. After a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne 
Side, Wallace was forced to retreat with only sixteen follow- 
er. The English pursued with a Border sleuth-bratck, or 
olood-hound. 



" In Geldorland there was that bratchet bred, 
Siker of scent, to follow them that fled ; 
Sn was he used in Eske and l.iddesdail, 
While (i. 0. till) she gat blood no tleeiug might avail " 

In the retreat, Fawdoun, tired, or affecting to be so, *ould go no 
farther. Wallace, having in vain argued with him, in liastv anger, 
struck ofThis head, and continued tlie relrea:!. When tho English 
came up. their hound stayed upon the dead body : — 

" The sleuth stopped at Fawdon, still she stood. 
No farther would fra lime slie fund the blood.'" 

The story concludes with a fine Gotmc scene of terror. Wallace 
took refuge in the solitary imver of Cask. Here he was di.>i'nrbed 
.at midnight by the bl.ist of a horn. He sent out hi.s aiteiidanls by 
two and two. hut no one returned with tidings. At Inuirih, when 
he was left alone, the sound was heard still louder, Tlic cham- 
pion descended, sword in liand ; and, at the gate of the tower, was 
eticountered by the headless spectre of Fawdoun, whom he had 
slain so rashly. W'allare. in great terror, fled up into the tower, 
tore open the hoards of a window. leapt down fifteen feet in height, 
and continued his (light up the river Looking back to C: ask. he 
discovered the to\ver on fire, and the form of Fawdoun upon the 
battlements, dilated to an immense size, and holding in his hand 9 
blazing rafter. The Minstrel concludes, 

" Trust ryght wele, that all this be sooth indeed, 
Supposing it to be no point of the creed." 

The Wallace, Book v. 

Mr. Ellis has extracted this tale as a sample of Henry's poetry.— 
Specimens of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 351. 



Note R, 



- the Moat'Jiill's mound, 



Where Druid shades still fiilted round.—V. 22. 

This isa round artificial mount near Hawick, which, fi-om «■ 
name fftlot. A7ig Sax Condlium, Conventus), was prohnhly 
anciently used as a place ft)r assembling a national council of the 
adjacent tribes. There are many such mounds in Scotland, and 
they are sometimes, but rarely, of a square form. 



Note S. 

the tower of Hazeldean. — P. 22. 

The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendean, belonged 
formerly to a family of Scotta, thus commemorated by Satch- 
ells :— 

" Hassendean came without a call, 
The ancientest house among them all." 



Note T. 



On J^into-crags the moonbeams glint. — P. 22. 

A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenly above 
the vale of Teviot, in the immediate vicinity of the family-seat, 
from which Lord Minto takes his title. A small platform, on 
a projecting crag, commanding a most beautiful prospect, 13 
termed Barnhills^ Bed. This Barnhills is said to have been a 
robber, or outlaw. There are remains of a strong tower be- 
neath the rocks, where he is supposed to have dwelt, and from 
which he derived his name. On the summit of the crags aro 
the fragments of another ancient tower, in a picturesque situa- 



60 



SCOTT'S POETICAL "WORKS. 



tion. Among the houses cast down by the Eail of Hartford^ 
III 1545, occur the towers of Easier Baruliills, and of Minto- 
t-rag, witli Minlo town and j)lace. Sir Gilbert Elliot, father to 
tlie pres'snt Lord Minto.i was the author of a beautiful pasto- 
ral song, of wliich the following is a more correct copy than is 
usually published. Tlie poetical mantle of Sir Gilbert Elliot 
has descended to his family. 

" My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook, 
And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook : 
No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove ; 
Ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love. 
But what had my youth with ambition to do I 
Why left I Amynta! why broke I my vow I 

" Through regions remote in vain do I rove. 
And bid the wide world secure me from love. 
Ah, fool, to imagine, that aught could subdue 
A love so well founded, a passion so true ! 
Ah, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore ! 
And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more 1 

" Alas ! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine I 
Poor sliepherd, Amynta, no more can be thine ! 
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain. 
The moments neglected return not again. 
Ah ! what had my youth with ambition to do ! 
Why left I Amynta ! why broke I my vow !" 



Note TJ. 
Ancient RiddeWs fair domain. — P. 22. 
The family of Riddell have been very long in possession of 
the barony called Riddell, or Ryedale, part of which still bears 
tlie latter name. Tradition carries their antiquity to a point 
extremely remote; and is. in some degree, sanctioned by the 
discovery of two stone coIfin«, one containing an earthen pot 
filled with ashes and arms, bearing a legible date, A. D. 727 ; 
the other dated 9^6. and filled with the bones of a man of gi- 
gantic size. Tliese coffins were discovered in the foundations 
of what was. but has loiig ceased to be, the chapel of Riddell ; 
and as it was argued wilh plausibility, that they contained the 
remains of some ancestors of the family, they were deposited 
ill the modern place of sepullur*;, comparatively so termed, 
though built in 1110. But the following curious and authen- 
tic documents warrant most conclusively the epithet of "an- 
cient Riddell :" Ur, A charter by David I. to Walter Rydale, 
Sheritf of Roxburgh, confirming all the estates of LiliescUve, 
hi.c., of which his leather, Gervasius de Rydale, died possessed. 
2illy, A bull of Pope Adrian IV., confirming the will of Wal- 
ter de Ridale, knight, in favor of his brother Anschittil de Ri- 
dale, dated 8th April, 1155. 3dly, A bull of Pope Alexan- 
der III., confirming the said will of Walter de Ridale, be- 
queathing to his brother Ans<rhittil the lands of Liliesclive, 
Wliettunes, &c., and ratifying the bargain betwixt Anschittil 
and Huctredus, concerning the church of Liliesclive, in conse- 
([uence of the mediation of Malcolm II., and confirmed by a 
charter from that monarch. This bull is dated I7th June, IIGO. 
4lMy. A bull of tlie same Pope, confirming the will of Sir 
Anschittil de Ridale, in favor of hi-^ son Walter, conveying tlie 
said lands of LiUesclive and othens, dated 10th IMarch, 1120. 
It is remarkable, that Liliesclive, otherwise Rydale. or Riddcdl, 
and The Whittunes, have descended, through a long train of 
ancestors, without ever passing into a collateral line, to the 
person of Sir John Buchanan Riddell, Bart, of Riddell, the 
lineal descendant and representative of Sir Anschittil. — These 
circumstances appeared worthy of notice in a Border work.3 

1 Grand&ther to the present Earl. 1819. 

2 Since the above note wns written, the ancient family of Riddell hiive 
parted «vitli nil tlieir Scotch estates. — Ed, 



K"OTE V, 

But when Melrose he rcach\l "'twas silence all ; 

He meetly stabled his steed in stalls 

And sought the convtnVs lonely wall. — P. 22. 

The ancient and beautiful monastery of Melrose was founded 
by King David I, Its ruins afford the finest specimen of Gothic 
architecture and Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boast. 
The stone of winch it is built, though it has resisted the weather 
for so many ages, retains perfect sharpness, so that even the 
most miuute ornaments seem as entire as when newly wrought. 
In some of the cloisters, as is hinted in the ne.xt Canto, there 
are representations of flowers, vegetables, &c., carved in stone, 
with accuracy and precision so delicate, that we almost distrust 
our senses, when we consider the difficulty of subjecting so 
Iiard a substance to such intricate and exquisite modulation. 
This superb convent was dedicated to St. Mary, ai'd the monies 
were of the Cistertian order. At the time of the Reformation, 
they shared the general reproach of sensuality and irregularity, 
thrown upon the Roman churchmen. The old words of Qala- 
shieis, a favorite Scotch air, ran thus : — 

O the monks of Melrose made gude kale,'^ 

On Fridays when they fasted. 
They wanted neither beef nor ale, 

As long as their neighbors' lasted 



Note W. 



When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory; 

When silver edges the imagery. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die. 

• *«*«* 

Then view St. David's ruin' d pile. — P. 23. 

The buttresses ranged along the sides of the ruins of Melrose 
Abbey, are, according to the Gothic style, richly carved and 
fretted, containing niches for the statues of saints, and labelled 
with scrolls, bearing appropriate texts of Scripture. Most of 
these statues have been demolished. 

David I. of Scotland purchased the reputation of sanctity, 
by founding, and liberally endowing, not only ihe monastery 
of Melrose, but those of Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others ; 
which led to the well-known observation of his successor, that 
he was a sore saint for the crown. 



KoTE X. 



For mass or prayer can I rarely tarj^. 

Save to patter an Ave J\Im~y, 

When I ride on a Border foray. — P. 24. 

The Borderers were, as may be supposed, very ignoran .tboat 
religious matters. Colville, in his Paranesis, or Admonition, 
states, that the reformed divines were so far from undertaking 
distant journeys to con%'ert the Heathen, "as I wold wis at 
God that ye wold only go hot to the Hielands and Borders ol 
our own realm, to gain our awin countreymen, who, for lacli 
of prechingand ministration of the sacraraent.*;, must, with tyme, 
becum either infidells, or atheists." But we learn, from Le*^ 
ley, that, however deficient in real religion, they regularly toiJ 
their beads, and never with more zeal than when going on a 
plundeiing expedition. 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



61 



Note Y. 

So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The yo7itk in glittering squadrons start ; 

Sudden the fiying jennet wheel, 
And hurt the uneipectcd dart. — P. 24. 

" By my faitli," sayd the Duke of Lancaster (to a Portu- 
gue-*e s(|uirc). " of all the fi-atos of amies that the Castellyuns, 
aiiii they of yoar countrey ilotli use, the caslyrigeof tlieir dertes 
best pleasGth me, and gladly I wolde se it: for, as I hear say, 
if tliey strike one aryghte, without he bo well armed, the dart 
vvjll pierce him thrughe." — "By my fayth, sir," sayd the 
&i|uyer, " ye say troulh ; for I have seen many a grete stroke 
yiven with them, whieh at one lime cost os derely, and was 
to us great displeasure ; for, at the said skyrniishe, Sir John 
Lawrence of Coygne was striken with a dart in such wise, that 
the head perced all tiie plates of liis cote of mayle, and a sacke 
stopped with ?ylke. and passed thrughe his budy, so that he 
fell down dead." — Froissart, vol. ii. ch. 44. — This mode of 
fighting with darts was imitated in the military game called 
Jetigo de las canas, which the Spaniards borrowed from their 
Moorish invaders. A Saracen champion is thus described by 
Froissart : *' Among tiie Sarazyns, there was a yonge knight 
called Agadinger Dolyferne ; he was always wel mounted on 
ci redy and a lyght horse; it sernied. when the horse ranne, 
that he did tly in the ayre. The knighte seemed to be a good 
man of armes by Iiis dedes ; he bare always of usage three 
fethered dartes, and rychte well he couldtandle them ; and, 
according to their custome, he was clene armed, with a long 
white towell about his head. His apparell was blacke, and 
his own colour browne, and a good horseman. The Crysten 
men say, they thoughte he dyd such deeds of armes for the 
love of some yonge ladye of his countrey. And true it was, 
that he loved entirely the King of Tliune's daugiiter, named 
the Lady Azala ; she was inherytor to the renlme of Thune, 
at'tc-r llie discease of the kyng, her father. This Agadinger 
was sone to the Duke of Olylerne. I can nat telle if they were 
married together after or nal ; but it was shewed me, that 
this knyght, for love of the sayd ladye, during the siege, did 
many feates of armes, Tlie knygbtes of France wold fayne 
have taken hym ; but they colde never attrape nor inclose 
him ; his horse was so swyft, and so redy to his hand, that 
alwaies he escaped." — Vol. ii. ch. 7L 



Note Z. 

And there the dying lamps did burtif 

Before thy low and lonely urn, 

O gallant Chief of Oltcrburnc .'—P. 24. 

The famous and desperate battle of Otterburne was fought 
Ijth August, 1388, betwixt Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and 
James, Earl of Doaglas. Both these renowned champions were 
at the head of a chosen body of troops, and they were rivals 
in military fame ; so that Froissart affirms, " Of all the bat- 
taylea and enconnteryngs that I have made mencion of here 
before in all this bystory, great or smalle, this battayle that 
I treat of nowe was one of the sorest and best foughten, with- 
out cowardes or faynte hertes : for there was neyther knyghte 
nor squytT but that dyde his devoyre, and foughte hande to 
liande. This batayle was lyke the batayle of Becherell, tho 
which was valiauatly fought and eadored." The issue of the 

1 There is something affecting in the maoner in which the oM Prior of 
Lochleven tnma from describing the death of the gallant Ramaay, to the 
(eneni! sortow which ic excited : — 

" To tell yoii thoro of the manere, 
It 19 hot sorrow for til here ; 
He wea tho grcHeat menyd man 
That ony cowth have thowcht of than, 
Ol hia state, or of mare be fare : 
All men^t bim, bath better aad war ; 



conflict is well known : Percy was made prisoner, and the 
Scots won the day, dearly purchased by the death of their g;il- 
lant general, the Earl of Doughw, who w;ts slain in the action. 
He wa.4 buried at Melrose, beiiealb the high altar. "Hia 
obsetjuye w;ls done reverently, and on his bodye layde a tombe 
of stone, and his baner hangyng over hym." — Froissart, 
vol. ii. p. 155 



Note 2 A. 



Dark Knight of Liddesdaie.—?. 24. 

William Douglas, called the Knight of Liddesdale, flour- 
ished during the reign of David IL, and was so distinguished 
by his valor, that he was called the Flower of Chivalry. 
Nevertheless, he tarnished his renown by tlio cruel murder of 
Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, originally his friend and 
brother in arms. The King had conferred upon Ramsay the 
sheriffdom of Teviotdale, to which Douglas pretended some 
claim. In revenge of this preference, the Knight of Ijiddes- 
dale came down upon Ram-^ay, while he was administering 
justice at Hawick, seized and carried him off to his remote 
and inaccessible castle of Hermitage, where he threw his un- 
fortunate prisoner, horse and man, into a dungeon, and \efi 
him to perish of hunger. It is said, the miserable captive \iro- 
longed his existence for several days by the corn which fell 
from a granary above the vault in which he was confined. i 
So weak was the royal authority, that David, although highly 
incensed at this atrocious murder, found himself obligt-d ro 
appoint the Knight of Liddesdale successor to his victim, as 
Sheriff of Teviordale. But he was soon after slain, while hunt- 
ing in Ettrick Forest, by his own godson and chieftain. Wil- 
liam, Earl of Douglas, in revenge, according to some autlior-;. 
of Ramsay's murder; although a popular tradition, preservfil 
in a ballad quoted by Godscrofl, and some parts of which are 
still preserved, ascribes the resentment of the Earl to jealousy. 
The place where the Knight of Liddesdale was killed is called, 
from his name, William-Cross, upon the ridge of a hill called 
William-hope, betwi.'st Tweed and Yarrow. His body, ac- 
cording to Godscroft, was carried to Lindean church the fir^t 
night after his death, and thence to Melrose, where lie w;i.i 
interred with great pomp, and where his tomb is still shown. 



Note 2 B. 

The moon on the cast oriel shone. — P. 24. 

It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful specimen of the 
lightness and elegance of Gothic architecture, when in ius 
purity, than the eastern window of Melrose Abbey. Sir Jamt.s 
Hall of Dunglas, Bart., has, with great ingenuity and plausi- 
bility, traced the Gothic order through its various forms ami 
seemingly eccentric ornaments, to an architectural imitation of 
wicker work ; of which, as we learn from some of the legpu.ls, 
the earliest Christian churches were constructed. In such an 
edifice, the original of the clustered pillar^ is traced to a set of 
round posts, begirt with slender rods of willow, whose loo-^e 
summits were brought to meet from all quartere. and bound 
together artificially, so as to produce the frame-work of ihe 
roof: and the tracery of our Gothic windows is displayed in the 

The ryche and pure him menyde bath. 
For of bis dede wes mekil ekath." 

Some yoara ago, a person digging for atones, about the old caslli* of 
Hermitage, broke into a vault, cootaining a quantity of chaff, eome b'^ncs, 
and pieces of iron ; amongst others, the curb of an ancient bridle which the 
author has since given to the E irl D;i1hnusio, under the impri-saioii that 
it po&sibly maybe a relic of his brave ancestor. Tho worthy clerpyman of 
the parish bos mentioned this diacovery in hia Statistical Ace >nnl of 
Castietown. 



62 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



meeting and interlacing of rods and hoops, aflTording an inex- 
iiaustible variety orbeaulit'ul forms of open work. This inge- 
nious system is alluded to in the romance. Sir Jam^ Hall's 
Essay on ^Gothic Architecture is published in The Edinburgh 
Philosophical Transactions. 



Note 2 C. 
The 'condrous Michael Scott.— P. 24. 

Sir IMiohael Scott of Balu-earie flourished during the 13lh 
century, and was one of the ambassadors sent to bring tlie 
Maid of Norway to Scotland upon the death of Alexander III. 
liy a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later era. 
lie was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in fijreign 
countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at 
Venice in 1496 ; and several treatises upon natural philosophy, 
from which be appears to liave been addicted to the abstruse 
studies of judicial astrology, alchymy, piiysiognomy, and chi- 
romancy. Hence he passed among his contemporaries for a 
sliilful magician. Dempster informs us, that he remembers to 
have heard in his youth, that tlie magic books of Michael 
Scott were still in existence, but could not be opened without 
danger, on account of the malignant fiends who were thereby 
invoked. Dempsicri Historia Ecc/csiastica, 1627, lib. xii. 
p. 495. Lesly characterizes Michael Scott as " singularie 
philosophitE, astTonnmicB, ac medicine laude prcstnns ; dicc- 
liatur pcnitissimos magitE recess iis indagdssc." Dante also 
mentions him as a renowned wizard : — 

" Quell altro che ne* fianchi e cosi poco, 
Micbele Scotto fu, che veramente 
Delle magiche frode seppe 11 giuoco." 

Iiifci'no, Canto 3.xrao. 

A personage, thus spoken of by biographers and historians, 
loses little of his mystical fame in vulgar tradition. Accord- 
ingly, the memory of Sir Michael Scott survives in many a 
Icgenil ; and iu the south of Scotland, any work of great labor 
and antiquity is ascribed, either to the agency of .^^(//rf Michael, 
of Sir William Wallace, or of the devil. Tradition varies con- 
cerning the place of his burial ; some contend for Home Col- 
trame, in Cumberland ; others for Melrose Abbey. But all 
rigree, that hi'* hooks of magic were interred in his grave, or 
preserved in the convent where be died. Satchells, wishin" to 
give some authority for his account of the origin of the name 
of Scott, pretends, that, in 1629. he chanced to be at Burgh 
under Bowness, in Cumberland, where a person, named Lance- 
lot Scott, showed him an e.\tract from Michael Scott's works, 
com jining that story : — 

" He said the book which he gave me 
Was of Sir Michael Scott's bistorie ; 
Which Iii-^tory was never yet read through, 
Nor never will, for no man dare it do. 
Young scholars have pick'd out something 
From the contents, tliat dare not read within. 
He carried me along the castle then. 
And shew'd his written book hanging on an iron pin. 
His writing pen did seem to me to be 
or hardened metal, like steel, or accumie ; 
The volume of it did seem so large to me. 
As the Book of Martyrs and Turks bistorie. 
Then in the church he let me see 
A stone where Mr. Michael Scott did lie ; 
I asked at him how that could appear, 
Mr. Micliael bad been dead above five hundred year? 
He shew'd me none durst bury under that stone, 
More than he bad been dead a few years agone ; 
For Mi. Michael's name does terrifie each one." 

History of the Right Honorable JVamc o/ScoTt 



Note 2 D, 

Salamanca^ s cave. — P. 25. 

Spain, from the relics, doubtless, of Arabian learning and 
snpei-stition, was accounted a favorite residence of magicians. 
Pope Sylvester, who actually imported from Spain the use ot 
the Arabian numerals, was supposed to have learned there 
the magic, for which he was stigmatized by the ignorance of 
his age. — Willikm of .^falmsbttrJf, lib. ii. cap. 10. There 
were public schools, where magic, or rather the sciences sup 
posed to involve its mysteries, were regularly taught, at Toledo, 
Seville, and Salamanca. In the latter city, they were held in 
a deep cavern ; the mouth of which was walled up by Q,uceu 
Isabella, wife of King Ferdinand. — D' Auton on J^carned fu- 
crcdtility, p. 45. These Spanish schools of magic are celebra- 
ted also by the Italian poets of romance : — 

" Q,uesto citta di Tolleto solea 
Tenere studio di negromanzia, 
Quivi di magica arte si leg<:ea 
Pubblicameute, e di peromanzia ; 
E moiti geomanti sempre avea, 
Esperimenti assai d' idromanzia 
E d' altre false opinion' di sciocchi 
Come e fatture. o spesso batter gli occhi." 

// Morgante Maggiorc, Canto xiv. St. 259. 

The celebrated magician Maugis, cousin to Rinaldo of Mont- 
alban, called, by Ariosto, Malagigi, studied the black art at 
Toledo, as we learn from J^'' Histoire de Maugis D\-ltjgrc- 
mont. He even held a professor's chair in the necromantic 
university; for so I interpret the passage, "qu'on tuus Us 
sept ars d* enchantemcnt, dcs charmes ct conjurations, il n'y 
avoit vicillcuT niaistre que lui ; et en tcl rcnom tfu^on le iais- 
soit en chaise, et I'appel/oit on maistre Maguis.'* This 
Salamancan Domdaniel is said to have been founded by Her- 
cules. If the classic reader inquires where Hercules himself 
learned magic, he may consult " -Les faicts et processes du 
noble ct vaillant Jht^rcules,^* where he will learn, that the 
fable of his aiding Atlas to support the heavens, arose from 
the said Athis liaving taught Hercules, the noble knight-errant, 
the seven liberal sciences, and in particular, that of judicia' 
astrology. Such, according to the idea of the middle ages, 
were the studies, " maiimus qua docuit Jltlas.''' — In a ro- 
mantic history of Roderic, the last Gothic King of Spain, he 
is said to have entered one of those enchanted caverns. It was 
situated beneath an ancient tower near Toledo ; and when the 
iron gates, which secured tlie entrance, were unfolded, there 
rushed forth so tlreadful a whirlwind, that hitherto no one had 
dared to penetrate into its recesses. But Roderic, tlireatened 
with an invasion of the Moors, resolved to enter the cavern, 
where he expected to find some prophetic intimation of the 
event of the war. Accordingly, his train being furnished with 
torches, so artillcially composed that the tempest could not ex- 
tinguish them, the King, with great difficulty, penetrated into 
a square hall, inscribed all over with Arabian characters. In 
the midst stood a colossal statue of brass, representing a Sara- 
cen wielding a Moorish mace, with which it discharged furious 
blows on all sides, and seemed thus to excite the tempest which 
raged around. Being conjured by Roderic. it ceased from 
striking, until he read, inscribed on the right hand. " IVretchrd 
Monarch, for thy evil hast thou come hither;'^ on the left 
hand, " Thou shalt be dispossessed by a strange people;''^ 
on one shoulder, "■fini-ol^c the sons of Hagar;^' on the oilier, 
'^ I do mrne ojffcp." Wlien the King had deciphered these 
ominous inscriptions, the statue returned to its exercise, the 
tempest commenced anew, and Roderic retired, to mourn over 
the predicted evils which ap|iroached his throne. He caused 
the gates of the cavern to be locked and barricaded ; but, in 
the course of the night, the tower fell with a tremendous noise, 
and under its ruins concealed forever the entrance to the mys- 
tic cavern. The conquest of Spain by tin! Saracens, and tho 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



03 



death of the unfortunate Don Roderic, fulfillet! the prophecy 
of the brazen statue. HiKtoria vcrdadcra dd Hey Don Rod- 
rig" pur el Snbio Mcayde Abulcacim, traduzcda dt la Icngua 
Arabian por J\Iiqucl de Luna., 1654, cap. vi. 



Note 2 E. 



The bells would ring in J^otre Dame. — P. 25. 

" Tuntavinc rem tnm negligenicr7^* says Tyrwhitt, of liis 
prcileccssor, Speight," who, in his commentary on Chaucer, 
ti:ii| oinitti'd, as trivial and fabulous, the story of Wade and 
ills boat GuiiiKclot, to tlio great prejudice of posterity, the 
memory of the iicro and the boat being now entirely lost. That 
future antiquaries may lay no_sach omission to my ciiarge, I 
li;ive noted one or two of the most current traditions concern- 
in;,' Michael Scott, He was chosen, it is said, to go upon an 
eniba-'isy, to obl.iin from the King of France satisfaction for 
certain piracies committed by his subjects upon tlio*c of Scot- 
'aiid. Inslenil of preparing a new equipage and splendid 
retinuo. th^- ambassador retreated to his study, opened his book, 
and evoked a lieiid in the shape of a huge bhick horse, mount- 
ed upon his back, and forced him to fly through the .lir to- 
wards France. As they crossed the sea, the devil insidiously 
asked hi-; rider. What it was that the old women of Scotland 
nuilterpd :it bedtime ? A less experienced wizard might have 
an^wertd that it was the Pater Xostcr, wliicli would have 
licensed the devil to precij)itate him from his back. But 
Miciiael sternly replied, " What is that to thee? — Mount, 
Hiabolus. and fly I" When he arrived at Paris, he tied his 
lioi><e to the gate of the palace, entered, ami boklly delivered 
his nassage. An ambassador, with so little of the pomp and 
cir>'urnstaiice of diplomacy, was not received with much re- 
sji-ct. and the King was ahout to return a contemptuous refusal 
to his demand, when Michael besought him to suspend his 
resolution till he had seen his horse stamp three times. The 
fir't stamp shook every steeple in Paris, and caused all the 
bella to ring ; the second threw down three of the towers of 
the palace ; and the infernal steed had lifted his hoof to give 
the third stamp, when the King rather chose to dismiss Michael, 
with the most ample concessions, than to stand to the probable 
con-'eiiuenccs. Another time, it is said, that, when residing at 
the Tower of Oakwood, upon the Ettrick, about three miles 
above Selkirk, he heard of the fame of a sorceress, called the 
Witch of F ilsehope. who Uvcd on the opposite side of the 
river. Michael went one morning to put her skill to the test, 
hut w,is disappointed, by her denying po-iitively any know- 
ledge of the necromantic art. In his discourse with her, he 
laid his wand inadvertently on the table, which the hag ob- 
>:fT\ing, suddenly snatched it op, and struck him with it. 
Feeling the force of the charm, he rushed out of the house ; 
6ut, as it had conferred on him the externa! appearance of a 
Iinre, his servant, who waited without, halioo'd upon the dis- 
comfited wiznrd his own greyhound.-^, and pursued him so 
<'U)^e, that, in or>ler to obtain a moment's breathing to reverse 
the charm. Michael, after a very fatiguing course, was fain to 
tuke refuge in his own jawholr (Anglice, common sewer). In 
order to revenge himself of the witch of Falschope, Michael, 
one morning in the ensuing harvest, went to the hill above the 
ho.K'e with his dogs, and sent down Ids servant to ask a bit of 
bR-ad from the goodwife for his greyhounds, with instructions 
what to do if he met with a denial. Acconliiigly, when the 
witch had refused the boon with contumely, the servant, as his 
master had directed, laid above the door a paper which he had 
given him, containing, amongst many cabalistica! words, the 
well-known rhyme, — 

" Jlaister Michael Scott's man 
Soaght meat, and gat nane." 

Immediatelj the good old woman, instead of pursuing her 



dome-stic occupation, which was baking bread for the ri:ip- 
ers, began to dance round the fire, repealing the rliynic, and 
continued this e-vercise till her husband sent the reapers to 
the house, one after another, to see what had delayed their 
provision ; hut the charm caught each as they entered, and 
losing all idea of returning, they joined in the dance and 
chorus. At length the old man hiniKelf went to the house ; 
hut as his wife's frolic with Mr. Michael, whom he had snen 
on the hill, made him a little cautious, he conleiitcd himself 
with looking in at the window, and saw the reajicrs at their 
involuntary exercise, dragging his wife, now completely ex- 
hausted, sometimes round, and sometimes through, the tire, 
which was, as usual, in the midst of the house. Instead of 
entering, he saddled a horse, and rode up the hill, to humble 
liimself before Michael, and beg a CL-ssation of the spell ; 
which the good-natured warlock immetiiately granted, direct- 
ing him to enter the house backwards, and, with his left hand, 
take the spell from above the door; which accordingly ended 
the supernatural dance. — This tale was told less particularly 
in former editions, anil I have been censured for inaccuracy 
in doing so. — A similar charm occurs in Iluun de Bourdcaux, 
and in the ingenious Oriental tale, called the C'llipk Vnthek. 

Notwithstanding his victory over the witch of Falsehope, 
Michael Scott, like his predecessor. Merlin, fell at last a vic- 
tim to female art. His wife, or coneubino, elicited from hi in 
the secret, that his art eould ward off any danger except the 
poisonous qualities of broth, made of the flesh of a bmnc sow. 
Such a mess she accordingly administered to the wizard, who 
died in consequence of eating it ; surviving, however, long 
enough to put to death his treacherous contidant. 



Note 2 E. 



The words that cleft Etldon hills in three.— F. 25. 

Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed 
by a spirit, for whom he was under the necessity of finding 
constant employment. He commanded him to builil a cnuld, 
or dam-head, across the Tweed at Kelso ; it was accom|dished 
in one night, and still does honor to the infernal architect. 
Michael next ordered that Eildon hill, which was then a uni- 
form cone, should be divided into three. Another night was 
sufficient to part its summit into the three picturesque peaks 
which it now bears. At length the enchanter conquered thii 
indefatigable demon, by employing him in the hopeless and 
endless task of making ropes out of sea-sand. 



Note 2 G. 



That lamp shall burn vvquenchahhj. 
Until the eternal doom shall be. — P. 25. 
Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natural 
magic, talk much of eternal lamps, pretended to have been 
found burning in ancient sepulchres. Fortuniu'* Licitns in- 
vestigates the subject in a treatise, De Luccrnis Antiquorum 
Reconditis, published at Venice. 1621. One of these perpet- 
ual lamps is said to have been discovered in the tomb of Tul- 
liola, the daughter of Cicero. The wick was supposed to be 
composed of xsbestos. Kircher enumerates three ditVerent 
recipes for constructing such lamps ; and wisely concludes, 
that the thing is nevertheless impossible, — Mnnditg Sitbtn^ 
rannct/s, p. 72. Dclrio imputes the fabrication of such lighla 
to magical skill. — Disguisitionrs JMngietr, p. 58. In a very 
rare romance, which " treateth of the life of Virgilius, and of 
his deth, and many niarvayles that he dyri in his lyf'^lime, by 
wychecrafte and nygramancye. thronglie the helpc of thu 
devyls of hell," mention is made of a very extraorlinary pro- 
cess, in which one of these mystical lamps was employed. It 



64 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



seems that Virgil, as he advanced in ynars, became desirous of 
renovating his youth by magical arl. For this purpose he 
constructed a solilar)- tower, having only one narrow |)ortaI, in 
wliicli he placed twenty-four copper figures, armed with iron 
flails, twelve on each side of tlie porch. These enchanted 
statues struck with their flails incessantly, and rendered all en- 
trance impos.^ible, unless when Virgil touched the spring, which 
stopped their motion. To this tower he repaired privately, at- 
tended by one trusty servant, to whom he communicated the 
secret of the entrance, and Jiither they conveyed all the ma- 
gician's treasure. " Then sayde Virgilius, my dere beloved 
frende, and that I above alle men truste and knowe mooste of 
my secret ;" and then he led the man into a cellar, where he 
made a/rtyrr lamp at alt seasons burnyngc. "And then 
eayd Virgilius to the man, ' Se you llie barrel that standelh 
here ?' and iie sayd, yea : ' Therein must thou put me ; fyi-st 
ye must slee me, and hewe me smalle to pieces, and cut my 
bed in iiii pieces, and salte the heed under in the bottom, and 
then tlie pieces there after, and my herte in the myddel. and 
tlien set the barrel nnder the lampe, that nyghte and day the 
fal therein may droppe and Icake ; and ye shall ix dayes long, 
one'* in the day, fyll the lampe, and fayle nat. And when this 
is all done, then shall I be reneued, and made yonge agen." 
At tliis extraordinary proposal, the confidant was sore abashed, 
and made some scruple of obeying his master's commands. 
At length, Iiowever, he comjdied, and Virgil was slain, pick- 
led, and barrelled up, in all respects according to his own 
direction. The servant then left the tower, taking care to pal 
tiie copper thrashers in motion at his departure. He continued 
daily to visit the tower with the same precaution. Meanwhile, 
tlie emperor, with whom Virgil was a great favorite, missed 
h!ni from the court, and demanded of his servant where he 
was. The domestic pretended ignorance, till tlie emperor 
threatened him with death, when at length he conveyed him 
to the enchanted tower. The same tlireat extorted a discovery 
of the mode of stopping the statues from wielding their flails. 
" And then the empcrour entered into the castle with all Ins 
folke, and sought all aboute in every corner after Virgilius; 
and at the laste they sought so longe. that they came into the 
seller, where they sawe the lampe hang over tlie barrell, 
where Virgilius lay in deed. Then asked the emperour the 
man, who had made hym so herdy to put his maystur Virgi- 
lius so to lietlie ; and the man answered no worde to the em- 
pcrour. And then the emperour, with great anger, drewc out 
hii sworde, and slewe he there Virgilius' man. And when all 
this was done, then sawe the emperour, and all his folke, a 
naked child iii tymes rennynge about the barrell, saynge these 
wordcs, ' Cursed be the tynie that ye ever came here.' And 
with those words vanyslied the chylde awaye. and vva-s never 
Bene ageyn ; and thus abyd Virgilius in the barrell dceil." — 
Virgiiius. bl. let., printed at Antwerpe by John Doesborcke. 
This curious volume is in the valuable library of Mr. Douce; 
and is "Opposed to be a translation from the French, printed 
in Flanders for the English market. See Ooujet Biblioth. 
Frmic. ix. 225. Catnloguc de la Bibliothtquc J^alionalc, torn, 
ii. p. 5. De Bare, No. 3857. 



by the beard ; but he had no sooner touched the formidable 
whiskers, than the corpse started up, and half unsheathed his 
sword. The Israelite fled ; anil so permanent was the ertuct o. 
his terror, that he became Christian. — Hkywood's Hierarchic 
p. 480, quoted from Sebastian Cobarrtivias Crozcc. 



Note 2 H. 



7'Ac7i Dctoraine, in terror, took 
From the cold hand the Mighty Book, 

He thought, as kc took it, the dead man frowii' d. — P, 26. 

William of Deloraine might be strengthened in this belief by 
the well-known story of the Cid Riiy Diaz. When the body 
of that famous Christian champion was sitting in state by the 
liigh altar of the cathedral church of Toledo, where it remained 
for ten years, a certain malicious Jew attempted to pull him 



Note 2 I. 



The Baron's Dwarf his coarser held. — P. 27. 

TJie idea of Lord Cranstoun s Goblin Page is taken from a 
being called Gilpin Horner, who appeared, and made some 
stay, at a farm-honse among the Borilei^mountains. A gentle- 
man of that country has noted down the following parliculai-s 
concerning his appearance : — 

" The only certain, at least most probable account, that ever 
I heard of Gilpin Horner, was from an old man, of the name 
of Anderson, who was born, and lived all his life at Tod^haw- 
hill, in Eskedale-muir, the place wiiere Gilpin appeared ami 
staid for some time. He said there were two men. late in the 
evening, when it was growing dark, employed in fastening the 
horses upon the uttermost part of their ground (that is, tying 
their forefeet together, to hinder them from travelling far in 
the night), wlien they beard a voice at some distance, crying, 
'Tint! Tint! Tivt!'^ One of the men. named Moil'at. 
called out, ' What diel has tint you? Come here.' Imme- 
diately a creature, of something like a human form, a])pcared. 
It was surprisingly little, distorted in features, and raisshajicn 
in limbs. As soon as the two men could see it plainly, they 
ran home in a great fright, imagining they had met with some 
goblin. By tlie way, Moffat fell, and it ran overliim, and was 
Jiome at the house as soon as either of them, and staid Uiere a 
long time ; but I cannot say how long. It was real fle.sh and 
blood, and ate and drank, was fond of cream, and, when 
it could get at it, would destroy a great deal. It seemed a 
mischievous creature ; and any of tlie children whom it could 
master, it would heat and scratch without mercy. It was once 
abusing a child belonging to the same Moffat, who had been 
so frightened by its first appearance; and he, in a pn-ssion. 
struck it so violent a blow upon the side of the head, ihal it 
tumbled upon the ground ; but it was not stunned ; for ir >ft 
up its head directly, and exclaimed, ' Ah, hah, Will o' Moilai, 
you strike sair !' (viz. sore). After it had staid there long, one 
evening, when the women were milking the cows in the lu-jii. 
it was playing among the children near by them, when suddenly 
they heard a loud shrill voice cry three times, ' Qilpin Hor- 
ner!'' It started, and said, 'That is me, I vitist awaij,^ and 
instantly disappeared, and was never heard of more. Old An- 
derson did not reraendjer it, but said, he had often heard lii> 
father, and other old men in the place, who were there at the 
time, speak about it ; and in ray younger years I have often 
heard it mentioned, and never met with any who had the re- 
motest doubt as to the truth of the story; althongh, I musi 
own, I cannot help thinking there must be some misrepresenta- 
tion in it." — To this account, [ have to add the following |)ai^ 
ticulars from the most respectable authority. Besides constant- 
ly repeating the word tint! tint! Gilpin Horner was often 
heard to call upon Peter Bertram, or Be-te-rara, as he pronoun- 
ced the word ; and when the shrill voice called Gilpin Horner, 
he immediately acknowledged it was the summons of the said 
Peter Bertram: who seems therefore to have been the devil 
who had tint, or lost, the little imp. As much has been ob- 
jected to Gilpin Horner, on account of his being supposed 
rather a device of the author than a jiopular superstition, I can 
only say, that no legend which I ever heard seemed to be 
more univeKally credited : and that many persons of very good 
rank, and considerable information, are well known to reposw 
absolute faith in the trodition. 

I Tiirsi^iiifics lott. 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



65 



Note 2 K. 

Hal the Jjndi/e of Branksomc gaihvr'd a band 

Of the best that icould ride at her command. — P. 27. 

Upon "-iStli June, 1557, Dame Jaiiet IliMtoimc Lady Buc- 
j1cUl-Ji, aiul a yn-al miniber of tin.- iianit' ol" l^i^-ult, tU-laitit (ac- 
;:u>.'<ij lor coiiiiiij; 10 Iho kirk ol' Si. iMary of llii? Lowl's, lo llie 
iiumbiT ol'lwo iiutntrtU persons bodin in teire of weire (arrayt-d 
III armor), and breaking o|iL-n tlic door of tlie said kirk, in ur- 
diTio a|i(>n?ln'iid the Laird ori'ran>touiic lor lii^ de.Htruclion." 
I III ihc *JO[h July, a warrant iVoni the Uueen is jiresenled, dis- 
t hargiiiy the justice to proceed ayainsl the Lady Hnetileucli 
while new calling — JitridgmnU of Books of ^lijuurnai, in 
.iitiweitcs' Library. — The following proceedings upon this 
ua^e appear on tlie record of the Court ot Ju^tieia^y ; On tlie 
Citli of June. 1557, Robert Seolt, in Bowhill parisli, priest of 
the kirk of St. Mary's, accused of llie convocation of the 
Cluc---n's lieges, to the iiuinher of two hundred persons, in war- 
likt-- array, with jacks, iielinets. and other weapoiLs, and niarcii- 
iiig to the chapel of Si. Mary of the Lowes, for the slaughter 
of I^ir Peter Crausloun, out of ancient feud and malice pre- 
pfuse, and of breaking tlie doors ol" the said kirk, is repledged 
by tile Archbisiiop of Glasgow. The bail given by Robert 
Scott of AUanhaugh, Atlam Scott of Burnl'ule, RobL-rt Scolt 
ill Uowfurde, Walter Scott in Todf^hawhaugh, Walter Scott 
younger of Synton, Thomas Scott of Hayiiing, Robert 
S.uti, William Seott. and James Scott, brotiiors of the said 
Waiter Seott, Walter Scott in the Woll, and Waller Seott, 
Mm of William Seott of Hanien, and James Wemy.^s in Eck- 
furd, all accused of the same enm,;, is declared to be forfeited. 
On the ^anle day, Walter Scott of Synton, and Walter Chis- 
holnie of CI»i>holine, and William Seott of Harden, became 
bound, jointly and severally, tliat Sir Peter Cransloun, and his 
kmJrcd and ^ervants, sliouU r.ceive no injury from tliem in 
future. At the same time, Patri^-k Murray of Fal!ohiIl, Alex- 
.ind.-r Stnarl. uncle to the Lair.l of Trakwhare, John Murray 
of Newhall, John Fairlye, re-siding in S^-lkirk, George Tail, 
younijei of P in, John Peimycuke of Pennycuke. James Rani- 
say of Cokpen, the Laird of Fassyde, and the Laird of Hcncltrs.- 
•oiine. were all severally fin.rd for not attending as jurors; 
being probably either in alliance with the aceust-'d parties, or 
dreading their vengeance. Upon the ilOth of July following, 
Scull of Synton, Chisholme of Chisholme. Scott of Harden, 
Seott of Uowpajilie, Scolt of Buriifutc, with many others, are 
ordered to appear at next calling, under the pains of treason. 
But no farther procedure seems to have taken place. It is 
Baid, that, upon tliis rising, the kirk of St. Mary was burnt by 
the Scolts. 



Noxe 2 L. 



Like a book-bosom'd priest. — P. 29. 

"At Cnthank, two miles N. E. from the ehureb (of Ewes), 
jiere are the ruins of a chapel for divine service, in lime of Po- 
p ry. There is a tradition, that friars were wont to come from 
Mr'Irose or Jedburgh, to baptize and marry in this parish ; and 
fmm being in use to carry the nia--s-book in tlieir ho>om3, they 
were called by the inliabitantH. /louk-n-bosumis. There is a 
man yet alive, who knew old men who hail brcit baptized by 
(he.-e Book-a-bosomes, and who says one of them, calk-d Hair, 
used this parish for a very long lime." — Account of Parish of 
F.tces, apud J\lacfarlane* a JilSS. 



Note 2 M. 
Ml was delusion, naught was trtith.—T. 29. 
Glamour, in the legends of Scottish supentition, means the 
magic power of imposing on the eyesight of the spectators, so 
9 



lluit the appearance of an object shall be totally ditfi-rLMil from 
the reality. The transformation of Micli:ud Scon by lln- « Ueh 
of Falseho|)e, already mentioned, was a genuine u{>eraii(in of 
glamour. To a similar charm the ballad of Johnny Fa' im- 
putes the fjLscination of the lovely Countess, who eloped with 
that gipsy leader : — 

" Sae soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, 
They cast the glamour o'er her." 

It was formerly used even in war. In 1381, wht-n the Poke 
of Anjou lay before a strong ca.-.tle, upon the coast of Naples, 
a necromancer oifered to *' make the ayre so thycke, that they 
williin shall thynke that there is a great bridge on tlie see (by 
which the castle was surrounded) for ten men to go a front ; 
and whan they within the castle se this bridge, they will be so 
afrayde, that they shall yelde them to your mercy. The 
Duke demanded, — ' Fayre Master, on this bridge that yc sjieke 
of, may our people assuredly go thereon to the castell, to as- 
sayle it V — ' Syr," quod the enchantour, ' I dare not assure you 
that; for if any that passeth on the bridge make the signeof the 
erosse on hym, all sliall go to noughte. and they that be on the 
bridge shall fall into the see.' Then the Duke began to laugh ; 
anil a certain of young knightes, that were there present, said 
' Syr, for godsake, let the mayster assey his cunning : we shall 
leve making of any signe of the erosse on us for that tyrae.' " 
The Earl of Savoy, shortly after, entered the lent, and recog- 
nized in the enchanter tlie same person who had put the castle 
into the power of Sir Charles de la Payx, who then held il. by 
persuading the garrison of the dueen of Naples, througli magic- 
al deception, that the sea was coming over the walls. The 
sage avowed the feat, and added, that he was the man in the 
world most dreaded by Sir Charles de la Payx. "'Bv inv 
fayth,' i|uod the Earl of Savoy. ' ye say well ; and I will that 
Syr Cliarles de la Payx shall know that he hath gret w rougt 
to fear you. But I shall assure hym of you ; for ye sh.ill 
never do encbautment to deceyve hym, nor yet none other. I 
wolde nai that in tynie to come we sliulde be reproached that 
in so high an enterprise as we be in, wherein there be so many 
noble knyglites and squyres assembleil, that %ve shuJrie do any 
thyng be enchanlmenl, nor that we shuldo wyn our uiiemys be 
suchecrarte.' Tlienhe cdlled to him aservauni. and said. ' Go, 
and get me a hangman, and lei him stryke off this maystcr's 
heed witliout delay ;' and as soone as the Erie had command- 
ed il, incontynent it was done, for his heed was siryk'u of 
before the Erie's tent." — Froissart, vol. i. cli. 391, 39ti. 

The art of glamour, or other fascination, was ancieutly a 
principal part of the skill of the jongleur, or juggler, whose 
tricks formed much of the amuseiriL'nt of a Gothic castle. 
Some instances of this art may be found in the Jilinstrc/sij of 
the Scottish Border, vol. iv. p. lOG. In a strange allegorical 
poem, called the Houlat, written by a dependent of the house 
of Douglas, ahoiii 1452-3, the jay, in an assembly of birds, 
plays the part of the juggler. His feais of glamour are thai 
described : — 

*' He gart them see, as it semyt in samyn lionre, 

Hunting at herdis in holtis so hair ; 
Some sailand on the see schippis of toure, 
Bernis ballatlami on burd brim as a bare : 
He coulde carye the cou[i of the kingis des 
Syne leve in the stede, 
Bot a black bunwede ; 
He could of a henis hede 
Make a man mes. 

'* He gart the Empronre trow, and Irewlye bebaM, 
That the coriicrnik, the pundere at hand. 

Had poyndit all his pris hors in a poyod fald 
Because thai ete of the com in the kirkland. 

He conld wirk windaris, ipihat way that he wald, 
Mak a gray gns a gold garland, 

A lang spcre of a bitttle, for a berne bald 



6fi 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Nobilis of nutschelles, and silver of sand. 
Thus joukit with juxters the jan-'lane ja, 

Fair ladyes in ringis, 

Kiiychtis in caralyngis, 

nayth dansis and singi^ 
It seinvt as sa." 



Note 2 N. 



.Yttw if you ask who gave the stroke, 

£ cannot tell, so mot /thrive; 

It was not given bi/ man a/iDe. — P. 29. 

Dr. Henry More, in a letter prefixed to Glanville's Saducis- 
vms Triiniip/intus. mentions a similar phenomenon. 

" [ renuMnber an old gentleman in the country, of my ac- 
quaintance, an excellent justice of peace, and a pit^ce of a 
mathematician ; hut wliat kind of a philosopher he was, you 
may understand from a rhyme of his own making, which lie 
coniiiipniU'd 10 me at my taking horse in iiis yard, which rhj nie 
is Ihi-s ;— 

' Ens is nothing till sense finds out : 
Sense ends in nothing, no naught goes about.' 

Wliiirli rhyme of his was so rapturous to himself, that, on the 
reciting of tlie second verse, the old man turned himself about 
upon his toe as nimbly as one may observe a dry leaf whisked 
romiil tlie corner of an orchard-walk by some little wiiirlwind. 
With this philosopher I have bad many disconrsi's concerning 
the immortality of the soul and if* liisliiiction ; when I have 
run liim quite down by reason, lie would but lau^^Ii at me, and 
say this is logic. H. (calling me by my Christian name) ; to 
which I rcphed, this is reason, talber L. (for so I used and 
some oihci-s to call him) ; but it seems you are for the new 
lights, and immediate inspiration, which I confess he was as 
little for rLs tor tlie otiier ; but I said so only in the way of 
drollery to bim in tho'^e times, but truth is. nothing but palj)a- 
ble experience would move liim ; and being a boUl man. and 
fearing nothing, he told me he Iiad used all the magical cere- 
monies of conjuration he could, to raise the devil or a spirit, 
and had a most enrnest desire to meet with one, hut never could 
do it. But this iie told me, when he did not so nuich as think 
of it. while Ids servant was pulling otl' his booLs in the hall, 
soniF? invisiljte hand gave him such a clap upon the back, that 
it made all ring again ; ' so,' iboughl he now. • 1 am invited 
to the converse of my spirit,' ami tlierefore, so soon as his boots 
were off, and his shoes on, out he go^s into the yard and next 
field, to fintl out tlie spirit that had given bim this familiar clap 
on the b^ck. but founil none neither in the yard nor field next 
to it. 

'•But though he did not feel this stroke, albeit he thought 
it afrerwanls (tinding nothing came of it) a mere delpision ; 
yet i>ot long before his tlealh. it hati more force with him than 
all the philo-'ophical arguments I could use to him. though I 
conhl wind him and nonplus bim as I pleased ; but yet all my 
arguuu'Uls, how solid soever, made no impression upon him ; 
wbercfore, after several reasonings of this nature, wheieby t 
would prove to him the soul's ilistinction from the borly, and 
its iinuionalily. when nothing of such subtile consideration did 
any more execution on his mind than some lightning is said to 
do. tbo'.igh it melts the sword, on the fii/.zy consisteiiay of the 
kcabbaid, — 'Well,' said I, 'father L., though none of tiicse 
things move you, I have sometliing still behind, ami what 
vourself has acknowledged to be true, that may do the busi- 
ness : — Do you remember the claj) on your back when your 
Bcrvant was pulling off your boous in the ball ? Assure your- 
belf,' says I. ' father L., tliat goblin will be the first to biii you 
welcome into the other world." Upon that his countenance 
changed most sensibly, and he was more confounded with lliis 
rubbing up his memory, than with all the rational or ]))iiloso- 
phical argumentations that I could oroducc." 



Note 2 0. 

The running stream dissolved the spell. — P. 30. 

It is a firm article of popular faith, that tio enchantment can 
subsist in a living stream. Nay, if you can interpose a brook 
betwixt you and witches, spectres, or even fiends, you are in 
perfect safety. Burns's inimitable T.vm «' Shantcr turns en- 
tirely upon such a circumstance. Tlie belief seems to bi' of 
antiquity. Bromptou inlbmis us, that certain Irish wizar a 
could, by spells, couvert earthen clods, or stones, into fat pigs, 
which they sold in the market, but which always reassunied 
their proper form when driven by the deceived purchaser across 
a running stream. But Brompton is severe ou the Irish, for a 
very good reason. "Gens ista spurcissima non solvunl deci- 
mas." — Chronicon Johanuis Brompton apud decern Scrip- 
tores, p. 1076. 



Note 2 P. 

He never counted him a man. 

Would strike below the knee. — P. 30. 

Imitated from Drayton's account of Robin Hood and bia 
followers : — 

" A hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, 
Still ready at his call, that bowmen were right good : 
All c!;id in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue, 
His tellow's winded horn not one of them but knew. 
When setting to their lips their bugles shrill. 
The warbling echoes waked from every dale and tdlt ; 
Their bauldrics set with studs athwart their shoulders cast. 
To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled fa.st, 
A short swoni at ilieir belt, a buckler scarce a span. 
Who struck below the knee not counted then a man. 
All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong, 
They not an arrow drew but was a elolh-yani long. 
Of archery they had the very perfect craft, 
With broad arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft." 

Po/7j:^lbiov, Song L'6. 

To wound an antagonist in the thigh, or leg, was reckoned 
contrary to the law of arms. In a tilt between Gawain Mi- 
chael, an English squire, and Joachim Cathore, a Frenciiman, 
"they met at the spi-are poyittes rudely; the French squyer 
iusted right pleasantly ; the Rnglishma!i ran too lowe. for ht 
strak the Frenchman depe into the thigh. Wlierewiih the 
Erie of Buckingham was right sore displeased, and so were- all 
the other lords, and sayde how it was shamefully done."— 
Froissart, vol. i. chap. 366. Upon a similar occasion, "the 
two kuyghts came a fote eche against other rudely, with their 
speares low 



oiiehcd. 10 stryke eche other within tiie four! 
(luarters. Johan of Castell-Morant strake the English squyer 
on the brest in such wyse, tliat Syr Wyllyam Fermeton ■ 
stombled and bowed, for his fote a lyttel fayleil him. He 
helde his spere lowe with both his handes. and coude nat 
amende it. and strake Syr .lohan of the Casttdl-Moranl in the 
thighe, so that tlie speare went clene tlirouglie, tlial the heed 
was sene a hanrlfiili on the other syde. And Syr Johan with 
the stroke r;drd, but be fell nat. Than the Euglystie knyghtes 
and -squycrs were ryghte sore displeased, and sayde how it was 
a foule stroke. Syr Wyllam Fenneton excus;{l himselfe, and 
-sayde how he was sorrie of that adventure, and howe tliat yl 
he had knowen that it slmlde have bene so. lie wolde never 
have begone it ; sayenge how he could nat amemle it. by caiLsp 
of glaunsing of his fote by coustraynt of llie gi-eat stroke tliai 

I Syr Johan of the Jastell-Morant had given him." — Frois.sart, 

i vol. i. chap. 373. 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE J.AST MINSTREL. 



07 



Note 2 Q. 

She drnp the spiintcr from the icounil, 
jfnd icith a charm, she stanched the bl:yi. — P. 31. 

See several charms for this purpose in Reginald Scott's 
Discovery of fVitckcraft, p. 273. 
" Tom Potts was but a sorving man, 
But yet he was a doctor pood ; 
He bound his haiulkerchieloii tlie wound, 
And with some kinds of words he stanched the blood." 
Pieces of Ji lie tent Popular Poetry, Lond. 1791, p. 131. 



Note 2 R. 



But she has ta'en ike broken lance, 
^nd wash\l it from the clotted gore, 
And salved the splinter o^er and o'er. — P. 31. 
Sir Kenelm Di-jby, in a discourse upon the cure by Kympa- 
ihy, pronounced at Montpelier, before an assembly of nobles 
and learned men, translated into English by R. White, gen- 
tleman, and published in 1658, gives us the following curious 
surgical case : — 

"Mr. James Howel (well known in France for his public 
works, and particularly for hi* Dendrolo^ic, translated into 
French by Mons. Baudouiii) coming by cliauce, as two of his 
best friends were fighting in duel, he did his endeavor to 
part them ; and putting himselfe between them, seized, with 
his left hand, upon the hilt of the sword of one of the com- 
batants, while with his right hand he laid hold of lltL- blade of 
the other. They, being trans|ioiled with fury one against the 
other, struggled to rid themselves of the liiuderance their friend 
niade. that lliey should not kill one another ; and one of tlit?m 
rx)ti::hly drawing the blade of his sword, cuts to the very bone 
till- nerves and mu-cles of Mr. Howd's hand ; and then the 
other disengaged his hilts, and gave a cross blow on liis advei^ 
3:irie's head, whicli glanced towards his friend, who heaving u]) 
his sore hand to save the blow, he was wounded on the back 
of his hand as he had been before within. It seems some 
strange constellation reigned then against him, that he should 
lo-^e so much bloud by parting two >ncli dear friends, who, hud 
they been themselves, would have hazarded both their lives to 
have preserved his ; but this involuntary elVusion of blond by 
them, prevented that which they sholde have drawn one from 
(he other. For they, seeing Mr. Howel's face besmeared with 
liloud. by heaving up his wounded hand, they both ran to em- 
brace him ; and, Iiaving searched his hurts, they bound up his 
haiuis with one of his garters, to clo>e the veins wliieh were 
cut. and bled abundantly. They brought him home, and sent 
for a surgeon. But this being hear,l at court, the King sent 
one of his own surgeons; lor his Majesty much affected the 
said Mr. Howt-I. 

" li was my chance to be lodged hard by him ; and four or 
five days after, as I was making myself ready, he came to my 
douse, tnd prayed me to vi;.'W his wounds ; * for I understand,' 
, laid lie, ' that you have e.\traoriliiiary remedies on such occa- 
sions, and my surgeons ap)ireliend some fear that it may grow 
to a gangrene, ami so the haiiil must be cut oft'.' In effect, his 
countenance discovered that he was in much pain, which he 
said was insupportable, in reganl of tlie extreme inflamra •-• 
lion. I told him I would willingly serve him : but if haply 
he knew (he manner how I would cure him, without touching 
or seeing him, it may be? he would not cxpo'^e himself to my 
manner of curing, because he would thiid( it, peradventure, 
eitlK-r ineirectual or superstitious. He replied, ' The wonderful 
things which many have related unto me of your way of 
medicament, makes me nothing doubt at all of its efficacy ; 
BuiI all that I have to say unto you is comprehended in the 
Spanish proverb, I/.ig-nse e( mHag-ro '/ ha^olo jMahoma — Let 
the miracle be done, though Mahomet do it.* 



" T asked him then for anything that had the blood upon it ; 
BO he presently sent for his garter wherewith his hand was first 
bound ; and as I called for a basin of water, as if I would w;i.^h 
my hands. I look a handful of powder of vitritd, which I had 
ill my study, and presently dis.solveil it. As soon as the bloiidy 
garter w;ui brought me, I put it within the ba.sin, observing, 
in the interim, what Mr. Howel did, who stood talking with : 
gentleman in a conier of my chamber, not regarding at al' 
what I was doing ; but he started suddenly, as if he had tbnnd 
some strange alteration in himself. I asked liim what ii.. 
ailed 1 ' I know not what ailcs me ; but I finde that I feel nii 
more pain. Mcthinks that a pleasing kinde of freshnesse, :is 
it were a wet cold napkin, did spread over my hand, which 
hath taken away the inffanimation that tormsnted ine befor.*.' 
—I replied, * Since then that you feel alre.ndy so good elT-cl 
of my medicament, I advi^ you to cast away all your plays- 
ters ; only keep the wound clean, and in a moderate temper 
betwixt heat and cold.' This was presently reported to the 
Duke of Buckingham, and a little after to tlie King, who were 
both very curious to know tlie circumstam e of the busiiv s-e, 
wiiich was, that after dinner I took the garter out of the water, 
anil put it to dry before a great fire. It was scarce dry, but 
Mr. Howel's servant came running, that his master felt as 
much burning as ever he had done, if not more ; for the heal 
was such as if his hand were 'twixt coles of fire. I answered, 
although that had happened at present, yet he shoiibl find e.ise 
in a short time : for I knew the reason of this new accident, 
and would provide accordingly ; for his master should be free 
from that iidlanimalion, it may be before he could possibly 
return to him ; but in case he found no ease, I wislied him to 
come presently back again ; if not. he might forbear coming. 
Thereupon he went; and at the instant I did put again the 
garter into the water, thereupon he fonnd his master without 
any pain at all. To be brief, there was no sense of pain after- 
ward ; but within five or six dayes the wounds were cicatrized, 
and entirely healed." — Page 6. 

The King (James VI.) obtained from Sir Kenelm the dia 
covery of his secret, which he pretended had been taught 
him by a Carmelite friar, who had learned it in Armenia, or 
Pei-sia. Let not the age of animal magnetism and metalli'" 
tractors smile at tlie sympathetic powder of Sir Kenelm D.j'hy. 
Reginald Scott mentions the same mode of cure in these 
terms : — " And that which is more strange . . . they can 
r^medie anie stranger with that verie sword wherewith thev 
arc wounded. Yea, and that whicli is beyond all admiration, 
if they stroke the sword upward with then- fingers, the partie 
shall feele no pain ; whereas, if they draw their fingers down- 
wards, thereupon the partie wounded shall feele intolerab'" 
jiain." I presume that tlie success ascribed to thesympathetu 
mode of treatment might arise from the pains bestowed ir 
washing the wound, and excluding the air. tlms bringing on a 
cure by the first intention. It is introduced by Dryden in the 
Enchanted Island, a (very unnecessary) alteration of the 
Tempest : — 

" Ariel. Anoint the sword which pierced him with tliLs 
Weapon-salve, and wrap it close from air. 
Till I have time to visit him again. — Act v. sc. 2. 

Again, in scene 4th, Miranda enters with Hippolito's swoid 
wrapt up : — 

" Hip. O my wound pains me ! 

Mir. I am eome lo ease you. [SAc unwraps the sword 

Hip. Alas, I feel the cold air come to me ; 
My wound shoots worse than ever. 

Mir. Does it still grieve you ? \_She wipes and anoints thj 
sword. 

Hip. Now, methinks. there's something laid just npon ** 

Mir. Do you find no ease ? i 

Jlip. Yes, yes " npon the sudden all this pain I 

Is leaving me. Sweet heaven, how I am eased 1'* | 



Note 2 S. 

Oil Pcnchrijst glows a baic of fire. — P. 32. 

Bale, beacon-fagot. The Border beacons, from their num- 
ber and position, formed a sort of tele^'nipliie eoni muni cation 
with Edinburgh, — The act of Parliament, 1455, c. 48, diretits, 
that one bale or f:i^ot shall be wandng of the approach of 
the English in any manner; two bak's llial they aru cwhi/h^'' 
indeed ; four bales, blazing beside each other, that the en"niy 
are iu great force. " Tlie same taikenings to be watt-htrd and 
maid at Eggerhope (Eg^a-rsland) Castell, fra they se the fire of 
Hume, ifiat they fire right swa. And iu hke manner on Sow- 
tra Edge, sail se the lire of Eggerhope Castell, and malt 
taikeiiing in like maimer: And then may ali Louthaine be 
warned, and in spt-cial the Castell of Edinburgh ; and rlieir 
four fires to be made in like manner, that they in Fife, and fra 
Striveling east, and the east part of Louthaine, and to Dunbar, 
all may see lliem, and come to the defence of tlie realnie." 
These beacons (at least in latter limes; were a "long and 
strong tree set uj), with a long iron pole across the head of it, 
and an iron brander fixcil on a stalk in the middle of it, Jor 
holding a tai^barrel." — Stevenson's Htstonj, vol. ii, p. 7UI. 



Note 2 T. 
Our kin, and clan, and friends to raise. — P, 32. 

The speed with which the Borderers collected great bodies 
of horse, may be juilged of from ihe following f.\tract, when 
the snbjeet of the rising was nuu-li le^ important llian that sup- 
posed in the romance. It is taken from Carv-y's .Mmuirs : — 

"Upon tlie death of the old Lord Scroop, the tiueoii gave 
•he west wardenry to his ^oii, that iiad niairied my sister. He 
having received that offi.-e, came to me vvilli great earnestness, 
and desired me to be his deputy, otreriug rnc that I should live 
with him in hi^ house ; that lie would aKow me half a dozen 
men, and as many hordes, to be kept at his cluirge ; and his fee 
being lOUO nicrks yearly, he would part it with ine, and I 
should have the half. This his noble offer I accepted of. and 
went with him to Carlisle; where I was no sooner come, but 
I entered into my ofTicj. Wo had a -stirring time of it ; and 
few days past over my head but I was on horseback, either to 
prevent mischief, or take nialu.a'.:tors. and to bring the Border 
in better quiet than it had been in liniea past. One memorable 
thing of God's mercy sliewed uiilo me, was such as I Jiave 
good cause still to remember it. 

" I had private intelligence given me, that then? wi're two 
Scottishmen that had killed a churclimau in Scotland, and 
were by one of the Grxint.'.s relieved. This Gr.eme dw^lt 
within five miles of Carlisle. He had a jtretly liouse, and 
close by it a strong tower, for his own defence, in time of 
need. — About two o'eioek iu the morning, 1 look horse iu Cai-- 
lisle, and not above twenry-five in my company, thinking to 
surprise the house on a sudden. Before I could snifouiut the 
house, the two Scots were gotten in the strong tower, ami I 
could see a boy riding from the house as fast as hi-> hor.-'e could 
carry him ; I liitle suspei-tijig what it meant. But Thomas 
'Jailetoii came to me presently, and toUl me. tliat if I did not 
jtrosently prevent it, both mysell" anil all my coiujiauy would 
be either slain or taken ini^-oners. It was slrangt to me to hear 
Ihis language. lie then said to me, ' Do you .see that boy that 
riiletlj away so fxst 1 He will be in Scotland within thia half 
iiour ; and he is gone to let tliem know, lliat you are here, and 
to what cud you are come, and the small number you have 
with you ; nnd that if ihey will make hasre. on a sudden they 
l.iay surprise us, and do with us what they jilea'^i!.' Hereuj'on 
we look advice what was best to be done. We sent not'ce 
presently to all parts to raise the country, anil (o come to is 
with all the speed they could ; and withall we sent to Carlisle 
to raise the townsmen ; for without fool we could do no good 
%gainst the tower. There we staid some iiours, exjieetiug more 



company ; and within short time after the country came in on 
all sides, so that we were quickly betwt-en three and four hun- 
dred liorse ; and, after some longer stay, the foot of Carlisle 
came to us, to the number ot three or tour liundr'^d men; 
whom we presently set to work, to get to the top of the tower, 
and to uncover the rool"; and then some twenty of *,hem to fall 
down together, and by that means to win the *ower. — The 
Scots, seeing their present danger, offeri-'d to jiarloy, and yielded 
themselves to my mercy. They had no sooner opened the iron 
g:ite. and yielded themselves my prisoners, bnt we might see 
400 hoi'ie within a quarter of a mile coining to their rescue, 
and to surprise me and my small company ; but of a sudden 
they stayed, and mood at gaze. Then tiad I more to do than 
ever; for all our Bordcr^re came crying, with full mouths, 
' Sir, give us leave to set upon them ; lor these are they that 
have killed our tatliers, our brothers, and uncles, and our con 
sins ; and they are corning, thinking to surprise you, upon weak 
grass nags, such as they could gel on a sudden ; and God hath 
put them into your hands, that we may take revenge of them 
for inncli blood that they have spilt of ours.' I desired they 
would lie patient a while, and bethought myself, if 1 should 
give them Ilieir will, there would be few or none of the Scots 
that would escajie unkUIed (there was so many deadly feuds 
among them) ; and therefore I resolved with myself lo give 
them a fair answer, but not to give them their desire. So I 
told them, that if I were not llicre myself, they miglit then do 
wliat ihey pleased themselves; but b-'iiig present, if I should 
give them leave, the blood that sliould be spilt that day would 
lie very hard upon my conscience. And therefore I desired 
them, for my sake, to forliear; and, if the Scots did not pres- 
ently make away with all the speed they could, upon my send- 
ing to them, they should then have their wills to do what they 
pleased, They were ill satisfied with my answer, but durst 
not disobey. I sent with speed to the Scots, and bade them 
pack away with all the speed they could ; 'or if they stayed 
the messenger's return, they should few of them return to their 
own home. They made no stay ; but llii^y were reliirned 
homewards before the messenger had made an end of his mes- 
sage. Thus, by God's mercy, i escaped a great danger; and, 
by my means, there were a great many meu's lives sav^d thai 
day." 



Note 2 IT, 



On many a cairn* s gray pyramid, 

IVhere urns of viii^hty chiefs lie hid. — P. 32. 

The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which crown the sum- 
mit of most of our Scottish hills, and are found in otlier re- 
markable situations, seem usu.illy, thuugh not univer>ally, to 
have been se)>ulchral monuments. Six tiat ^'.ones are com- 
monly found in the centre, forming a cavity of greater or small- 
er dimensions, In wliich an urn is often jilaced. The author is 
possessed of one, discovered beneath an immense cairn at 
Rough lee, in Liddesdale. It is of the most barbarous con- 
struct on ; the middle of the substance alone having been sub- 
jected 10 the fire, over which, when liardeiied. the artist had 
laid an inner and outer coat of unbaked clay, etched with some 
very rude ornamenl.s ; his skill apparently being inadttjuate to 
baking the vase, when completely finished. The contents 
were bones and ashes, and a quantity of beads made of coal. 
This seems to nave been a barbarous imitation of the RMnan 
fashion of sepulture. 



Note 2 V. 



For pathless march and monnlain cell. 
The peasant left his lowly shed.— P. 33. 

The morasses were the tisual refuge of the Border hen-sinen, 
on the approach of an English army. — {ATiristrelsy of t/it 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



69 



SrottUh Border, vol. i. p. 393.) Caves, hewed in ihe most 
dangerous and inaccessible places, also aftbnled an occasional 
reln-nt. Such caverns may be seen in the prceipitous banks ol' 
the Teviot at Suntaws, u[)Oii the Ale at Ancrain, upon the 
Jed at Hundalee, and in many other places upon liie Bonier. 
The banks of the Eske. at Gorton and Hawtliornden. are iiol- 
lowed into similar reeesses. But even these dreary dens were 
njt always secure places of concealment. '• fn llie way as we 
came, not far from this place (Lon;; XiddryJ, George Fci-res, 

a gentleman of my Lord Protector's happened 

upon a cave in the grounde, the mouth whereof was so woi-ne 
with the fresh print of steps, that he seemed to be cerlayne 
therir wear some folke within ; and pone donne to trie, he wa-s 
readily receyved with a hakeb.ut or two. lie left them not 
yet, till he had known wheytherthei wolde be content to yield 
an.l come out; which they fondly refusing, he went to my 
lord's grace, and upon utterance of the thynge. gat licence to 
deale with them as he coulde ; and so returned to them, with 
11 skore or two of pioners. Three ventes had their cave, that 
we wenr ware of, whereof he lirsl stopt up on; anoother he 
lill'd lull of strawe, and set it a fyer, whereat they within cast 
water apace ; but it was so wel maynteyned without, that the 
fyer prevayled, and thei within fayji to get tliein belyke into 
anoother parler. Then devysed we (for I iiapt to he with him) 
to sto[i the same up, whereby we should eytlier smoolher them, 
or I'ynd out their ventes, if thei hadde any moe ; as tliis was 
ilone at another issue, about xii score of, we moughte sec the 
fume of their smoke to come out: the which continued with 
io great a force, and so long a while, that we could not but 
tliinke tliey most needs get them out, or smoother within : and 
forasmuch aa we foutu) not that they dyd the tone, we thought 
it for certain thei wear sure of the toother." — Pattejj's Ac- 
count of Somerset's Expedition into Scotland^ apud Dal- 
vell's Fragments. 



Note 2 W. 



ShotD^d southern ravage was begun. — P. 33. 

From the following fragment of a letter from the Earl of 
Northumberland to King Henry VIII., preserved among the 
Cotton MSS. Calig. B. vii. 179, the reader may estimate the 
nature of the dreadful war whicli was occasionally waged upon 
the Borders, sharpened by mutual cruelties, and the personal 
hatred of the wardens, or leaders. 

Some Scottish Barons, says the Earl, had threatened to come 
within " three miles of my pore house of Werkworth, wiiere I 
lye, andgif me light to put on my clothes at mydnight ; and 
alnjo the said iMarke Cair said there opynly, that seyng tliey 
had a governor on the Marches of Scotland, as well as they 
had in Ingland, he shulde kepe your highaess instructions, 
gylTyn unto your garyson, for making of any d.-iy-forrey ; for 
he and his friends wolde burne enough on tlie nyght, leityng 
your counsaill iiere defyne a notable acte at theyrc pleasures. 
Upon whiche, in your highnes name, I comaundetdewe watche 
to be kepte on your Marchies, for comyng in of any Scotts, — 
Neucrtheles, upon Thursday at night last, came thvrly light 
horsemen into a litil village of myne. called Whitell, having 
not pastBei houses, lying towards Ryddisdaill, upon Shilbotell 
More, and there wold have fyred the said bowses, but ther was 
no fyre to get there, and they forgate to brytige any withe 
theyme ; and look a wyf being great witli chylde, in the said 
towne, and said to hyr. Wher we can not gyve the lard lyght, 
yet we shall doo this in spyte of hym ; and gyve her iii mortall 
vounds upon the held, and another in the right side, with a 
dagger; whereupon the said wyf is deede, ami the childe in 
her bely is losle. Beseeching your most gracious highness to 
reduce unto your gracious memury this wyllut and shamefull 
murder, done within this your highnes realme, notwithstanding 

1 JtUp, creak. — Rice, leur. 



all the inhabitants thereahout rose unto the said fray. Hud gave 
warnynge by becons into the countrey afore iheyme, and yet 
the ScotLsnien dydc cscajie. And uppon ccrtcyne knowlcilge 
to my brother Clyflbrllie, and me, had by credible ocisons of 
Scotlantl, this abomynable act not only to be done by dyver;* 
of the Mershe, but also the afore named persons of Tyvi.taill. 
and consented to. as by appearance, by the Eric of Mur.-/, 
upon Friday at night I;i.st, let slip C ol the best horseiur-it i/ 
Glendaill, witli a parte of your higinies subjects of IJ.TW;, ke 
together with George Dowglas, whoo came into Inglanil ;ig;i . <■ ■ 
in the dawning of the day ; hut albi* theyre retorne, they dyd 
mar the Earl of Murreis provisions at Coldinghani ; lor ih y 
did not only burne the said town of ('oldingham, wiili all in^- 
come thereunto belonging, which is esteemed wortiie lii niHrl.e 
sterling ; but alsoo burned twa townes nye adjoining th.'rL'uniu, 
called Branerdergest and the Black Hill, and tokcxxiii pcr'Oiis, 
Ix horse, with cc lied of cataJll, whieii, nowe. as I am inl'unii- 
ed, Iiathe not only been a stay^of the said Erie of M:iireis ;;ot 
coming to the Bordure as yet, but al^oo. that none iidaiule 
man will adventure theyr self nppon the fllarches. And a.' for 
the tax that shulde have been grauntyd fur finding of the *rt:iJ 
iii hundred men, is utterly denyed. Upon which the Kir.; of 
Scotland departed from Edynburgh to Stirling, and as yet 
tliere doth remayn. And also I, by tlie advice of my 1 rotiier 
ClyfTorth, have devysed, that within tliis iii nyghts, Godiir v/il- 
ling Kclsey, in like case, siiall be brent, with all the i-oni in 
the said town ; and then they shall have noo pbce to tye any 
garyson in nygli unto the Borders. And as I shall atteigiic- I'm-- 
ther knowledge, I shall not faill to salisfyc* your higlin s. ac- 
cording to my most bounden dutie. And lor this buriiyng of 
Kelsey is devysed to be done secretly, by Tyndaill and Ryddis- 
dale. And thus the holy Trynite and * * * your most rcyal 
estate, with long lyf, and as much increase of honour a* jour 
most noble heart can desire, ^t fVcrhwurlh, the \\\id d.-.i/ of 
October." (1532.) 



Note 2 X. 
JVatt Tinlinn.—V. 33. 
This person was, in my younger days, the theme of many a. 
fireside tale. He was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and 
held for his Border service a small tower on tlie frontiers of 
Liddesdale. Watt was, by profession, a sutor, but, by incli- 
nation and practice, an archer and warrior. Upon one occa- 
sion, the captain of Bewcaslle, military governor of that wild 
district of Cumberland, is said to have made an incursion into 
Scotland, in which he was defeated, and forced to fly. Walt 
Tinlinn pursued Iiim closely through a dangerous morass; the 
captain, however, gained the firm ground ; and seeing Tinlinn 
<lismounted, and floundering in tlie bog, used these words of 
insult: — " Sutor Walt, ye cannot sew your boots; tlie heels 
)■(,-■/>, and the seams rivc."^ — " If I cannot sew," rctortetl Tin- 
linn. di-^charging a shaft, which nailed the captain's thigh to 
his saddle, — " If I cannot sew, 1 can ycrk.'''^ 



Note 2 Y. 

Bilthope Stag.—?. 34. 

There is an old rhyme, which thus celebrates the places id 
Liddesdale remarkable for game : 

" Billhope braes for bucks and racs, 

And Carit haugli for swine. 
And Tarras for the good bull-trout. 
If he be ta'en in lime." 

The bucks and roes, as well as the old swine, are now e» 
tinct ; but the good hull-trout is still famous. 



9 Feri, to twilch, as sliocmninria do, 
worb. 



urinj; tbe stitchea uf tliAj 



70 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 2 Z. 
Belted mil Howard.—^. 34. 

Lord William Howard, tliinl son of Thoma-s, Duke of Nor- 
folk, succeeded to Nawortli Castle, and a large domain an- 
nexetl to it, in riglit of Ins wife Elizabeth, sister of Geor;;e 
Lord Dacre, who died without heirs male, in llie lltli of 
Q,uc'en Elizabeth. By a j)oetical anachronism, he is iiitro- 
duce.l into the roniance a few ye;u-5 earlier than he actually 
flourished. He was warden of the Western Marehes : aud, 
froni the rigor with whieli he repressed the Border e.\L-e.-ses, 
the name of Beltod Will Howard is still famoui in our tradi- 
tions. In the castle of Naworlh, liis apartmeiitij, combining 
a bfdroom, oratory, and library, are still shown. They im- 
l)re.ss us with an uiipleasing idea of the life of a Iwrd warden 
of the Marches. Three or four strong doors, scpiuaUng tliese 
rooms from the rest of the castle, indicate the apprehensions 
of treachery from his garrison ; and the sewet winding jias- 
eagrs, tlirough which he could privately descend into the 
guardroom, or even into the dungeons, imjdy the nece>.-*ity of 
no small degree oJ' secret superintendence on t!ie part of the 
governor. As the ancient hooks and furniture have remained 
undiBiurbed, the venerable apjiearauce of tlicie ap;irtments, 
and the armor scattered arourul the chamber, almost lead us to 
expect the arrival of the warden in pei-son. Naworlh Castle 
is situated near Brainpion. in Cumberland. Lord William 
Howard is ancestor of tlie Earls of Carlisle. 



Note 3 A. 

Lord Dacrc.—V. 34. 

The well-known name of Dacre is derived from the exploits 
of one of their ancestors at the siege of Acre, or Piolemais, 
under Richard Cojur de Lion. There were two powerful 
branches of that name. Tlie first family, called Lord Daures 
of the South, held the castle of the same name, and are an- 
etstora to the present Lord Dacre. The other family, deseeiui- 
ed from the same stock, were called Lord Dacres of the 
North, and were barous of Gilslaud and Graystock. A chief- 
tain of the latter branch was warden of the West Marches 
during the reign of Edward Vt. He wxs a man of a hot and 
obstinate character, as appears from soma particular* of Lord 
Surrey's letter to Henry VIII., giving an account of his beha- 
vior at the siege and storm of Jedburgh. It is printed in the 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Appendix to the Intro- 
duction. 



Note 3 B. 



The German hackbut-men. — P. 34. 

In the wars with Scotland, Henry VIII. and his successors 
employed numerous bands of mercenary troops. At the bat- 
tle of Pinky there were In the English army si.v hundred liack- 
bullei-s on foot, and two hundred on horseback, compoi^ed 
chielly of foreigners. On the 27th ol' September. 154'J, the 
Puke of Somerset, Lord Protector, writes to the Lord Dacre, 
warden of the West Marches: — "The Almains. in number 
two thousand, very valiant soldiei-s, shall be sent to yon shortly 
from Newcastle, together with Sir Thomas Holcroft, and witn 
the force of your wardenry (which we would were advanced 
to tho most strength of hor.-<emen that might he), shall make 
the attempt to Loughmahen. being of no such strength, hut 
tb"! it may be skailed with ladders, whereof, beforehand, we 
would you caused secretly some number to be i)rovided ; or 
el«e wdermined with the jivkc-axe, and so taken : either to be 



kept foi- the King's Majesty, or ol;.erwise to be defaced, and 
taken from the profits of the enemy. And in like manner the 
house of Carlaverock to be used." Repeated mention occurs 
of the Almains, in the subsequent correspondence; U'-d the 
enterprise seems finally to have been abandoned, fropi the uil- 
ficuhy of providing these strangers with the necessary " \ k- 
tuals and carriages in so poor a country as Dumfries-shire.',' — 
Uistory of Cumberland, vol. i. Introd. p. Ixi. From the 
battle-pieces of the ancient Flemish painters, we learn, thai 
the Low Country and German soldiers marched to an asiiiilt 
with their right knees bared. And we may also obser\e, in 
such pictures, the extravagance to which they carried the 
fashion of ornamenting their dross with knots of ribbon. Tlii.-i 
custom of the Germans is alluded to in the Jilirrour for JMagi^ 
trates, p. 121. 

" Their pleited garments therewith well accord, 
All jagde and frouust, with divers colours deckt. 



Note 3 C. 



*' Ready, aye rcady,^' for the field. — P. 34. 

Sir John Scott of Thirlestane flourished in the reign of Janes 
v., and possessed the estates of Thirlestane, Gamescleuch, 
&c., lying upon the river of Etlrick, and extending to St. 
Mary's Loch, at the head of Yarrow. It appears, that when 
James had assembled his nobility, and their feudal Ibllowers, 
at Fala, with the purpose of invading England, and was, as is 
well known, disappointed by the obstinate refusal of his peers, 
this baron alone declared himself ready to follow the King 
wherever he should lead. In memory of his fidelity, Janica 
granted to his family a charter of arms, entitling them to bear 
a border of fleurs-de-luce, similar to the tressure in the royal 
arms, with a bundle of spears for the crest ; motto. Ready, 
aye ready. The charter itself is printed by Nisbct ; but liis 
work being scarce, I insert the following accurate transcript 
from the original, in the possession of the Right Honorable 
Lord Najiier, the representative of John of Thirlestaine. 

" James Rex. 
We James, by the grace of God, King of Scottis, consider- 
and the ffailh and guid servis of of of right traist friend John 
Scott of Thirlestane, quha cummand to our hosle at Soutra- 
edge, with three score and ten launcieres on horseback of liis 
friends and followers, and beand willing to gang with ws into 
England, when all our nobles and others refused, he was 
ready to stake at all our bidding ; Ifor the quhilk cause, it is 
our will, and we doe straitlie command and charg our lion 
herauld and his deputies for the time beand, to give and to 
graunt to the said John Scott, ane Border of ffleure de Uses 
about bis coatte of amies, sik as is on our royal banner, and 
alsua anc bundell of launces above his helmet, with ihir words, 
Readdy, ay Readdy, that he and all his aftercunimers may 
bruik tlie samirie as a pledge and taiken of our guid will and 
kyndnes for his true worthines ; and ihir our letters seen, ye 
nae waes faUzie to doe. Given at Ffalla Muire, under oar 
hand and privy cashet, the sxvii day of July, m c and xxxii 
zeires. By the King's graces speciall ordinance, 

" Jo. Arskine." 

On the back of the charter is written, 
" Edin. 14 January, 1713. Registred, conform to the act of 
parliament made anent probative writs, per M'Kaile, pr»»r. 
and i)roduced by Alexander Borliiwick, servant to Sir WilUanc 
Scott of Thirlestane. M. L. J." 

] Sic in orij;. 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



71 



Note 3 0. 

An aged Knight, to danger stecl'd, 

JVifh many a moss-trooper came on ; 
.tnd azure in a golden field, 
7'Af stnrs and crescent graced his shield, 
fVithoat the bend of Murdicston. — P. 34. 

Tlie family of Hartleii are iJesuc tided from a younger son of 
Uie Lainl of Buccleuch, who flourished befors the estate of 
Muniiestoii was acquired by the marriage of one of those 
cliieftaiiis with the heiress, in 1296. Hence they bear tlie cog- 
nizance of the ScotLs upon the fleld ; whereas those of the 
Buccleuoli are disposed upon a bend dexter, assumed in coii^e- 
qnence of that marriage. — See <jIi.a.dstaine o/ Whitelaice's 
JUSS., and Scott of Stokoc's Pidigrce, Newcastle, 1783. 

Walter Scott of Harden, who flourished during the reign of 
Q.ucen Mary, was a renowned Border freebooter, concerning 
whom tradition has preserved a variety of anecdotes, some of 
whicli Jiavc been published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border ; others in Leyden's Scenes of Infancy ; and others, 
more lately, in The Mountain Bard, a collection of Border 
ballads by Mr. James Hogg. The bugle-horn, said to have 
been used by tliis formidable leader, is preserved by his de- 
scendant, the present Mr. Scott of Harden. His castle was 
cituated upon the very brink of a dark and precii)itous dell, 
through which a scanty rivulet steals to meet the Borlhwick. 
Ill the recess of tJiis glen he is said to have kept his spoil, 
which served for the daily maintenance of his retainers, until 
tlif production of a pair of clean spurs, in a covered dish, an- 
nounced to the hungry band, that they must ride for a supply 
of provisions. He was married to Mary Scott, daughter of 
Philip Scott of Dryhope, and called in song the Flower of 
Varrow. He possessed a very extensive estate, which was di- 
videil among his five sons. There are numerous descendants 
of this old marauding baron. Tlie following beautiful passage 
af Leydbn's Scenes of Infancy, is founded on a tradition re- 
ijwcting an infant captive, -^'hom Walter of Harden carried off 
in a predatory incursion, and who is said to have become the 
author of some of our most beautiful pastoral songs : 

'* Where Bortha hoarse, that loads the meads with sand, 
Rolls her red tide to Teviot's western strand, 
Tlirough slaty hills, whose sides are shagg'd with thorn. 
Where springis, in scatter'd tufts, the dark-green corn, 
Towers wood-girt Harden, far above tlie vale, 
And clouds of ravens o'er the turrets sail. 
A hardy race, who never shrunk from war, 
The Scott, to rival realms a mighty bar, 
Here fi.\'d his mountain home ; — a wide domain, 
And rich the soil, had purple heath been grain ; 
But what the niggard ground of wealth denied, 
From fields more bless'd his fearless arm supplied. 

" The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright ; 
The warder's horn was heard at dead of night ; 
And as the massy portals wide were flnng, 
With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rung. 
What fair, half veil'd, leans from her latticed hall, 
Where red the wavering gleams of torciilight fall 1 
'Tis Yarrow's fairest flower, who, through the gloom, 
Looks, wistful, for her lover's dancing plume. 
Amid the piles of spoil, that sirew'd the ground, 
Hcrear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound ; 
With trembling haste the youthful matron flew. 
And from the harried heaps an infant drew. 

'* Scared at the light, his little hands he flung 
Around her neck, and to her bosom clung ; 
While beauteous Mary soothcil, in accents mild, 
His fluttering soul, and clasp'd her foster child. 
Of milder mood tlie gentle captive grew, 
Nor loved the scenes that scared his infant view ; 



In vales remote, from camps and castles far. 
He shnnn'd the fearful shuildering joy of war; 
Content the loves of simjile swains to sing, 
Or wake to fame the harp's heroic string. 

" His are the strains whose wandering echoes thr 
The shepherd, lingering on the iwflight hill. 
When evening brings the merry folding hours. 
And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers. 
He lived o'er Yarrow's Flower to shed the tear. 
To strew the holly leaves o'er Harden 's bier: 
But none was found ai)ove the minstrel's tomb. 
Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom : 
He, nameless as the race from which he sprung, 
Saved other names, and left his own unsung." 



Note 3 E. 

Scotts of Ef>kdalc, a stalwart hand. — P. 35. 

In this, and the following stanzas, some account is given of 
the mode in which the |)roperty in the valley of Esk was trans- 
ferred from the Beattisons, its ancient possessors, to the name 
of Scott. It is needless to repeat the circumstances, which 
are given in the poem, literally as they have been [ireserved 
by tradition. Lord Maxwell, in the latter pari of the six- 
teenth century, took uyon himself the title of Earl of iMorton. 
Tlie descendants of Buattison of Woodkerrick, wlio aided the 
Earl to escape from his disobedient vassals, continued to liold 
these lands within the memory of man, and were the only 
Beattisons who had property in the dale. The old people give 
locality to the story, by showing the Gallianl's Haugh, the 
place where Buccleuch's men were concealed, &c. 



Note 3 F. 

Their gathering word was Bellcndcn. — P. 36. 

Bellenden is situated near the head of Borthwick water, and 
being in the centre of the possessions of the Scotts, was fre- 
quently used as their place of rendezvous and gathering wonl. 
— Survey of Selkirkshire in Macfarlane^s MSS-, Advocates' 
Library. Hence Salchells calls one part of his genealogical 
account of the families of that clan, his Bellenden. 



Note 3 G. 



The camp their home, their law the sword, 
They knew no country, owii'd no lord. — P. 36. 

The mercenary adventurers, whom, in 1380, the Earl of 
Cambridge carried to the assistance of the King of Portugal 
against the Spaniards, mutinied for want of regular pay. Ai 
an assembly of their leaders. Sir John Soltier, a natural son 
of Edward the Black Prince, thus addressed them : " ' I coun- 
sayle, let us be alle of one alliance, and of one accorde, and iei 
us among ourselves reyse up the banner of St. George, and lei 
as be frendes to God, and enemyes to alle the worlile ; for 
without we make ourselfe lo be feared, we gete nothynge.' 

" ' By my fayth,* qnod Sir William Helmon, ' ye saye right 
well, and so let us do.' They all agreed with one voyce, and 
so regarded among llicm who shnlde be their eapitayne. Tlitn 
they advysed in the case how they coude nat have a belter 
capitayne than Sir John Soltier. For they sulde than have 
good leyser to do yvel, and tliey thought he was more meiel- 
yer thereto than any other. Then they raised op the [>enon 
of St. George, and cried, ' A Soltier I a Soltier ! the valyaoni 
bastardel frendes to God. and enemies to' all the worlde!' "— 
Froissart, vol. i. ch. 393. 



V2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 3 H. 

Thai he may suffer marck-trcason pain. — P. 37. 

Several spcuies of offences, peculiar to the Bonier, constitu- 
ted what was called inarch-tre;ison. Among others, was tlie 
crime of riding, or causing to ride, against the opposite country 
.luring the time of truce. Thus, in an indenture made at the 
water of Eske, beside Salom, on the 25th day of March, 1334, 
betwixt noble lords anil mighty. Sirs Ilonry Percy, Earl of 
Northumberland, and Archibald Douglas, Lord of Galloway, 
a truce is agreed upon until the 1st day of July ; and it is ex- 
pre.^sly accorded, *' Gif ony stellis authir on the ta part, or on 
tlie tothyr. that he shall he hanget or heofdit ; and gif ony 
comjiany stellis any gudes within tlic trieux beforesayd, ane of 
tiiat company sail be hanget or lieofiHt, and the remnant sail 
restore tlie gudys stolen in the dubble." — History of West- 
moreland and Cumberland, Introd. p. xxxix. 



Note 3 I. 



Deloraine 

Will cleanse him, by oath, of mnrch-trcason stain. — P. 38. 

In dubious cases, the innocence of Border criminals was oc- 
casionally referred to their own oath. The form of excusing 
bilk, or indictments, by Border-oath, ran thus: "You shall 
swear by heaven above you, hell beneath you, by your part of 
Paradise, by all that God made in six days and seven nights, 
and by God himself, you are wbart out sackless of art, part, 
way, witting, ridd, kenning, having, or recettiiig of any of the 
goods and caltels nameii in this bill. So help you God." — 
History of Cumberland, Introd. p. xxv. 



Note 3 K. 



Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword. — P. 38. 

The dignity of knighthood, according to the original institu- 
lon, had this peculiarity, that it did not tlow from the mon- 
arch, but could be conferred by one who himself jjossessed it, 
upon any squire who, after due probation, was found to merit 
tlie honor of chivalry. Latterly, this power was confined to 
generals, who were wont to create knights batinorcts after or 
before an engagement. Even so late as the i-eign of Q,ueen 
Elizabeth, Essex Iiiglily offended his jealous sovereign by the 
indiscriminate exertion of this privilege. Among others, he 
knighted tiie witty Sir John Harrington, whose favor at court 
was by no means enhanced by his new Iiotioi-s. — See the J'^ugiB 
.OntitjutB, edited by Mr. Park. But probnbly '-he latest in- 
stance of knighthood, conferred by a subject, was in the case 
of Tiiomas Ker, knighted by the Earl of Huntley, after the de- 
feat of the Earl of Argyle in the battle of Behinues. The fact 
is attested, both by a poetical and prose account of the en- 
gagement, contained in an ancient MS. in the Advocates' Li- 
brary, and edited by Mr. Dalyell, In Qodly Sangs and Ballets, 
Edin. 1802. 



Note 3 L. 



When. English blood sicdVd AncranCs ford.~V. 38. 

The battle of Ancram Moor, or Penielheuch, was fought 
A. U. 1545. The English, commiinded by Sit Ralph Evera 
and Sir Brian Latonii, were totally rout»^d, and both their 
leaders slain in the ac:tion. The Scottish army was com- 
manded by Arirhibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the 
Laird of Bfccleuch ami Norman Lesley. 



Note 3 M. 

For who, in field or forny slack. 

Saw the blanche Hon e'er fall back ?— P. 38. 

This was the cognizance of the noble house of Howard in all 
its branches. The crest, or bearing, of a warrior, was often 
used as a nomme de guerre. Tiius Richard III, acquired hia 
well-known ejiithet, Thp Boar of York, [n the viol*-ut satire 
on Cardinal Wolsey. written by Roy, commonly, but erro- 
neously, imputed to Dr. Bull, the Duke of Buckiii;,'ham is 
called the Beautiful Swan^ and the Duke of Norfolk, or Earl 
of Surrey, the White Lion. As the hook is extrjmMy rare, 
and the whole passage relates to the emblematical intcij)reta- 
tion of heraldry, it shall be here given at lengeth. 

" The Description of the Amies. 
*' Of the proud Cardinal this is the shelde 
Borne up betweene two angels of Sat ban ; 
The six hloudy axes in a bare felde, 
Shewoth the cruelle of the red man, 
Wliich liath devoured the Beautiful Swan, 
Mortal enemy unto the Whyte Lion, 
Carter of Yorke, the vyle buicher's sonne, 
The six bulles heddes in a felde blacke, 
Betokeueth his stordy furiousness, 
Wherefore, the godly lyght to put abacke, 
He bryngeth in his dyvlish darcness ; 
The bandog in the middes dotii expresse 
The mastiff curre bred in Ypsvich towne, 
Gnawynge with his teth a kinges crowne. 
The cioubbe signifieth playnehis liranny, 
Covered over with a Cardinall's hatl. 
Wherein shall be fulfilled the prophecy, 
Arj'se up. Jacke, and put on thy salatt, 
For the tyme is come of bagge and walatt. 
The temporall chevalry thus thrown doune, 
Wlierefor, prest, take hede, and beware thy crowne."' 

There were two copies of this very scarce satire in the libra- 
ry of the late John, Duke of Roxburghe. See an account of it 
also in Sir Egerton Brydges' curious miscellany, the Ccnsura 
Liter aria. 



Note 3 N. 
Let Jifnsgravc meet fierce Deloraine 
In single fight. P. 38. 

It may easily be supposed, that trial by single comhai, so 
peculiar to the feudal system, was cominou on the Bontprs. 
In 1558, the well-known Kirkaldy of Grange fought a -luel 
with Ralph Evre, brother to the then Lord Evre, in conse- 
quence of a dispute about a prisoner said to have been ill- 
treated by the Lord Evre. Pitscoltie gives the following ac- 
count of the affair : — " The Lord of Ivers his brother provoked 
William Kircaldy of Grange to fight with him, in siii;;nlar 
comb It, on horseback, with sj)ears ; who, keejiing the apijoint- 
ment, accompanied with Monsieur d'Os.sel. lieutenant lo the 
French king, and the garri>on of Ilaymouth, and Mr. Ivers, 
accompanied with the governor and garrison of Berwick, it 
was discharged, under the pain of treason, that any man 
should come near the cliamj)ions within a flight-shot, ixcepi 
one man for either of them, to Ijear their spears, two trunipcis, 
and two lords to be judges. When they were in readiness, the 
trumpets sounded, the heraulds cried, and the judges let th.in 
go. They then encountered very fiercely ; but Grange stni.-k 
his spear through his adversary's shoulder, and bare him olT 
his horse, being sore wounded : But whether he died or not. it 
is uncertain."— P. 202. 

The following indenture will show al how late a period il.tf 
trial by combat was resorted to on tlie Border, as a proof o' 
guilt or innocence : — 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



13 



"It 19 agreed between Thomas Mus^ravo and Launcelot 
Ciirletoti, I'or the true trial of such coiilroversii-s ;l> are betwixt 
tlifui, to have it openly tried by way ot" i^omhat, before God 
and the lace of the world, to try it in Canonbyholme, before 
Ktigland and Scotland, ujion Tliursday in Eastet^week, being 
the eighth day of April next ensuing, A. D. 1(502. betwixt nine 
of the I'loek and one of tiie same day, to fight on foot, to be 
armed with jack, steel cap, plaite sleeves, plaite breaches, 
p''ii|p *oekes, two Uasleard swords, the blades to be one yard 
ami half a quarter in length, two Scotch daggers, or dorks, at 
their ginlles, and either of them to provide armour and weap- 
ons for tiji'tnselves according to this indenture. Two gentle- 
men to be appointed on tlie field, to view both the parties, to 
see (hat lliey botii be equal in arms and wea.pons, according to 
tliis indenture ; and being so viewed by the gentlemen, the 
geiit'emeri to ride to the rest of the company, and to leave 
them but two boys, viewed by the gentlemen, to be under six- 
teen years of age, to hold their horses. In testimony of this 
our agreement, we have both set onr hands to this indenture. 
of intent all matters sliall be made so plain, as there shall be 
no question to stick upon thai day. Which indenture, as a 
witness, shall be delivered to two gentlemen. And for that it 
is conveinent the world should be privy to every particular 
of the grounds of the quarrel, we have agreed to set it down 
in this indenture beiwi.vi us, that, knowing the quarrel, their 
tyes may be witness of the trial. 

THE GROUNDS OF TUE QUARREL. 

■' 1. Lancelot Carleton did charge Thomas Musgrave before 
the Lords of her Majesty's Privy Council, th.at Lancelot Carle- 
Ion was rold by a gentleman, one of her Majesty's sworn ser- 
v;int-s, that Thomas Musgmve had offered to deliver lier Majes- 
ty's Castle of Bewcastle to the King of Scots ; and to witness 
thi- same, Lancelot Carleton had a letter under the gentleman's 
own hand for his discharge. 

" 2. He cbargeth hira, that whereas Iier Majesty doth yearly 
bestow a great fee upon him, as captain of Bewcastle, to aid 
and defend her Majesty's subjects therein : Thomas Musgrave 
hath neglected his duty, for that her Majesty's Castle of Bew- 
castle was by him made a den of thieves, anil an harbour and 
receipt tor murderers, felons, and all sorts of misdemeanors. 
The precedent wasQuintin Whitehead and Runion Blackburne. 

" 3, He cbargeth him, that his office of Bewcastle is open 
for the Scotch to ride in and through, and small resistance 
made by him to the contrary. 

" Thomas Musgrave doth deny all this charge ; and saith, 
itiat he will prove that Lancelot Carleton doth falsely bely him, 
and will prove the same by way of combat, according to this 
indenture. Lancelot Carleton hath entertained the challenge ; 
and so, by God's permission, will prove it true as before, and 
hath set his hand to the same. 

(Signed) " Thomas Musgrave. 

" Lancelot Carleton." 



Note 3 0. 



He, the jovial harper. — P. 39. 

The person here alluded to, is one of our ancient Border 
miiwtrels, called Rattling Roaring Willie. This soubriquet 
wa.s probably derived from his bullying disposition : being, it 
would seem, such a roaring boy, as is frequently mentioned in 
old plays. While drinking at Newmill, upon Teviot, about 
five miles above Hawick, Willie chanced to quarrel with one 
of his own profession, wlio was usually distingnished by the 
odd name of Sweet Milk, from a place on Rule Water so 
called. They retired to a meadow on the opposite side of the 
Teviot, to decide the contest with their swords, and Sweet 



1 The day of the Rood-fair at Jedburgh. 

3 Sir GUWrt Elliot of Stot>s, and Soott of Fnlniub. 

10 



Milk was killed on tlie spot. A thorn-tree marks the scene of 
the murder, which is still called Sweet Mdk Thorn. Willie 
was taken and executed at Jedburgh, beciuealhing hi.s name 
to the bcauiiful Scotch air, called '■ Rattling Roaring Willi '." 
Ramsay, who set no value on traditionary lore, publisheil a 
few verses of this song in the Tea-Table Miscellaiuj. carefully 
suppressing all which had any connection with the histoi y uf 
the author and origin of the piece. In this case, huw.viT, 
honest Allan is in some degree justified, by the extreme wunK- 
lessness of the jjoetry. A verse or two may be taken, as illti-i- 
tralive of the liislory of Roaring Willie, alluded to in the txi. 

" Now Willie's gane to Jeddart, 

And he's for the rood-day ;^ 
But Stobs and young Faluasli* 

They follow'd him a' tlie way ; 
They follow'd him a' the way. 

They sought him up and down, 
In the links of Ousenam water 

Tiiey fand him sleeping sound. 

" Stobs light aff his horse, 

And never a word he spak, 
Till he tied Willie's hands 

Fu' fast behind his back ; 
Fu' fast behind liis back. 

And down beneath his knee. 
And drink will be dear to Willie, 

When sweet milk^ gars him die. 

*' Ah wae light on ye, Stobs ! 

An ill death mot ye die ; 
Ye're the first and foremost man 

That e'er laid hands on me ; 
Tiiat e'er laid hands on me, 

And took my mare me frae : 
Wae to you. Sir Gilbert Elliot ! 

Ye are my mortal fae I 

" The lasses of Ousenam Watei 

Are rugging and riving their hair, 
And a' for the sake of Willie, 

His beauty was so fair : 
His beauty was so fair. 

And comely for to see, 
And dnnk will be dear to Willie, 

When sweet milk gars him die." 



Note 3 P. 



He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of Black Lord ^rchibaM's battle-laws, 
In the Old Douglas* dnij.—P. 39. 

The title to the most ancient collection of Border regulation 
runs thus : — " Be it remembered, tliat, on the 18tli day of De 
cember, 1468, Earl iVilliam Douglas assembled the whole 
lords, freeiiolders, and eldest Borderers, that best knowledge 
had, at the college of Linclouden ; and there he caused these 
lords and Borderers bodily to be sworn, the Holy Gospel 
touched, that they, justly and truly, after their canrnng, 
should decrete, decern, deliver, and put in order and writing, 
tlie statutes, ortlinances, and uses of marche, that were ordained 
in Black Archibald of Douglas's days, and Archibald hia 
son's days, in time of warfare ; and they came again to him 
atlvisedly with these statutes and ordinances, which were in 
time of warfare before. The said Etirl fVilUam, seeing the 
stalntea in writing decreed and delivered by the said lords and 



3 A wretched pan on hia snliigooiBt'B n 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Borderers, thought them right speedful and profitable to the 
Borders ; the which statutes, ordinances, and points of warfare, 
he took, and the whole lords and Borderers he caused bodily to 
be sworn, that they should maintain and supi)ly liim at their 
goodly power, lo do the law upon those that should break the 
statutes underwritten. Also, the said Earl fl'illiam, and 
lords, and eldest Borderers, made certain points to be treason in 
time of warfare to be used, which were no treason before his 
:ime, but to be treason in his time, and in all time coming." 



Note 3 Q. 

The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, 
Announcing Douglas, dreaded name. — P. 40. 

The chief of this potent race of heroes, about the date of the 
poem, was Arcliihald Douglas, seventii Earl of Angus, a man 
of great courage and acti%'ity. Tiie Bloody Heart was tlie 
well-known cognizance of the House of Douglas, assumed from 
the time of good Lord James, to whose care Robert Bruce 
committed his heart, to be carried to the Holy Laud. 



IfOTE 3 R. 



^nd SiDinton laid his lance in rest, 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crrst 
Of Clarnicc's Plantagenct. — P. -10. 

At the battle of Beauge, in France, Thomas, Duke of Clai^ 
ence. brother to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swinton 
of Swinton, who distinguished him by a coronet set with 
precious stones, which he wore around his helmet. The family 
of Swinton is one of the most ancient In Scotland, and pro- 
duced many celebrated warriors.^ 



Note 3 S. 



And shouting still, Ji Home! a Home! — P. 40. 

The Earls of Home, as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient 
Earls of March, carried a lion rampant, argent ; hut, as a 
difference, changed the color of the shield from gules to vert, 
in allusion to Greenlaw, their ancient possession. The slogan, 
or war-cry, of this powerful family, was, " A Home ! a 
Home !" It was anciently placed iu an escrol above the crest. 
The helmet is armed witli a lion's head erased gules, with a 
cap of state gules, turned up ermine. 

The Hepburns, a powerful family in Ea-st Lothian, were 
usually in close alliance with the Homes. The chief of this 
clan was Hepburn. Lord of Hailes ; a family which terminated 
in the too famous Earl of Bothwell. 



KOTE 3 T. 



Jind some, Tt/th many a merry shout. 
In riot, revelry, and ront. 

Pursued the foot'hall play. — P. 41. 

The foot-ball was anciently a very favorite sport all through 
Scotland, but especially upon the Borders. Sir John Carmi- 
chael of Carmichael, Warden of the Middle Marches, was 
killed in 1600 by a band of the Armstrongs, returning from a 
foot-ball match. Sir Robert Cary, in his Memoirs, mentions 
a great meeting, appointed by the Scotch riders to be held at 
Kelso for the purpose of playing at foot-ball, but which tei^ 
minated in an incursion upon England. At present, the foot- 

Seo the Battle of HaliJon Hill. Sir W. Srott wns tii-sot-n-k-d from Sir 
Jchn Sn'iuton.— Eli. 



ball is often played by the inhabitants of adjacent pansnea. 
or of the opposite banks of a stream. The victory is con 
tested with the utmost fury, and very serious accidents ha\« 
sometimes taken place in the struggle. 



Note 3 U. 



^TiDixt truce and war, such sudden change 
Was not infrequent, -nor held strange, 
In the old Border-day. — P. 41. 

Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Bonlti?, an:, 
the occasional cruelties which marked the mutual inroads 
the inhabitants on either side do not apjjear to have regarded 
each other with that violent and pergonal animosity, which 
might have been expected. On tlie contrary, like the out 
posts of hostile armies, they often carried on something rf 
sembUng friendly intercourse, even in the middle of hostili- 
ties ; and it is evident, from various ordinances against tradf 
and intermarriages, between English and Scottish Bordervrs, 
that the governments of both countries were jealous of theii 
cherishing too intimate a connection. Froissan says of both 
nations, that " Englyshmen on tlie one party, and Scoites on 
the other party, are good men of warre ; for when they meet, 
there is a harde fight without sparynge. There is no hoo 
[truce'] between the"!, as long as spears, swords, axes, or dac 
gers, will endure, bi». 'aye on eche upon uther; and whan 
they be well beaten, and v*^at the one party hath obtained iJte 
victory, they then glorifye so in theyre dedes of armies, anJ 
are so joyfull, that such as be taken they shall be ransomed, 
or that they go out of the felde ; so that shortly eche of them 
is so content with other, that, at their departynge, curtysly? 
they will say, God thank you." — Berners' Froissart, vol. 
ii. p. 153. The Border meetings of truce, which, altiiough 
places of merchandise and merriment, often witnessed the most 
bloody scenes, may serve to illustrate the description in the 
text. They are vividly portrayed in the old ballad of *he 
Reidsquair. [See Minstrelsy, vol. U. p. 15.] Both parties 
came armed to a meeting of the wardens, yet they interniixeQ 
fearlessly and peaceably with each other in mutual sports and 
familiar intercourse, until a casual fray arose : — 

" Then was there naught but bow and spear, 
And every man pnh'd out a brand." 

In the 29th stanza of this canto, there is an attempt to ex- 
press some of the mixed feelings, with which the Borderers n 
each side were led to regard their neighbors. 



Note 3 V. 



on the darkening plain, 

Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran, 
Jis bands their stragglers to regain. 

Give the shrill watchioord of their clan. — P. 41. 

Patten remarks, with bitter censure, the disorderly conduct 
of the English Borderers, who attended the Protector Somer- 
set on his expedition against Scotland. " As we wear then a 
selling, and the tents a setting up, among all things els com- 
mendable in our hole journey, one thing seemed to me an 
inlollerable disorder and abuse : that whereas always, both in 
all tonnes of war, and in all campes of armies, quietness and 
stilnes, without nois, is, principally in the night, after the 
watch is set, observed (I need not reason why), our northern 
prikers, the Borderers, notwithstandyng, with great enormitie 
(as thought me), and not unlike (to be playn) unto a masteries 
hounde howlyng in a hie way when he hath lost him he waited 
upon, sum hoopynge, sum whistlyng, and most with crying. A 
Berwyke, a Berwyke ' A Fenwyke, a Fenwyke ! A Bulmer, 
a Bulmer! or so ootherwise as theyr captains names wear, 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



n-o 



never linMo these troublous and dangerous noysea all the 
n.v{;lite lon;;e. They saitl, they did it to (iiul their captain and 
tfllows ; but if the souldiersofour ootliercountreys and shores 
hail used the same inaner, in tliat case we should have oft 
times had the state of our campe more like the outrage of a 
dissolute huntyng, than the quiet of a well ordered armye. It 
13 a I't'at of war, in mine opinion, lli:U might right well be left. 
I Loulil reherse causes (but yf I take il, they are belter unspo- 
ken than uttreii, unless the faut wear sure to be amended) that 
might shew thei move alweis more peral to our armie, but in 
their one nyglit's so doynge, than they shew good service (as 
Bome sey) in a hoole vyage." — Apitd Dalzell's Fragments, 
p. 75. 



Note 3 W. 



To see how thou the chase couldst wind, 
Cheer the dark blood-hound OJt his way. 
And with the bugle rouse the fray. — P. 45. 

The porsuit of Border marauders was followed by the in- 
jured party and his friends with blood-hounds and bugle-horn, 
and was called the hot-trod. He was entitled, if his dog could 
trace the scent, to follow the invaders into the opposite king- 
dom ; a privilege which often occasioned bloodshed. In addi- 
tion to what has been said of the blood-hound, I may add, 
that the breed was kept up by the Bucclench family on their 
Border estates till within the 18th century. A person was 
alive in the memory of man, who remembered a blood-hound 
being kept at Eldlnhope, in Ettrick Forest, for whose main- 
tenance the tenant had an allowance of meal. At that time 
the sheep were always watclied at night. Upon one occa.sion, 
when the duty had fallen on the narrator, then a lad, he be- 
came exiiausted with fatigue, and fell asleep upon a bank, 
near sun-rising. Suddenly he was awakened by the tread of 
horses, and saw five men, well mounted and armed, riile 
briskly over the edge of the hill. They stopped and looked at 
the llock ; but the day was loo far broken to admit the cliance 
of their carrying any of tliem off. One of them, in spits, 
leaped from his horse, and coming to the shepherd, seized 
him by the belt he wore round his waist ; and, setting his foot 
u|ion his body, pulled it till it broke, and carried it away 
with him. They rode off at the gallop ; and, the shepherd 
givinf, the alarm, the blood-hound was turned loose, and the 
peuple in the neighborhood alarmed. The marauders, how- 
ever, escaped, notwithstanding a sharp pursuit. This circum- 
stance serves to show how very long the license of the Borderers 
continued in some degree to manifest itself. 



Note 3 X. 



She wrought not by forbidden spell. — -P. 46. 

Popular belief, though contrary to the doctrines of the Church, 
made a favorable distinction betwixt magicians, and necroman- 
cer!, or wizards; the former were supposed to command the 
evil spirits, and the latter to serve, or at least to be in league 
and compact with, those enemies of mankind. The arts of 
subjecting the demons were manifold ; sometimes the fiends 
were actually swindled by the magicians, as in the case of the 
bargain betwixt one of their number and the poet Virgil, The 
clas-sical reader will doubtless be curious to peruse this anec- 
dote : — 

" Virgilius was at scole at Tolenton, where he stodyed dyly- 
gently. for he was of great nnderstandynge. Upon a tyme, 
the seolcrs had lycense to go to play and sprote them in the 
ffldes, after tlie usance of the old tyme. And there was also 



Virgiliua thcrbye, also walkynge among the hylles allc about. 
It fortuned he spyed a great hole in the syde of a great hyll, 
wlierein he went so depe, that lie culd not see no more l\glit ; 
and than he went a lylell farther therein, unil than he saw 
some lyght cgayne, and tlian he went fourth streyghle, aiul 
within a lylell wyle after he harde a voyce that called * Vi^ 
gilius! VirgiliusT and looked aboute, and he colde nat see 
no body. TJian sayd he (i. e. the voice), * Virgilius, see ye 
not the lytell horde lying besyde you there marked with thai 
word V Than answered Virgilius, ' I see that horde well 
anongh,' The voice said, ' Doo awaye that horde, and letie 
me out there atte.' Than answered Virgilius to the voice that 
was uivder the lytell horde, and sayd, ' Who art thou that 
callest me so ?' Than answered the devyll, 'I am a tievyll 
conjured out of the bodye of a certeyne man, and banysshed 
here tyll the day of judgmend, without that I be dclyvered 
by the handes of men. Thus, Virgilius, I pray the. delyver 
me out of this payn, and I shall shewe unto the many bokes 
of negromancye, and how thou shall come by it lyghtly, and 
know the practyse therein, that no man in the scyence of ne- 
gromancye shall passe the. And moreover, I shall shewe and 
enforme the so, that thou shall have alle liiy desyre. whereby 
meiiiinke il is a great gyfte for so lyiyll a doyng. For ye may 
also thus all your power frendys helpe, and make ryche your 
enemyes.' Tliorough that great promyse was Virgilius tempt- 
ed ; he badde tlie fynd show the bokes to hym, that he might 
have and occupy tliem at his wyll ; and so the fynde shewed 
him. And than Virgilius pulled open a horde, and there was 
a lytell hole, and thereat wrang the devyll out like a yell, and 
cam ami stode before Virgilius lyke a bygge man ; whereof* 
Virgilius was astonied and marveyled greatly tliereof, thai so 
great a man rnyght come out of so lytyll a hole. Than sayd 
Virgilius, ' Shulde ye well passe into the hole that ye cam ont 
ofl' — 'Yea, I shall well,' said the devyl. — 'I holde the best 
plegge that I have, that ye shall not do it.' — * Well,' sayd the 
devyll, 'thereto I consent.' And than the devyll wrange 
himsclfe into the lytyll hole agene ; and as he was therein, 
Virgilius kyvered the hole ageyne with the borde close, and 
so was the devyll begyled, and myght nat there come out 
agen, but abydeth shylte slyll therein. Than called the devyll 
dredefully to Virgilius, and said, ' What have ye done, Vir- 
gilius?' — Virgilius answered, ' Abyde there styll to your day 
appoynted;' and fro tliens forth abydeth he there. And so 
Virgilius became very connynge in the practyse of the black 
scyence." 

This story may remind the reader of the Arabian tale of the 
Fisherman and the Imprisoned Genie; and it is more than 
probable, that many of the marvels narrated in the life of Vir- 
gil, are of Oriental extraction. Among such I am disposed to 
reckon the following whimsical account of the foundation of 
Naples, containing a curious theory concerning the origin of 
the earthquakes with which it is afflicted. Virgil, who was a 
person of gallantry, had, it seems, carried off the daughter of a 
certain Soldan, and was anxious to secure his prize. 

" Than he thought in his mynde how he myghte marye hyr, 
and thought in his mynde to founde in the middes of the see 
a fayer towne, with great landes belongynge to it ; and so he 
did by his cunnynge, and called it Napells. And the fanda- 
cyon of it was of egges, and in that town of Napells he made 
a tower with iiii corners, and in the toppe he set an apell upon 
an yron yarde, and no man culde pull away that apell without 
he brake it ; and thoroughe that yren set he a bolte, and in that 
bolte set he a egge. And he henge the apell by the stauke 
upon a cheyne, and so hangeth it still. And when the egge 
Btyrreth, so shulde the towne of Napells quake; and whan 
the egge brake, then shulde the towne sinke. Whan he had 
made an ende, he lette call it Napells." This appears to have 
been an article of current belief during the middle ages, as ap- 
pears from the statutes of the order Du Saint Esprit au droit 
desir, instituted in 1352. A chapter of the knights is appointed 
to he held annually at the Castle of the Enchanted Egg, near 
the grotto of Virgil. — Montfaccon, vol. ii. p. 329 



16 



SCOTT*S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 3 Y. 

^ merlin sat vpon her wrist. 

Held by a leash of silken twist. — P. 46. 

A merlia, or sparrow-hawk, was actually carried by ladies 
of rank, as a falcon was, in time of peace, tlie constant attend- 
ant of a knight or baron. See Latham on Fnlconry. — Gods- 
croft relates ibat when Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed 
the Earl of Angus to admit a royal garrison into his Castle of 
Tantall»n. To this lie returned no direct answer; but, as if 
dpostro])!Hzing a goss-hawk, which sat on his wrist, and which 
he was feeding during the Q-ueen's speech, he e.\claimed, 
"The devil's in this greedy glede, she will never be full." — 
Hume's History of the Homsc of Douglas, 1743, vol. ii. p. 
13L Barclay complains of the common and indecent practice 
of bringing hawks and hounds into churohes. 



Note 3 Z. 
And princely peacocVs gilded train, 
And o^er the boar-head garnished brave. — P. 47. 

The peacock, it is well known, was considered, during the 
times of chivalry, not merely as an exquisite delicacy, but as a 
dish of peculiar solemnity. After being roasted, it was again 
decorated with its plumage, and a sponge, dipped in lighted 
spirits of wine, was placed in its bill. When it was introduced 
on days of grand festival, it was the signal for tlie adventurous 
knights to take upon them vows to do some deed of chivalry, 
" before the peacock and the ladies." 

Tlie boar's head was also a usual dish of feudal splendor. 
In Scotland it was sometimes surrounded with little banners, 
disjjlaying the colors and achievements of the baron at whose 
board it was served. — Pinkerton's History, vol. i. p. 433. 



WOTE 4 A. 
Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hantkill. — P. 47. 
The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an ancient race of Border 
Lairds, whose names occur in history, sometimes as defending 
the frontier against the English, sometimes as disturbing the 
peace of tlieir own country. Dickon Draw-the-sword was son 
to the ancient warrior, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill, 
remarkable for leading into battle nine sons, gallant warriora, 
all sons of the aged champion. Mr. Rutherford, late of New 
York, in a letter to the editor, soon after these songs were first 
published, quoted, when upwards of eighty years old. a ballad 
apparently the same with the Raid of the Reid-square, but 
which apparently is lost, except the following lines : — 

" Bauld Rutherford he was fu' stout, 
With all his nine sons him about, 
He brought the lads of Jedbrught out, 
And bauldly fought that day." 



!N"0TE 4 B. 

bit his glove. — P. 47. 

(o bite the thumb, or the glove, seems not to have been con- 

I Froisaart relates, that a knight of the household of the Comte do Foix 
oxhibitpd a eimilar feat of etrength. The hall-fire had waxed low, nnd 
wood waa wanted to mend it. The knight went down to ihc court-yard, 
vherc stood an flsa laden with fagots, seized oa tho animal aiid hiirdt'ii, 
ind, cirrying him up to the hall on hia shoulders, tumbled liiiii into the 
chimney with hia heels nppermgst : n humane pteasautry, much applauded 
by the Count and all the spectators. 

3 " Minions of the diood," as Falstaff would have said. The vocation 
pursued by our ancient Borderers may be jostifiod on the autliority of the 
moflt polished of the ancient nations : " For the Grecians in old time, nnd 
■uch barbarians as in the continent lived neote unto the sea, or else inhab- 
Uod the islanda, after onco they began to croeae over one to another in 



sidered, upon the Border, as a gesture of contempt, thougli so 
used by Shakspeare. but as a pledge of mortal revenge. It is 
yet remembered, that a young gentleman of Teviotdale, on tlie 
morning after a Jiard drinking-bout, observed that he had bitten 
his glove. He instantly demanded of Ihh companion with 
whom he had quarrelled? And, learning that he had had 
words with one of the party, insisted on instant satisfaction, 
asserting, that though he remembered nothing of the di^put--, 
yet he was sure he never would have bit his glove unless \\>i 
had received some unpardonable insult. He fell in the dnrl, 
which was fought near Selkirk, in 1721. 



Note 4 C. 
Since old Buecleuch the name did gain, 
When ill the clench the buck was ta'en. — P. 47. 
A tradition preserved by Scott of Salchells, who published, 
in 1088, A true History of the Right Honorable na/iir of Scott, 
gives the following romantic origin of that name. Two breth- 
ren, natives of Galloway, having been banished from that 
country for a riot, or insurrection, came to Rankleburn. in Et- 
trick Forest, where the keeper, whose name was Brydone, re- 
ceived them joyfully, on account of their skill in winding the 
horn, and in the other mysteries of the chase. Kenneth Mac- 
Alpin, then King of Scotland, came soon after to bunt in the 
royal forest, and pursued a buck from Ettrick-heugh to the 
glen now called Buckcleuch, about two miles above the junc- 
tion of Rankleburn with the river Ettrick. Here the stag stood 
at bay ; and the King and his attendants, who followed on 
horseback, were thrown out by the steepness of the hill and the 
morass. John, one of the brethren from Galloway, had fol- 
lowed the chase on foot ; and, now coming in, seized the buck 
by the horns, and, being a man of great strength and activity, 
threw him on his back, and ran with his burden about a mile 
up the steep hill, to a place called Cracra-Cross, where Ken- 
neth had halted, and laid the buck at the sovereign's feet.i 

" The deer being cureed in that place, 

At his Majesty's demand. 
Then John of Galloway ran apace, 

And fetched water to his hand. 
The King did wash into a dish, 

And Galloway John he wot ; 
He said, ' Thy name now after this 

Shall ever be called John Scott. 

" ' The forest and the deer therein, 
We commit to thy hand ; 
For thou shalt sure the ranger be, 

If thou obey command ; 
And for the buck thou stoutly brought 

To us up that steep heuch, 
Thy designation ever shall 

Be John Scott in Buckscleuch.' 

**■»*«• 

" In Scotland no Buckcleuch was then, 
Before the buck in the cleuch was slain , 
Night's men*^ at first they did appear. 
Because moon and stars to their arms they bear. 
Their crest, supporlers, and hunting-horn, 
Show tlieir beginning from imnting came ; 

ships, became theeves, nnd went abroad under the conduct of their more 
puissent men, both to enrich themselves, and to fetch in maintenance for 
the weak : and falling upon towns unfortified, or scatteringly inhabited, 
rifled them, and made this the best means of thear living ; being a nmtter nl 
that time nowhere in disgrace, but rather carrying with it something of glory. 
This is manifest by some that dwell upon the continent, amongst whom, so 
it be performed nobly, it is still esteemed us an ornament. The same is 
also proved by eome of the ancient poets, who introduced men questioning 
of such as sail by, on all coasta alike, whether they be theeves or not; as a 
thyng neylher ecomed by such aa were asked, nor upbraided by those tliat 
were desirous to know.. They also robbed one another, within the main 
land ; and much of Greece useth that old cuetome, aa the Loeriatu th* 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



11 



Their name, and style, the book doth say, 
John gained tliem both into one day." 

Watt's Bdlenden. 

The Buccleuch amis have been altereil, and now allude less 
potiitt'dly to this huiiiirig. wlit-tlier rval or fabiiluus. The ta- 
Diily now bear Or, upon a. bend azure, a mullet betwixt two 
cr-scents of the field ; in addition to wliiuli. they formerly liore 
in IliK tiidd a hunting-horn. The sujiportei-s, now two ladies, 
were formerly a hound and buck, or, according to the old 
terms, a hnrt of lensh and a hnrt of grcece. The family of 
Scott of Howi)asley and Tlnrlef^taine long retained the bugle- 
liorii ; tliey also carried a bent bow and arrow in the sinister 
caritle, perhaps as a diti'erence. It is said the motto was — 
Best riding by moonlight, in allusion to the crescents on the 
shield, and perha|)s to the habit's of those who bore it. The 
motto now given is ^mo, applyiiig to the female supporters. 



Note 4 D. 



old Mhert Qnrme, 

The Minstrtl of that ancient name. — P. 48. 

" John Graeme, second son of Mnlice, Earl of Monteith, 
commonly surnamed John with the Bright Sicord, upon some 
displeasure risen against him at court, retired with many of his 
clan and kinilreii into the English Borders, in the reign of King 
Henrv tiie Fourth, where they seated themselves; and many 
of their posrerity have continued there ever since. Mr. Sand- 
ford, speaking ol' iheni, says (which indeed was a()plicab]e to 
most of the Borderers on both sides), 'They were all stark 
moss-troopers, and arrant thieves : Both to England and Scot- 
land outlawed ; yet sometimes connived at, because tliey gave 
intelligence forth of Scotland, and would raise 400 horse at any 
time upon a raiii of the English into Scotland. A saying is re- 
corded of a mother to lier son (whicli is now become provei^ 
bial). Ridt-. Ruwicy, hough's i' the pot : that is, the last piece 
of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was high time to go and 
fetch more.' " — Introduction to the History of Cnmhi-rland. 

The resilience of the Gru-mes being cliiefly in the Debatea- 
ble Land, so called because il was claimed by both kingdoms, 
ihiir depredations extended both to England and Scotland, 
willi impunity ; for as both wardens accounted them the pro- 
per subject.-* of their own prince, neither inclined to demand 
reparation for their excesses from the opposite officers, which 
would have been an acknowleilgmem of his jurisdiction over 
tliein. — Sec a long correspondence on this subject betwixt Lord 
l):iire and the English Privy Council, in Introduction to His- 
turit of Cumberland. The Debateable Land was finally divid- 
ed betwixt England and Scotland, by commissioners appointed 
bv both nations.! 



Note 4 E. 
The sun shines fiir on Carlisle wall. — P. 48. 
This burden is adoiiteri. with some alteration, from ai old 
Scottish song, beginning thus : — 

" She lean'd her back against a thorn. 
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wa' : 
And there she has her young babe bom, 
And the lyon shall be lord of a'." 

Acn.manxans,KnA those of the ■■■ntinent in (bat qmirler, vmto tbta dny. 
Mofffiivcr, llic fftahion of wearing inn renuiinelh ynX with the people of tlial 
coTii.Deal, from their old tmde of IhieviDg," — Hobbes* Thucydtdtt, p. 4. 
Lond. 

1 See various not«B in the Minetrelsy. 

2 The tomb of Sir Williiim St. Clair, on which be appeflrs aeiitpturrd in 
amior, with n ereyhoiiiiil nl bis feet, is Still to be seen in Roslin chapel. 
Tbe pertOB nbo abows it alwaya talla tbe etor; of bis huDtiog match, with 



Note 4 F. 
Who has not heard of Surrmfs fame ?— P. 48, 

The gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Sue- 
rcy, was unquestionably the most accomjdishcd cavalier of Ida 
time; and his sonnets disjjlay beauties which would do honor 
to a more polished age. He ivas beheaded on Tower-hill in 
1546; a victim to the mean jealousy of Henry VIII., who 
could not bear so brilliant a character near his throne. 

Tiie song of the supiiosed bard is founded on an incident said 
to have happened to the Earl in his travels. Cornelius Agrip- 
pa, the celebrateii alchemist, showed him, in a looking-glass, 
the lovely Geraldine, to whose service he had devoted his pen 
and his sword. The vision represented her as indisposed, and 
reclining upon a couch, reading lier lover's verses by the light 
of a waxen taper. 



Note 4 G. 



The storm-swept Orcades : 

Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway, 
O^cr isle and islet, strait and bay. — P. 49. 

The St. Clairs are of Norman extraction, being descended 
from William de St. Clair, second son of Walderne Compte de 
St. Clair, and Margaret, daughter to Richard Duke ol Nop- 
niandy. He was called, for his fair deportment, the Seemly 
St. Clair; aTid, settling in Scotland during the reign of Mai 
colm Caenmore, obtained large grants of land in Mid-Lolhian 
These domains were increased by the liberality of succeeding 
monarchs to the descendants of the family, and comprehended 
the baronies of Rosline, Pentland, Cowsland, Cardaine, and 
several others. It is said a large addition was obtained from 
Robert Bruce, on the following occasion : — The King, in fol- 
lowing the chase upon Pentland-lulls, had olten started a 
" wlnle faunch deer," which had always escaped from liis 
Iiounds ; and he asked the nobles, who were assembled around 
him, whether any of them ha<i dogs, which they thought might 
be more successful. No courtier would affirm that his hounds 
were fleeter than those of the king, until Sir William St. Clair 
of Rosline unceremoniously said, he would wager his head that 
lii-s two favorite dogs, Utlp and Hold, would kill the deer be- 
fore she could cross the Murch-burn. The King instantly 
caught at his unwary offer, and betted the forest of Pentland- 
moor against the life of Sir William St. Clair. All the hounds 
were tied up, except a few raiclies, or slow-hounds, to put up 
the deer ; while Sir William St. Clair, posting himself in the 
best situation for slipping his dogs, prayed devoutly lo Christ, ' 
the blessed Virgin, and St. Katherine. The deer was shortly 
after roused, and the hounds slijjped ; Sir William following 
on a gallant steed, to cheer his dogs. The hind, however, 
reached the middle of the brook, upon which the hunter threw 
himself from his honie in despair. At this critical monieiil, 
however, Holii sto|iped her in the brook ; and Help, condng 
up, turned her back, and killed her on Sir Willi.inrs side. 
The King descended from the hill, embraced Sir William, ami 
bestowed on him the lands of Kirkton, Logan-house, Es7?.- 
cratg, &c., in free forcstrie. Sir William, in acknowlelgment 
of St. Katherine's intercession, built the chapel of St. Kathe- 
rine in the Hopes, the churchyard of which is still to be seen. 
The hill, from which Robert Bruce beheld this memorable 
chase, is atill called the King's Hill ; and the place where Sir 
WiUiam hunted, is called the Knight's Field.'^— JIf5. History 

some addition to Mr. Hay's account ; aa that the Knigbt of Roalinc'e fright 
mode him poetical, and that in the last emergency, be shouted, 
" Help, Maud, an yo may. 
Or Koelin will l ee his head this day." 
If fhia couplet does hint no gtant hunor na a poet, the coocluaion of the 
elory does him atitl leas credit. He set his fool on the dog. Bays tbe nar- 
THtor, and killed him en th.- 8iiot,s.tyinghe woidd never agam put his neck 
in eiich a risk. As Mr. Huy doi-a not mention this circumalaoce. I hi^-pe it 
ia only founded oa the couchant posture of tbe hound od tb4 noaunienl 



78 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



of the Family of St. Clair, by Ruukrv Augustis Hay, 
Cavon of -St. Gfvcvievr. 

This adventurous hnntsman married Elizabeth, daughter of 
Malice Spiir, Ear! of Orkney and Stratherne, in whose right 
tlieir son Henry was, in 1379, created Earl of Orkney, by Haeo, 
king of Norway. His title was recognized by the Kings of 
Scotland, and rftnained with his successors until It was an- 
nexed to the crown, in 1471, by act of Piirliament. In ex- 
cliange for tliis earldoin, tlie castle and domains of Ravens- 
eraig. or Ravenslieuch, were conferred on William Saintclair, 
Earl of Caithness. 



Note 4 H. 



StUl nods their palace to its fall, 

Thij pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall. — P. 49. 

The Castle of Kirkwall was built by the St. Clairs, while 
Earls of Orkney. It was dismantled by the Earl of Caithness 
about ICI5, having been garrisoned against the government by 
Robert Stewart, natural son to tiie Earl of Orkney. 

Its ruins afibrded a sad subject of contem|itation to John, 
Master of St. Clair, who, flying from his native country, on 
account of his sliare in the insurrection 1715, made some stay 
at Kirkwall. 

'■ I had occasion to entertain myself at Kirkwall with the 
melancholy [irospect of the ruins of an old castle, the seat of 
the old Earls of Orkney, my ancestors ; and of a more melan- 
choly refleciioii, of so great and noble an estate as tlie Orkney 
and Shetland Isles being taken from one of them by James the 
Tliird tor faultrie, after liis brother Alexander, Duke of Alba- 
ny, had manied a daughter of my family, and for protecting 
and defending the said Alexander against tiie King, who wish- 
ed to kill him. as he had done his youngest brother, the Earl 
of Mar; antl tlir whidi, after the forfaulirie. \\e g^rati fully 
divorced my forfaulled ancestor's sister; tliough I cannot per- 
suade myself that he had any misalliance to plead against a 
familie in whove veins the blood of Robert Bruce ran as fresh 
as in his own ; for their title to the crowne was by a daughter 
of David Bruce, son to Robert ; and our alliance was by mai^ 
rying a grandcliild of the same Robert Bruce, and daughter to 
the sister of tlie same David, out of tlie familie of Douglass, 
which at that tiiiit' did not much sullie the blood, more than 
my ancestor's liaving not long before had the honour of marry- 
ing a daughter of the King of Denmark's, who was named 
Florfntine, and has left in the town of Kirkwall a noble raon- 
nmetil of the grandeur of the times, the finest church ever I 
saw entire m Scotland. I then had no small reason to tiiink, 
in ihrit unhappy state, on the many not inconsiderable services 
rendered since to the royal familie, for these many years by- 
gone, on all occa-'^ions, when they stood most in need of friends, 
which lliey liave lliought themselves very often obliged to ac- 
knowleilge by l-'tter* yet extant, and in a style more like friends 
han souveniigns ; our attachment to them, without any other 
thanks, having brought upon us considerable losses, and among 
other*, thiit nf our all in Cromwell's time ; and left in that 
lonilition without the least relief except what we found in our 
own virtue. Wy father was the only man of the Scots nation 
w ho had couryge fiiough to protest in Pariament against King 
AViliiam's title to the throne, wiiich was lost, Cod knows how ; 
and this at a lime when the losses in the cause of the royall 
familie. and tlicir usual gratitude, had scarce left him bread to 
maintain a numennis familie of eleven eliildren, who had soon 
after sprung up on him, in spi'e of all whic'i, he had honoura- 
bly persi--ted in In-' jirincipte. 1 ^Ly. these things considered, 
unil aftpr bcnis treated as I was, and in that unlucky state, 
wiien object:- .tpperir to men in tlieir true light, as at the hour 
«f death, coi hi I he blamed for making some bitter reflections 
to myself, and laughing at the extravagance and unaccountable 
li'imour of men, and the singularitie of my own case ("an exile 
for the cause of the Stuart tamily), when I ought to have 
known, that the greatest crime I, or my family, could have 



committed, was persevering, to my own destruction, in serving 
the royal family faithfully, though obstinately, after so great a 
share of depression, and after they had been pleased to doom 
me and my familie to starve.— J)/*. Memoirs of Jolm, Mas- 
ter of St. Clair. 



Note 4 I. 
Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curl'd. 
Whose monstrous circle girds the world. — P. 49. 

Thejormmig-andr, or Snake of the Ocean, whose folds sur- 
round the earth, is one of the wildest fictions of the Edda. It 
was very nearly caught by the god Tlior, who went to fish for 
it with a hook baited with a hull's head. In the battle be- 
twixt the evil demons and the divinities of Odin, which is to 
precede the Ragnarochr, or Twilight of the Gods, this Snake 
is to act a conspicuous part. 



Note 4 K. 

Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell. — P. 49. 

These were llie raicyriur, or Selectors of the Slain, ilis- 

patciied by Odin from Valhalla, to choose those who wi^re to 

die, and to distribute the contest. They were well known lo 

the English reader as Gray's Fatal Sistera, 



Note 4 L. 



Of Chiefs, who, guided through thegloom 

By the pale death-lights of the tomb, 

RansatVd the graves of warriors old. 

Their falchions wrenclC d fro^i corpses'* hold. — P. 49. 

The northern warrior? were usually entombed with theii 
amis, and their other treasures. Thus, Angantyr, before com- 
mencing the duel in v/hich he was slain, stipulated, that if he 
fell, his sword Tyrfing should be buried witii him. His daugh- 
ter Hcrvor, afterwards took it from his tomb. The dialogue 
which passed betwixt her and Angantyr's spirit on this occ;t- 
sion has been often translated. The whole history may he 
found in the Hervarai^Saga. Indeed, tlie ghosts of the north- 
ern warriors were not wont tamely to sufl'er their tombs to be 
plundered ; and hence, the mortal heroes had an additional 
temptation to attempt such adventures ; for they held nothing 
more worthy of their valor than to encounter supernatural be- 
ings. — BARTiioLiNtis Dc causis contemptm a Danis mortis, 
lib. i. cap. 2, 9, 10, 13. 



Note 4 M. 
■ Castle Ravenshcuch. — P. 50. 



A large and strong castle, now ruinous, situated betwixt 
Kirkaldy and Dysart, on a steep crag, washed by the Frith ot 
Forth. It was conferred on Sir William St. Clair as a slight 
compensation for the earldom of Orkney, by a charter of Kin^ 
James III. dated in 1471, and !« now the proi)erty of Sir Jamca 
St. Clair Erskine (now Earl of Rosslyn), repn'sentativc of the 
family. It was long a principal residence of the Barons o( 
Roslia. 



Note 4 N. 



Seemed all on fire within, around. 

Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 

Shone every pillar foliage bound, 

And glimmered all the dead mcn''s mail. — P. 50. 
The beautiful chapel of Roslin is still in tolerable preserva- 
tion. It was founded in 144(i, by Wilbam St. Clair, Prince o» 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



79 



0.4iney, Duke of Oldenbnrgh, Earl of Caithnesis and Stmtli- 
eiiie. Lord St. Clair, Lord Niddesdale, Lord Admiral of the 
Scotlisli Soas, Lord Chief Justice of Scotland, Lord Warden 
of tlic three jVIarches, Baron of Rosljn, Penlland, Pcjitland- 
moor, &t'., Kui;,'ht of the Cockle, and of the Garter (as U 
alfiniied), lli;,'li Cliancellor, Chamberlain, and Lieutenant of 
Scotland. This lofty pei-son, whose titles, says Godseroft, 
might weary a Spaniard, built the castle of Roslin, where he 
re-sided in princely splendor, and founded the eliapel, whiuli is in 
the most rich and llorid style of Gothic architecture. Among 
the profupe carving on the pillars and buttresses, tlie rose is fre- 
quently introduced, in allusion to the name, with which, how- 
ever, the (lower has no connection ; the etymology 3eing Ross- 
liniihe, the promontory of the linn, or water-fall. The chapel 
is j*aid to appear on fire previous to the death of any of Ins de- 
8C<'ndaiU8. Tliis super-^tition, noticed by Slezer, in his Tfiea- 
trum ScotitP, and alluded to in the text, is probably of Nor- 
wegian derivation, and may.have been imported by the Earls 
of Orkney into their Lolliian dominions. The tomb-fires of 
till? north are mt-ntioned in most of the Sagas. 

The Barons of Roolin were buried in a vault beneath the 
chapel iloor. The manner of their interment is thus described 
by FathtT Hay. in the MS. history already quoted. 

"Sir William Sinclair, tlie father, was a lewd man. He 
kept a miller's daughter, with whom, it is alleged, lie went to 
Inland ; yet I think the cause of his retreat was rather occa- 
sionrd by the Presbyterians, who vexed him sadly, because of 
his religion being Roman Catholic. His son. Sir William, died 
during the troubles, and was interred in the chapel of Roslin 
ilir very same day that the battle of Dunbar was fought. 
When my godfather was buried, his (i. e. Sir William's) corpse 
seemed to be entire at the opening of the cave ; but when they 
came to touch his body, it fell into dust. He was laving in 
his armor, with a red velvet cap on Ids head, on a flat stone ; 
nolliiiig was Sjioiled except a piece of the white furring that 
W('nt round the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the 
/lead. All his [jredccessors were buried after the same ma-i- 
ner, in their armor: late Rosline, my good father, was the first 
that was buried in a coffin, against the sentiments of King 
James the Seventh, who was then in Scotland, and several 
other persons well versed in antiquity, to wliom my mother 
would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to be buried after that 
manner. The great expenses she was at in burying her hus- 
band, occasioned the sumptuary acts which were made in the 
following parliament." 



Note 4 0. 



For he wns speechless, ghostly, wan 

lAke him of v^kom the story ran. 

Who spoke titc spectre-hound in JYIan. — P. 5L 

The ancient castle oi Peel-town, in the Isle of Man. is sur- 
roiiniled by tour churches, now ruinous. Through one of these 
clKipels there wa.-^ formerly a passage from the guard-room of 
liic garrison. This was closed, it is said, upon the following oc- 
casion : " Tliey say, that an apparition, called, in the Mankish 
language, the Maiithe Doog, in the shape of a large black 
spaniel, with curled shaggy hair, was used to haunt Peei-castle ; 
and has been frequently seen in every room, but particularly in 
the guard-chamber, where, as soon as candles were lighted, it 
came niid lay down before the fire, in presence of all the sol- 
diers, who, at length, by being so much accustomed to the 
BJght jf it, lost great part of the terror they were seized with at 



iLi first appearance. They stiH, however, retained a certam 
awe, as believing it was an evil spirit, which only waited per- 
mission to do them hurt ; and, for that reason, forebore swear- 
ing and all profane discourse, while in its company. But 
though they endureil the shock of such a guest when altogether 
in a hotly, none cared to be left alone with it. It bring the 
custom, therefore, for one of the soldiers to lock the gates of 
the castle at a certain hour, and carry the keys to the captain, 
to whose apartment, as I said before, the way Itrd through the 
churcli, they agreed among themselves, that wlioever was to 
succeed the ensuing night his fellow in this errand, should ac- 
company him that went first, and by this means no man would 
be exjjosed singly to the danger ; for I forgot to mention, that 
the Jilauthc Doog was always ^.een to come out from that pas- 
sage at the close of the day. and return to it again as soon as 
the morning dawned ; whicli made them look on this place as 
its peculiar residence. 

" One night a fellow being dronk, and by the strength of his 
liquor rendered more daring than ordinarily, laughed at the 
simplicity of his companions, and, though it was not his turn 
to go with the keys, would needs take that office upon him, to 
testify his courage. All the soldiers endeavored to dissuade 
him ; but the more they said, the more resolute he seemed, and 
swore that he desired nothing more than that the Mauthe 
l)oo^ would follow him, as it had done the others ; for he 
would try if it were dog or devil. After having talked in a 
very reprobate manner for some time, he snatched up the keys, 
and went out of the guard-room. In some time after his ile- 
parture, a great noise was heard, but nobody had the boldness 
to see what occasioned it, till the adventurer returning, they 
demanded the knowledge of him ; but as loud and noisy as he 
had been at leaving them, he was now become sober and silent 
enough ; for he was never heard to speak more, and though 
all the time he lived, which was three days, he was entreated 
by all who came near him, either to speak, or, if he could not 
do that, to make some signs, by which they might understand 
what had happened to him, yet nothing intelligible could be 
got from him, only that, by the distortion of his limbs and fea- 
tures, it might be guessed that he died in agonies more than is 
common in a natural death. 

" The Mauthe Doog was, however, never after seen in the 
castle, nor would any one attempt to go through that passage ; 
for which reason it was closed up, and another way made. 
This accident happened about three score years since ; and i 
heard it attested by several, but especially by an old soldier, 
who assured me he had seen it oftener than he had then hairs 
on his head." — Waldron's Description of the Isle of Man j 
p. 107. 



Note 4 P. 



■ St. Bride of Douglas.— P. 51. 



This was a favorite saint of the house of Douglas, and of the 
Earl of Angus in particular, as we learn from the following 
passage: — "The dueen-regent had proposed to raise a rival 
noble to the ducal dignity ; and discoursing of her purpose with 
Angus, he answered, * Why not, madam ? we are happy that 
have such a princess, that can know and will acknowledge 
men's services, and is willing to recompense it ; but, by the 
might of God' (this wjis his oath when he was serious and in 
anger ; at other times, it was by St. Bryde of Douglas), ' if he 
be a Duke, I will be a Drake !' — So she delisted from prosecu- 
ting of that purpose." — GoDSCROFT, vol. ii. p. 13L 



iW a X m ion: 

A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD.' 
IN SIX CANTOS. 



Alas ! that Scottish maid should sin^ 

The combat where Iier lover fell I 
That Scottish Bard should wake the string, 

The triumph of our foes to tell. 

Leyden. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

Some alterations in the text of the Introduction 
to Marniion, and of the Poem itself, as well as 
various additions to the Author's Notes, will be 
observed in this Edition. We have followed Sir 
Walter Scott's interleaved copy, as finally revised 
by him in the summer of 1831. 

The preservation of the original MS. of the 
Poem has enriched this volume with numerous 
various reatlings, which will be found cinrious and 
interesting. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

What I have to say respecting this Poem may 
be briefly told. In the Introduction to the " Lay 
of the Last Minstrel," I have mentioned the cir- 
cumstances, so fill" as my literary life is concerned, 
which induced me to resign the active pursuit of 
an honorable profession, for the more precarious 
resources of literature. My appointment to the 
Sheriffdom of Selkirk called for a change of resi- 
dence. I left, therefore, the pleasant cottage I 
had upon the side of the Esk, for the " pleasanter 
banlvs of the Tweed," in order to comply with the 
law, which requires that the SherilT shall be resi- 
dent, at least during a certain number of months, 
witliin his jurisdiction. We found a delightful re- 
tirement, by my becoming the tenant of my inti- 
mate friend and cousin-german, Colonel Russell,' 
in his mansion of Ashestiel, which was unoccupied, 
dm'iug his absence on military service in India. 
The house was adequate to our accommodation, 
and the exercise of a limited hospitahty. The 

' Puhlished in 4to, jCl lis. 6tl., Febioary, 1808. 



situation is uncommonly beautiful, by the side of a 
fine river, whose streams are there very fjivorable 
for angluig. surrounded by the remains of natural 
woods, and by liills abounding in game. In point 
of society, according to the heartfelt phrase ol 
Scripture, we dwelt *' amongst our own peojile ;" 
and as the distance from the metropolis was only 
thirty miles, we were not out of reach of our Kd- 
inburgh friends, in wliich city we spent the terms 
of the suiumer and whiter Sessions of the Court, 
that is, five or six months in the year. 

An unportant circtmistance had, about the same 
time, taken place in my life. Hopes had been 
held out to me from an mfluential quarter, of a 
nature to relieve me from the anxiety which I 
must have otherwise felt, as one upon the preca- 
rious tenure of whose own life rested the principal 
prospects of his family, and especially as one wlio 
had necessarily some dependence upon the favtr 
of the pubUc, which is proverbially capricious ; 
though it is but justice to add, that, m my own 
case, I have not found it so. Mr. Pitt had express- 
ed a wish to my personal friend, the Right Hon- 
orable William Dimdas, now Lord Clerk Register 
of Scotland, that some fitting opportunity should 
be taken to be of service to me ; and as my views 
and wishes pointed to a future rather than an iiu- 
metUate provision, an opportunity of accomplish- 
ing tills was soon found. One of the Principal 
Clerks of Session, as they are called (ofiicial per- 
sons who occupy an important and responsible 
situation, and enjoy a considerable income), who 
had served upwards of thirty years, felt liimself, 
from age, and tlie infirmity of deafness with whit-h 
it was accompanied, desirous of retiring from his 
ofiicial situation. As the law then stood, such 



a Now Major-General Sir James Rnssell, 
Life of Scott, vol. viii. |ip. 133, 318. 



K. C. B.— See 



MARMION. 



81 



oflSciul persons were entitled to bargain witli tlieir 
successors, cither for a sum of nioiioy, which was 
jsually a considerable one, or f(jr an interest in the 
emoluments of the office during their life. My 
[rcdecessor, whose services had been unusually 
meritorious, stipulated for the emoluments of his 
ufEce during his life, while I should enjoy the sur- 
vivorship, on the condition that I discharged the 
duties of the office in the mean time. Mr. Pitt, 
however, having died in tile interval, liis adminis- 
tration was dissolved, and was succeeded by that 
known by the name of the Fox ami Grenvillu Min- 
istry. My afJaii- was so far completed, that my 
coimuission lay in the office subscribed by his 
Majesty ; but, from hurry or mistake, the interest 
of my predecessor was not e.xpressed in it, as liad 
been usual in such cases. Although, therefore, it 
only required payment of the fees, I could not in 
honor take i>ut the commission in the present state, 
since, in the event of my dying before him, the 
gentleman whom I succeeded must have lost the 
vested interest which he had stipulated to retain. 
I had the honor of an interview with Eavl Spen- 
cer on the subject, and he, in the most handsome 
manner, gave directions th.at tlie commission should 
issue as originally intended ; adding, that the mat- 
ter having received the royal assent, he regarded 
only as a claim of justice what he would have 
willingly done as an act of favor. I never saw 
Mr. Fox on this, or on any other occasion, and 
never made any application to him, conceiving 
that in doing so I might have been supposed to 
express poUtical opinions contrary to those which 
I had iilway-s professed. In his private capacity, 
there is no man to wliom I would have been more 
proud to owe an obligation, had I been so distin- 
guisheil. 

By this arrangement I obtained the survivor- 
sliip of an office, the emoluments of whicli were 
fully adequate to my wishes ; and as the law re- 
specting the mode of providmg for superannuateil 
officers wa.s, about five or six years after, altered 
from that which admitted the arrangement of as- 
sistant and successor, my colleague very hand- 
somely took the opportunity of the alteration, to 
accept of the I'etiring annuity provided in such 
cases, and admitted me to the full benefit of the 
office. 

1 See Life, vol. iii. p. 4. 

3 " Ne.xt view in state, protid prancing on his roan, 

Tile {.'olden-eresteil hauglity Marmion. 

Now Ibrging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, 

No! unite a felon, yet hut half a knight. 

The gibhet or the field prejt.ired to grace ; 

A mighty mi.vture of the great and base. 

And think'st thou. Scott ! by vain conceit perchance, 

On [mhiic ta-ste to tbist thy stale romance, 

Though Murray with his Miller may combine 

To yield thv mtlse Jast half-a-crowii |ier linel 
11 



But although the certainty of succeeding to a 
considerable income, at the time I obttiined it, 
seemed to assiu-e me of a qtiiet harbor in my old 
age, I did not escape my share of inconvenience 
fiom the contrary tides and currents by wliicli we 
are so often encountered in our joiyney tlu-cmgh 
hfe. Indeed, the publication of my next poetical 
attempt was prematurely accelerated, from one of 
those impleasant accidents which can neither be 
foreseen nor avoided. 

I had formed the prudent resolution to endeavor 
to bestow a little more labor than I had yet done 
on my productions, and to be in no hurry again to 
announce myself as a candidate for Utcrary fame. 
Accordingly, particular passages of a poem, which 
was finally called " Marmion," were labored with 
a good deal of care, by one by whom much care 
was seldom bestowed. Whether the work was 
worth the labor or not, I .am no competent jutlge ; 
but I may be permitted to say, that the period of 
its compo.sition was a very happy one, in my life ; 
so much so, that I remember with pleasure, at this 
moment, some of the spots in which particular pas- 
sages were composed. It is probably owing to 
this, that the Introduction to the sever.al Cantos 
assumed the form of familiar epistles to my inti- 
mate friends, in which I alluded, perhaps more 
than was necessary or graceful, to my domestic 
occupations and amusements — a loquacity wliich 
may be excused by those who remember, that I 
was stUl young, light-headed, and happy, and that 
" out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
speaketh." 

The misfortunes of a near relation and friend, 
which happened at this time, led me to alter my 
prudent deternimation, wliich had been, to use 
great precaution in sending this poem into the 
world ; and made it convenient at least, if not ab- 
solutely necessiiry, to hasten its publication. Tlie 
publishers of " Tlie Lay of the Last Minstrel," em- 
boldened by the success of that poem, willingly of- 
fered a thousand pounds for " Marmion."' The 
transaction bemg no secret, afforded Lord Byron, 
who was then at general war with all who blacked 
paper, an apology for including me in liis satire, 
entitled " English Bards and Scotch Ue\'iewer.''."* 
I never could conceive how an arrangement be- 
tween an author and Jiis publishers, if satisfacloiy 

No 1 when the sons ofsong descend to trade, 
Tiieir bays are sear, their former laurels fade. 
Let such forego the jioct's sacred name. 
Who rack tJieir brains for lucre, not for fame ; 
Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain 1 
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain ! 
Such be their meed, such still llie just reward 
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard ! 
For this we spurn Apollo's venal son. 
And bid a long ' Good-night to .Marmion.' " 

Byron's Works, vol. vii. p. 235HI 



62 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tu the persons concerned, could afford matter of 
o»nisiu-e to any tliird party. I had taken no imu- 
fiual or ungenerous means of enliancing the value 
of my merchandise — I had never higgled a mo- 
ment about the bargain, but accepted at once 
what I considered the handsome offer of my pub- 
lishers. Tliese gentlemen, at least, were not of 
opinion that they had been taken advantage of m 
tlio transaction, which indeed was one of their own 
framing; on the contrary, the sale of the Poem 
was so far beyond their expectation, as to induce 
them to supply the Author's cellars with what is 
always an acceptable present to a young Scottish 
housekeeper, namely, a hogsliead of excellent claret. 
The Poem was finished in too much haste, to 
allow me an opportunity of softening down, if not 
removing, some of its most prominent defects. The 
natm'e of Marmion's guilt, although shnilar instan- 
ces were found, and might bo quoted, as existmg 
in feudal times, was nevertheless not sufliciently 
pecuhar to be indicative of the chai*acter of the 
period, forgery bemg the crime of a conuiiercial, 
rather than a proud and warUke age. This gross 
defect ought to liave been remedied (»r palliated. 
Yet I suffered the tree to lie as it had fallen. I 
remember my friend. Dr. Leyden, then hi the East, 
wrote me a furious remonstrance on t!ie subject. 

On first reading this salire, 1809, Scott says. "It ii funny 
enough to see a w help of a young Lord Byron abusini: nie, of 
wliose circumstances lie knows nothing, for endeavoring to 
scratcli ont a living wilii my pen. God help llic bear, if hav- 
ing little else to eat, he must not even suck his own paws. I 
can assure the noble imji of fame it is not my fault that I was 
not born to a jiark and i^.'jOOO a year, as it is not his lordship's 
merit, although it may be his great good fortune, lliat he was 
not born to live by hi^ literary talents or success." — hifc, vol. 
iii. p. 195. — Sec also Con'espondence with Lord Byron. Ibid. 
pp. :i95. 398. 

1 " iVIarmion was first printed in a splendid qnarlo, price 
one guinea and a half. The 2000 copies of this edition were 
all disposed of in less than a month, when a second of 3000 
copies, in 8vo., was sent to press. There fol!owed a tliird and 
a fourth edition, each of 3000. in 1809 ; a fifth of 2000. early 
in 1810 ; and a sixth of 3000, in two volumes, crown 8vo., 



I have, nevertheless, always been of opinion, that 
corrections, however in themselves judicious, have 
a bad effect — after publication. Aji author is nev- 
er so decidedly condenmed as on his own confes- 
sion, and may long find apologists and partisans, 
xmtil he gives up his own cause. I was not, there- 
fore, inclined to afford matter for censure out ot 
my own admissions; and, by good fortune, the 
nove'ty of the subject, and, if I may say so, some 
force and vivacity of description were allowed to 
atone for many imperfections. Thus the second 
experunent on the pubhc patience, generally the 
most perilous, — for the public are then most apt 
to judge with rig(»r, what in the first instance they 
had received, perhaps, with imprudent generosity, 
— was in my case decidedly successful. I had the 
good fortune to pass this ordeal favorably, and the 
return of sales before me makes the copies amount 
to thirty-six thousand printed between 1808 and 
1825, besides a considerable sale since that period.* 
I shall here pause upon the subject of " Marmion," 
and, in a few prefatory words to " Tlie Lady of 
the Lake," the last poem of mine which obtained 
emuient success, I will continue the task wldch I 
have imposed on myself respecting the origin of 
my productions. 

AnnoTSFORi), April, 1S30. 

with twelve designs by Singleton, before the end of that vear ; 
a seventh of 4000, and an eighth of 5000 copies 8vo., in 1811 ; 
a ninlh of 3000 in 1815 ; a tenth of .WO in IH'iO ; an eleventh of 
500. and a twelfth ot "2000 co|iies, in foolscap, both in 18-25. 
The legitimate sale in this country, therefore, down to the 
time of its being included in the firr't collective edition of his 
poetical works, amounted to 31,000 ; and the aggi-egate of that 
sale, down to the period at which I am writing (May, 1836), 
may be stated at 50,000 copies. 1 pre-^ume it is right for me 
to facilitate the task of future historians of our liieratnre by 
preserving these details as often as I can. Such pariiculars 
respecting many of the great works even of the last century, 
are already sought for with vain regret ; and I anticipate no 
day when the student of English civilization will pass without 
curiosity the contemporary reception of the Tale of Flodden 
Field. ' — LocKHART, Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 66. 



ill a V tn ion. 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONORABLE 

HENRY LORD MONTAGU,* 

i&C. tXC. {VC. 
THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

It is hardly to be expected, that an Author whom the Public have honored with some degree of ap 
plause, should not be again a trespasser on their kindness. Yet the Author of Marmion 7nust be stip- 
p:)sed to feci some anxiety concerning its success, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this sccona 
intrusion, any reputation which hisfrst Pomn may haiic procured him. The present story turns upon 
the private adventures of a fictitious character ; but is called a Tale of Floddcn Field, because the hero'.' 
fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the causes which led to it. The design of the Autltor 
was, if possible, to apprize his readers, at the outset, of the date of his Story, and to prepare them fur 
the manners of the Age in which it is laid. Any Historical Narrative, far more an attempt at Ejric 
composition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale ; yet he may be permitted to hope, from the popularity 
o^The Lay of the Last Minstrel, that an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times, upon a 
broader scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the Public. 

The Poem opens about the commencement of August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, 9th 
September, 1513. 

ASHESTIEL, 1808. 



filar mi on. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 



WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ.^ 

Ashestiel, Eiirick Forest. 
November's sky is chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear : 
Late, gazing down the steepy linn, 
That hems our little garden in. 
Low in its dark and narrow glen. 
You scarce the rivulet might ken. 
So tliick the tangled greenwood grew, 
So feeble trill'd the streamlet through : 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
llu'ough bush and brier, no longer green, 

' Lord Montagu was the second son of Henry Duke of Bqc- 
Lli>U(.'li, by the only daughter of John last Duke of Montagu. 

2 For the origin and progress of Scott's acquaintance with 
^Ir. Rose, see Life, vols. ii. iii iv. vi. Part of Marmion 



An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 
And, foaming brown with doubled speed. 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 

No longer Autumn's glowing red 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ;^ 
No more, beneath the evening beam, 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam ; 
Away hath pass'd the heather-beU 
That bloom'd so rich on Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yair. 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven. 
To shelter'd dale and down are driven. 
Where yet some faded herbage pines. 
And yet a watery sunbeam sliines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The wither'd sward and wintry sky, 

was composed at Mr. Rose's seat in the New Forest, /Jii 
vol. iii. p. 10. 

3 MS. — " No longer now in glowing red 

The Ettericke-Forest hilU are clad." 



84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And fiir beneath their slimmer hill, 
Stray sadly by Gleukiiiuon's rill : 
Tlie shepherd sliifts liis miuitle's fold, 
And wraps him closer from the C(.)ld ; 
His dogs, no merry circles wlieel, 
But, shiveruig, follow at his heel ; 
A cowering glance they often cast. 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, 
As best befits the mountain child. 
Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
And wail the daisy's vanished flower ; 
Their summer gambols tell, and mouru, 
And amxious ask, — WiU spring return, 
And birds and lambs again be gay, 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? 

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower ; 
Agam the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The lambs upon the lea shall bound, 
The wild birds carol to the rouud. 
And while you frolic light as they. 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
New hfe revolving sunmier brings ;' 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
And in her glory reappears. 
But oh ! my country's wintry state 
What second spruig shall renovate ? 
What powerful call sliall bid arise 
The buried warlike and the wi.se ;' 
The mind that tliouglit for Britain's weal. 
The hand tliat grasp'd the victor's steel ? 
The vernal sun new hfe bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
But vainly, vainly may he sliinc, 
Wlierc glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine ; 

l"The 'chance and cliange' of nature, — the vicisjiludes 
vviiich are oltservable in the moral as well as the [»li)>ieal part 
of the creation. — have given occasion to more e.vqui.'.ite [>oetry 
than any other general subject. The author had before made 
ample use ol the sentiments suggested by these topic* ; yet he 
is nut satisfied, but begins again with the same in his first in- 
Irodnctiiin. The lines are certainly pleasing ; but tliey fall, in 
our estimation, far below that beautiful simile of the Tweed 
which he has introduced into his former poem. The Al, at, 
rut fjriXnKiit of Mosclun is, however, worked up again to some 
'idvantage in t!ie following pas.s.age; — 'To mute,' Stc." — 
Mnntldii Rev.. Mny. 18118. 

- MS. — " What call awakens from the tleati 

The hero's heart, the patriot's head?" 

3 MS. — " Deep in eacli British bosom wrote, 
O never be those uames forgot !" 

■' Nelson. 

• Copenhagen. 

* MS — "T'lgg'd at subjection's cracking rein." 



And vainly pierce the solemn glooca. 
That slirouds, Pitt, thy hallow'd tomb ! 

Deep graved in every British heart, 
never let those names depart P 
Suy to yom" sons, — Lo, here his grave. 
Who victor died on Gadite wave ;* 
To him, as to the burning levin. 
Short, bright, resistless course was given. 
Where'er his country's foes were found. 
Was heard the fated thunder's soimd, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
RoU'd, blazed, destroyed, — and was no more. 

Nor mourn yo less his perish'd worth. 
Who bade the conqueror go forth. 
And laimch'd that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia,' Trafalgar ; 
Who, born to guide such liigh emprize, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
For Britain's sms, an early grave ! 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power, 
Spurn'd at the sordid lust of pelf, 
And served his Albion for herself; 
Who, when the frtmtic crowd amain 
Strain'd at subjection's bursting rein," 
O'er their wild mood fuU conquest gain'd, 
The pride, he would not crush, restrain' d, 
Show'd theu- fierce zeal a wortliier cause,' 
And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the free- 
man's laws. 

Had'st thou but hved, though stripp'd of 
power,* 
A watclmiaii on the lonely tower, 
1'hy thrilling trump had roused the land. 
When fr.aud or ilanger were at hand ; 
By thee, as by the beacon-hght, 
Our pilots had kept com'se aright ; 
As some proud colunm, though alone 



" ,M3. — '■ Show'd their hold zeal a worthier cause." 
" This paragraph was interpolated on the blank page of the 
MS. We insert the lines as they ap[)ear there : — 
"O had he liveil, though stripp'd of power. 
Like a lone watchman on the tower. 
His thrilling trumpet through the land 
Had warn'd when foemen were at hand. 
As by some beacon's lonely light, 
i By thee our course had steer'd aright ; 
.; Our steady course had steer't 
r Our pilots kept their course 3 
His single mind, unbent by fate, 
Etad propp'd his country's tottering weight; 
(tall I 



?er'd aright ; 1 
;r'd aright ; V 
e arighi ; \ 



J Had propp'd our toriering state and throne, 
His strength had propp'd our tottering throne, 
The beacon light is quencliM in smoke, 
The warder fallen, the coluuia broke.'* 



MARMION. 



85 



Thy strength had propp'd tho tottering throne : 
Now is tlie stately cilumn broke, 
The beacon-light is quencli'd in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is still, 
The warder silent on the lull ! 

Oh tliiuk, liow to his latest day,' 
Wlieu Death, just hovering, claim'd his prey, 
With PaUuure's unalter'd mood, 
Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; 
Each call for needful rest repell'd. 
With dyuig hand the rudder held, 
Till in liis fall, with fateful sway. 
The stccri^e of the realm gave way ! 
Then while on Britain's thousand plains, 
One unpoUuted church remains, 
Wliose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
Tlie bloody tocsm's maddening sound, 
But still, upon the hallow'd day," 
Convoke the swams to praise and pray ; 
Wliile faith and civtl peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, — 
He, who preserved them, Pitt, lies here I 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh. 
Because his rival slumbers nigh; 
Nor be thy requiescat dumb. 
Lest it he said o'er Fox's tomb.' 
For talents mourn, untimely lost, 
Wlien best employ'd, and wanted most ; 
Mourn genius high, and lore profound, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound ; 
And all the reasoning powers divine. 
To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
From error him who owns this grave, 

^ MS. — " Yet think how to his latest day." 

2 MS. — " But still upon the koty day.^' 

3 In place of this couplet, and the ten lines which follow it, 
Oie original MS. of Marmion has only the following : — 

" If genius higl] and judgment sound. 
And wit that loved to play, not wound. 
And all the reasoning powers divine. 
To penetrate, resolve, combine, 
Could save one mortal of the herd 
From error — Fox had never err'd." 

*' While Scott was correcting a second proof of the passage 
where I'itt and Fox are mentioned together, at Stanmore Priory, 
in April, 1807. Lord Abereorn suggested that the compliment 
to tile Whig statesman ought to be still further heightened, and 
eeveral lines — 

' For talents mourn untimely lost, 
fVlim hest employed, and wanted mtist,^ &c. — 
were added accordingly. I have heard, indeed, that they came 
from the Marquis's own pen. Ballanlyne. however, from some 
inadvertence, had put the sheet to press before the recit^e, as it 
is called, arrived in Edinburgh, and some few copies got abroad 
in \\htch the additional couplets were omitted. A London 



Be every liarslier thought suppress'd. 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriot.s, bards, and kings ; ■ 
Where stitT the hand, and stiU the tongue. 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung ; 
Here, where tlie fi'etted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song. 
As if some angel spoke agen, 
" All peace on earth, good-will to men •" 
If ever from an Enghsh heart, 
O, here let prejudice depart. 
And, partial feeling cast aside,' 
Record, that Fox a Briton died ! 
When Europe crouch'd to Frtince's yoke, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke. 
And the firm Russian's purpose brave. 
Was barter'd by a timorous shave. 
Even then dishonor's jieace he spurn'd, 
The suUied oUve-branch retm-n'd. 
Stood for his country's glory fast, 
And nail'd her colors to the mast ! 
Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave 
A portion in this houord grave, 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust.* 

With more than mortal powers endow'd. 
How high they soar'd above the crowd ! 
Theirs was no common party race,*" 
JostUng by dark intrigue for place ; 
Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar ; 
Bene.ith each banner proud to stand, 
Look'd up the noblest of the land, 
TUl through the British world were knowti 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
.Spells of such force no wiziU'd grave 

journal (the Morning Chronicle) was stupid and malignant 
enough to insinuate that the author had his presentation conies 
struck off with or without them, according as they were for 
Whig or Tory hands. I mention the circnmstance now otdy 
because I see by a letter of Heber's that Scott had thought it 
worth his while to contradict the absurd charge in the news- 
papers of the day." — LocKHART, Lifeof Scott, vol. iii. p.Gl. 

* MS. — " And parly passion doft"'d aside." 

6 " The first epistolary effusion, containing a threnody on 
Nelson, Pitt, and Fox. exhibits a remarkable failure. We are 
unwilling to quarrel with a poet on the score of politics ; but 
the manner in which he has chosen to praise the last of these 
great men, is more likely, we conceive, to give ofl'eiice to his 
admirers, than the most direct censure. The only deed for 
which he is praised is for having broken otV the negotiation for 
peace ; and for this act of firmness, it is added. Heaven re- 
warded him with a share in the honored grave of Pitt I It is 
then said that his errors* should be forgotten, and that he died 
a Briton — a pr.'tty plain insinuation that, in the author's opin 
ion, he did not live one; and just such an encomium :is he 
himself pronounces over the grave of lii= villain hero, Mar- 
mion." — Jeffrey. 

" MS. — " Theirs was no common courtier race." 



1 

86 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


E'er framed m dark Tliessalian cave. 


Like frostwork in the morning ray. 


Though his could ch-aiu the oceau dry, 


Tlie fancied fabric melts away ;' 


And force the phiuets from the sky.* 


Each Gotliic arch, memorial-stone, 


These spelk are spout, and, spent with those. 


And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone ; 


The wine of life is on the lees. 


And, lingering last, deception dear, 


Genius, and taste, and talent gone, 


The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 


Forever tonib'd beneath the stone, 


Now slow return the lonely down, 


Where — taming thought to human pride !— 


The silent pastures bleak and brown. 


Tlie mighty cliiefs sleep side by side.* 


Tlie farm begirt with copsewood wild. 


Drop upon Fox's grave the tear. 


The gambols of each frolic child, 


'Twill trickle to his rival's bier ; 


Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 


O'er Pitt's the mournT'ul requiem sound, 


Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 


And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 




Tlie solemn echo seems to cry, — 


Prompt on unequal tasks to run, 


" Here let their discord with them die. 


Thus Nature disciplines her son : 


Speak not for those a separate doom, 


Meeter, she says, for me to stray, 


Whom Fate made Brothers in the tomb ; 


And waste the solitary day, 


But search the land of living men. 


In pluckuig from yon fen the reed, 


Where wilt thou find tlieir like agen ?" 


And watch it floating down the Tweed ; 




Or idly Ust the .shrilUng lay. 


Rest, ardent Spirits ! till the cries 


With which the milkmaid cheers her way, 


Of dying Nature bid you rise ; 


Marking its cadence rise and fail. 


Not even your Britaui's groans can pierce 


As from the field, beneath her pail. 


The leaden silence of yom* hearse ; 


She trips it down the uneven dale ; 


Tlien, 0, how mipotent and vain 


Meeter for me, by yonder cairn. 


This gi-ateful tributary strain ! 


The ancient shepherd's tale to learn ; 


Though not urunark'il from northern clune. 


Though oft he stop in rustic fear,* 


Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : 


Lest his old legends tire the ear 


His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 


Of one, who, in his simple mind. 


The Bard you deign'd to praise, your deatlJess 


May boast of book-learn'd taste refined. 


names has sung. 






But thou, my friend, ean'st fitly teU 


Stay yet, illusion, stay a while. 


(For few have read romance so well). 


My wilder'd fancy .still beguile ! 


How still the legendary lay 


From this high theme how can I part. 


O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 


Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 


How on the ancient mmstrel strain 


For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 


Time lays Ms palsied hand in vain ; 


And all the raptures fancy knew. 


And how oiu- hetu-ts at doughty deeds, 


And all the keener rush of blooi 1, 


Bv warriors wrought in steely weeds, 


That throbs through bard in bard-like mood, 


StiU throb for fear and pity's sake ; 


Were here a tribute mean and low. 


As when the Champion of the Lake 


Though all thcu- mingled streams could flow — 


Enters Morgana's fated house. 


Woe, wonder, and sensation high. 


Or ui the Chapel Perilous, 


In one spring-tide of ec.sta.sy ! — • 


Despisuig spells and demons' force. 


It will not be — it may not last — 


Holds converse with the unburied corse ;' 


The vision of enchantment's past : 


Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move, 


1 1 M?. — '• And force tile pale moon Irom tlie sky." 


Wliich hushes all ! a calm unstormy wave 


1 " Reader ! remember wlien lium wert li lad, 


Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old 


Then Pitt was nil ; or, if not all, so mucli, 


Of ' dust to dust ;' but half its talc untold ; 


His very rival J^lmost deem'd liim snch. 






We, we have seen the intellectual race 


Byron's Age of Bronze- 


Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face ; 


3 " If but a benm of sober reason play, 


Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea 


Lo ! Fancy's fairy frostwork melts away," 


Of eloquence between, which tlow'd all free. 


Rogers' Pleasures of Memo r if 


As the deep billows of the j^p.^aii roar 


i MS.—" Thougb oft )ie stops to wonder still 


Betwixt the Helletiie anil the Phrvgian shore. 


That hh old legends have the skill 


But where are they — the rivals ! — a few feet 


To win so well the attentive ear, 


Of sullen earth divide each winding-sheet. 


Perciiariee to ilraw the sigh or tear " 


How peaceful and how powerful is *.he grave 


s See Appendix, Note A. 



CANTO I. MARMION. 87 


(Alas, that lawless was their love !) 


And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 


He suuj,'lit ]>roiiJ Tarquin in his den, 


Unchanged by suffermgs, time, or death ; 


Anil free I'liU sixty knights ; or when, 


And Valor, Uon-mettled lord, 


A Sinful man, and uncoufess'd, 


Leaning upon his own good sword. 


Ho took tlie Sangreal's holy quest, 




Ajid, slumbering, saw the vision high. 


Well iias thy fair achievement shown, 


He might not view with waking eye." 


A worthy meed may thus be won ; 




Ytene's* oaks — beneath whose shade 


The mightiest chiefs of British song 


Their theme the merry minstrels made, 


Scorn'd not such legends to prolong: 


Of Ascapart and Bevis bold,' 


They gleam through Spenser's elfiu dream. 


And that Red King,' who, wliile of old. 


And mix in Milton's heavenly theme ; 


Through Boldrewood the chase he led. 


And Dryden, in Immortal stram. 


By bis loved huntsman's arrow bled — 


Had raised the Table Round again,' 


Ytene's oaks have heard again 


But that a rib:dd King and Court 


Renew'd such legendary straui ; 


Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; 


For thou bast sung, how He of Gaul, 


Demanded for then- niggard pay, 


That Amadis so famed in ball, 


Fit for theii' souls, a looser lay. 


For Oriana, foil'd in fight 


Licentious satire, song, and play ;' 


The Necromancer's felon might ; 


The world defrauded of the high design,* 


And well iu modern verse hast wove 


Profaned the God-given strengtli, and marr'd 


Partenopex's mystic love ;" 


the lofty line. 


Hear, then, attentive to my lay. 




A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 


Warra'd by such names, well may we then. 
Though dwindled sons of little men. 






Essay to break a feeble lance 




In the fair fields of old romance ; 


ill a r 111 ton. 


Or seek the moated castle's cell, 




WHiere long tlu-ough talisman and spell, 






While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 
Thy Genius, Chivalry, bath slept : 


CANTO FmST. 




Tliere sound the harpings of the North, 


K^t Castle 


Till he awake and sally forth. 




On venturous quest to prick again. 


1. 


In all his amis, with all liis train,' 


Day set on Norham's castled steep," 


Sliield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf. 


And Tweeil's fair river, broad and deep, 


Fay, giant, cb-agon, squire, and dwarf. 


And Clieviot's momitains lone : 


And wizard with liis wand of might. 


The battled towers, the donjon keep," 


And errant maid ou palfrey white. 


The loophole grates, where captives weep, 


Around the Genius weave their spells, 


The flanking walls that round it sweep. 


Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells ; 


In yellow lustre shone." 


Mystery, half veil d and half reveal'd ; 


The warriors on the turrets high. 


And Honor, with his spotless shield; 


Moving athwart the evening sky," 


Attention, with fix'd eye; and Fear, 


Seem'd forms of giant height: 


That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 


Tlieir armor, as it caught the rays, 


1 See .\pppiulix. Note B. a Ibid. Note C. 


Attention, with fix'd eye ; and Fear. 


^ MS. — '■ Licentious soitcr, lampoon, and play." 


That loves the tale she shrinks to near; 


< MS.—" Tlie world del'raadeil ol' tlie biilil design. 


And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 


And quencli'd tlie heroic 1 fire, and mair'd the 


And Valor tha despises death." 


Profaned the heavenly i lofty line." 
&gain. 


'' The New Forest in llainpshire, anciently so called. 


' Profaned his God-given strength, and marrM his lofty line." 


' See Appendix, ote D. 


6 In the MS. the rest of the passage stands as follows : — 


8 William Rufus. 


" Around him wait with all their \ ^l'"""*. 
t spells. 


9 Parlenopti dc illuis, a poem, by W. S. Rose, Esq., wu 
published in 1808.— En. 


Pure Love which \ ^'""= ""'^ "=>""' ■ 


See Appendix, Note E. Ibid. Note F. 


1 scarce his pas.sion tells ; 1 


12 In the MS. the first line has " hoary keep :" the fourth 


Mystery, halfseen and half conceal'd ; 


" donjon sUcp ;" the seventh " rudthj lustre." 


Aud Honor, with unspotted shield ; j 


" MS.—" Eastern stv." 



88 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Flash'd back again the western blaze,' 
lu lines of dazzling light. 

II. 

Saint George's banner, broad and gay, 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and les.^, was flung ; 
Tlie evening gale had scarce the power 
To wave it on the Donjon Tower, 

So heavUy it hung. 
Tlio scouts had parted on their search 

Tlie Castle gates were barr'd ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, 
Timing liis footsteps to a march, 

The Warder kept liis guard ; 
Low humming, as he paced along, 
Some ancient Border gathering song. 

IIL 

A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears. 
O'er Horncliff-liill a plump" of spears, 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
Like lightning from a sunmier cloud, 
Spurs on hijs mettled com-ser proud, 

Before tlie dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade. 
That closed the Castle barricade. 

His bugle horn he blew ; 
The warder hasted from the wall, 
And waru'd the Captain in the haU, 
For well the blast he knew ; 
And joyfully that knight did call, 
To sewer, squire, and seneschaL 

IV. 

" Now broach ye a pijje of Malvoisie, 

Bring pasties of the doe, 
And quickly make the entrance free. 
And bid my heralds ready be. 
And every minstrel sound his glee. 

And all our trumpets blow ; 
And, from the platiorm, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-sliot ;^ 

Lord Marmion waits below !" 
Tlien to the Castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall, 
The iron-studded gates unbarr'd, 

1 '* Et'CTiinff blaze." 

• Tliig word properly applies to a fliglit of watei^fowl ; 
is applic'ii. by analogy, to a body of horse. 

" There is a kiiiglu of the North Coiintry, 
Which leads a lusty plump of spears." 

Flodtlcn Field, 
MS. — " A welcome shot." 

' MS. — " On his brown cheek an azure scar 
Bore token true of Boswortb war." 



Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, 
The lofty palisade unsparr'd 
And let the drawbridge fall. 

V. 
Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode. 
Proudly his red-roan charger trode. 
His helm himg at the saddlebow ; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stalworth knight, and keen, 
And had in many a battle been ; 
The scar on his brown cheek reveal' d* 
A token true of Boswortli field ; 
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, 
ShoVd spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 
Yet lines of thought ujjon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn bare, 
His thick mustache, and curly hair. 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, 

But more through toil than age ; 
His square-tm'ned joints, and strength of limb, 
Show'd him no carpet knight so trim, 
But in close fight a chamjjion grim, 

In camps a leader sage.' 

VL 
WeU was he arm'd from head to heel, 
In mail and plate of Milan steel f 
But liis strong helm, of mighty cost, 
Was all with burnish'd gold emboss'd : 
Amid the plumage of the crest. 
A falcon hover'd on her nest, 
With wings outspread, and forwai'd breast ; 
E'en such a falcon, on liis sliicld, 
Soai''d sable in an azure field : 
The golden legend bore aright, 
JOTSo c!)tcfi;s at \az, to Bcatij is tjffljt.'' 
Blue was the chai'ger's broider'd rein ; 
Blue ribbons deck'd his tirching uitme ; 
The knightly housing's ample fold 
Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold. 

VIL 
Behind him rode two gallant squu-es. 
Of noble name, and knightly su-es ; 
Tliey burn'd the gilded spurs to clahn ; 
For well could each a war-horse tame, 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, 

5 " Marmion is to Deloraine what Tom Jones is to Josejih 
Andrews : the varnish of liiiiher breeding nowhere diminisliec 
the prominence of the features ; and the minion of a king is 
as light and sinewy a cavalier as the Borderer — rather less 
ferocious — more wicked, not less tit for the hero of a ballad, 
and much more so for the hero of a regular poem.' ' — Georgi 
Ellis. 

8 See Appendix, Note G. 

7 Ibid. Note H. 



CANTO 1. 



MARMION. 



8» 



And lightly bear the ring away ; 

Xor less with courteous precepts storeil, 
Could duiHC in liiiU, ;md carve at board. 
And frame love-ditties passing rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair. 

VIII. 
Four men-at-arms came at their backs. 
With lialbort, bill, and battle-axe: 
They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong,' 
And led his sumpter-mules along. 
And ambling palfrey, when at need 
Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
The last and trustiest of the four. 
On higli his forky pennon bore ; 
Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 
Flutter'd the streamer glossy blue, 
Where, blazon'd sable, as before, 
The towering f:dcon seem'd to soar. 
La-i, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
In hoscn black, and jerkins blue, 
With falcons broider'd on each breast. 
Attended on their lord's behest. 
F,a(-h, chosen for an archer good. 
Knew huutiug-craft by lake or wood ; 
Each one a six-foot bow could bend, 
Aurl (iii a clotli-yard shaft could send ; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys, and array, 
Show'd they had march'd a weary way. 

IX. 
Tis meet that I should tell you now, 
How fairly arm'd, and order'd how, 

The soldiers of the guard. 
With musket, pike, and morion. 
To welcome noble Marmion, 

Stood in the Castle-yard ; 
Mmstrels and trumpeters were there, 
llie gumier held his linstock yare. 

For welcome-sliot prepared : 
Enter'd the train, and such a clang,' 
As then through all his tiu'rets rang, 

Old Norham never heard. 

X. 

Tlie guards their morrice-pikes advanced, 
The trumpets tlourish'd brave, 

- MS.— ' Onr bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, 
Tiffo led his sumpter-mules along, 
The third his palfrey, when at need." 

3 MS.^" And when he enter'd, such a ctang 

As through tJie echoing turrets rang." 

3 "The most picturesque ol'uH poets, Homer, ia I'reijuently 
minute, ID the utmost degree, in the description of the dres.ses 
•nd accoutrements of his personages. These partieul.-irs, often 
Vi 



The cannon from the ramparts glanced, 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blithe salute, in martial sort, 

The luiustrels well might sound, 
- For, as Lord Marmion cross'd tlie court. 

He scatter'd angels round. 
" Welcome to Norham, Marmion I 

Stout heart, and open hand 1 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan. 

Thou flower of EngUsh land !" 

XL 

Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck, 
With silver scutcheon round their neck, 

Stood on the steps of stone, 
By wliich you reach the donjon gate. 
Anil there, with herald pomp and state, 

They hail'd Lord Mai-mion :' 
They hail'd liim Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, •' 

Of Tamworth tower and town :' 
And he, then- courtesj- to requite, 
Gave them a chain of twelve mai-ks' weight, 

All as he lighted down. 
" Now, largesse, largesse,' Lord Mariniou, 

Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazon'd shield, in battle won. 

Ne'er guarded heart, so bold." 

XIL 

They m.arshall'd liim to the Castle-hall, 

'Wlicre the guests stood all aside. 
And loudly flouiish'd the trumpet-call. 

And the heralds loudly cried, 
— " Room, lordUngs, room for Lord Marmioii, 

With the crest and hehn of gold ! 
Full well we know the tropliios won 

In the lists at Cottiswold : 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 

'Gainst Marmion's force to stand : 
To him he lost Iiis lady-love, 

And to the King liis land. 
Onrselres beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fau'; 
We saw Lord Marmion pierce liLs shield,' 

And .saw his saddle bare ; 
We saw the victor win the crest 

He wears with worthy pride ; 
;Viid on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 

inconsiderable in themselves, liave the effect of giving trtith 
and identity to the picture, and assist the mind in realizing 
the scenes, in a degree which no general description could 
suggest ; nor could we so completely enter Uie Castle with 
Lord Marmion, were any circumstances of the description 
omitted." — British Critic. 

* See Appendi.-^, Note I. & tbid. Note K 

c MS. — " Cleave hia shield." 



90 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto t 


His foeman's scutclienn tied. 


XV. 


Place, nobles, for the Falcon-lijiight ! 


The Captain mark'd his alter'd look, 


Room, room, ye gcutles gay, 


And gave a squire the sign ; 


For hiiu who conquer'd in the i ight, 


A mighty wassail-bowl he took. 


Marmiou of Fontenaye !" 


And crown'd it high in wine. 




" Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion : 


XIII. 


But first I pray thee fair,' 


Then stepp'd to meet that noble Lord 


Wliere iiast thou left that page of thine, 


Su- Hugh the Heron bold, 


Tli:it used to serve thy cup of wme, 


Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 


Whose beauty was so rare ? 


And Captain of the Hohl.' 


"When last in Raby towers we met, 


He led Lord Marmion to the deas. 


The boy I closely eyed. 


Raised o'er the pavement high. 


And often mark'd his cheeks were wet. 


And placed him in the upper place — 


With tears he fttin would liide : 


They feasted full and high : 


His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 


Tlie wliiles a Northern harper rude 


To btn-nish sliield or sharpen brand,' 


Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud. 


Or saddle battle-steed ; 


"How the fierce Thmoalls, and Ridleys 


But meeter seemed for lady fair. 


all? 


To fun her cheek, or curl her hair, 


Stoftt WiUhnmidswick, 


Or through embroidery, rich and rare. 


And Hardriding Dick, 


The slender silk to lead : 


And Hughie of Hamdon, and Will o' the 


His skill was i.ay, liis ringlets gold. 


Wall, 


His bosom — when he sigh'd. 


Have set on. Sir Albani/ Fcatherstonhoi'-gh, 


The russet doublet's rugged fold 


And taken his life at tJie Dcadman s-shaw^ 


Could scarce repel its pride ! 


Scantily Lord Marmion's ear could brook 


Siiy, hast thou given that lovely youth 


The harper's barbarous lay ; 


To serve in lady's bower ? 


Yet much he praised the pains he took, 


Or was the gentle page, m sooth, 


And well those pains did pay : 


A gentle paramour ?" 


For lady's suit, und minstrel's strain. 




By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 


XVL 




Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest ;• 




He roU'd his kindling eye, 


XIV. 


With pain his ri.sing wrath suppress'd. 


" Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron says, 


Yet made a calm reply: 


" Of your fan- courtesy. 


"That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair, 


I pr.ay you bide some little space 


He might not brook the northern air. 


In this poor tower with me. 


More of liis fate if thou wouldst learn, 


Here may you keep your arms from rust. 


I left bun .-iiek in Lindisfarn ;° 


May breathe your war-horse well ; 


Enough of him. — But, Heron, say, 


Seldom has pass'd a week but giust 


Why does thy lovely lady gay 


Or feats of arms befell : 


Disdain to grace the hall to day ? 


The Scots can rein a mettled steed ; 


Or has that dame, so fair and sage, 


And love to couch a spear ; — 


Gone on some pious pilgrimage f ' — 


Saint George ! a stirring Ufe they lead, 


He spoke m covert scorn, for fame 


Tliat have such neighbors near. 


Whi.''per'd light tales of Heron's dame.'' 


Then stay with us a little space. 




Our ntrthern wars to learn ; 


XVH. 


I pray you, for yoiu- lady's grace !" 


Unmark'd, at lea,st um-eck'd, the taunt. 


Lord Marmion's brow grew stern. 


Careless the Knight replied,'' 


1 See Appendix. Note L. ^ Ibiil. Note M. 


Is come. I ween, of lineage high. 


3 MS.—" And let me pray thee fair." 


.\nd of thy lady's kin. 


* MS. — " To rub a siiielii or sharp a brand." 


That youth, so like a paramour. 


■"' MS. — " Lonl Mariiiion ill sueh jest could brook. 


Who wept lor shame and pride, 


He roU'd his kindling eye ; 


Wii.s ersl, in Wilton's lonily bower. 


Fix'd on tlie Knight his dark haoght look, 


Sir Ralph .In Wilton's bride.' " 


And answcr'd stem and liigh : 


e See Note 2 B, canto ii. stanza 1. 


' That page thou didst so etosely eye. 


MS. — " Whisjier'd strange things of Heron's dame. 


So fair of liand and skin, 


* MS.— " The Captain gay replied." 



TAN-TO I. MARMION. 91 


" No bird, whose feathers gayly flavint, 


Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 


Delif^lits in cage to bide : 


Or pardoner, or travelling priest, 


Norliain is grim and grated close, 


Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 


HomniM in by battlement and fosse, 




And many a darl^some tower ; 


XXL 


And bettor loves my lady bright 


Tlie Captam mused a little space, 


To sit in liberty and light, 


And pass'd liis hand across his face. 


In fair Queen Margaret's bower 


— ".Fain would I find the guide you want, 


We hold oiu" greyhound in our hai;d. 


But ill may spare a pursuivant. 


Our falcttn on our glove ; 


Tlie only men that safe can ride 


But where shall we find leash or barn , 


Mine errands on the Sc<ittish side : 


For dame that loves to rove ? 


And though a bishop built tliis fort, 


Let the wild falcon soar her swing, 


Few holy brethren here resort ; 


She'll stoop when she has tired her wing." — ' 


Even our good chaplaui, as I ween. 




Since our last siege, we have not seen: 


XVIII 


The mass he might not sing or say. 


" Nay, if with Royal James's bride 


Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 


The lovely Lady Heron bide. 


So, safe he sat in Durham aisle, 


Behold me here a messenger. 


And pray'd for oiu- success the while. 


Your tender greetings prompt to bear ; 


Our Norham vicar, woe betide, 


For, to the Scottish court adcbess'd. 


Is all too well in case to ride ; 


1 journey at our King's behest. 


Tlie priest of Shoreswood' — he could rein 


And pray you, of your grace, provide 


'llie wildest war-horse in your tram : 


For me, and mine, a trusty guide. 


But then, no spearman in the hall 


I have not ridden in Scotland since 


Will sooner swear, or stab, or br.awl. 


James back'd the cause of that mock prince, 


Friar John of Tillmouth were the man 


Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit. 


A blithesome brother at the can, 


Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 


A welcome guest in hall and bower. 


Then did I march with Surrev's power, 


He knows each castle, town, and tower, 


What time we razed old Ayton tower." — ' 


In which the wuie and ale is good. 




'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 


XIX. 


But that good man, as ill befalls, 


" For such-like need, my lord, I trow, 


Hath seldom left our castle walls, 


Norham can find you guiiles enow ; 


Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, 


For here be sonic have prick'd as far. 


In evil hour, he cross'd the Tweed, 


On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 


To teach Dame Alison her creed. 


Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, 


Old Bughtrig found liim with liis wife; 


And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 


And John, an enemy to strife, 


Harried the wives of Greeidaw's goods, 


Sans irock and hood, fled for liis life. 


And given them light to set their hoods." — ' 


Tlie jealous churl hath deeply swore, 




Tliat, if again he venture o'er. 


XX. 


He shall .shrieve penitent no more. 


•■ Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion cried. 


Little he hives such risks, I know; 


" Were I in warlike wise to ride. 


Yet, in your guard, perchance wiU go." 


A better guard I would not lack, 




Than your sti'Ut forayers at my back ; 


XXIL 


r.ut, as in form of peace 1 go. 


Young Selby, at the fair hall-board. 


.V friendly messenger, to know, 


Carved to liis uncle and that lord. 


WTiy through all Scotland, near and far. 


And reverently took up the word. 


Their Kuig is mustering troops for war, 


" Kmd uncle, woe were we each one. 


Tlie sight of plundering Border spears 


If harm should hap to brother John. 


Migiit justify suspicious fears, 


He is a niiui of mirlhful speech. 


And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil. 


Can many a game and gambol teach : 


Break out in some unseemly broil : 


Full well at tables can he play. 


A herald were my fitting guide; 


And sweep at lx)wls the st;ike away. 


' MS.—" She'll stoop :i;rain when tired her wing." 


' See Appenrtii, Note O. 


J See Apiiemh.x, NoveN. 


• Ibi.l. Note P. 



92 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i, 


None can a lustier carol bawl. 


And warms itself against his nose,' 


The needfuUest among us all, 


Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." — * 


When tune hangs heavy in tlie hall, 




And snow comes thick at Glu-istmas tide. 


XXV. 


And we can neither hunt, nor ride 


" Gramercy !" quoth Lord Marmion, 


A foray on the Scottish side. 


" Full loth were I, that Friar John, 


The Tow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude, 


That venerable man, for me. 


May end in worse than loss of hood. 


Were placed in fear or jenpardy. 


Let Friar John, in safety, stdl 


If this same Palmer will me lead 


In cliinuiey-corner snore his fill. 


From hence to Holy-Rood, 


Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swiU : 


Like his good sauit, I'll pay liis meed. 


Last niglit, to Norham tlicre came one. 


Instead of cookle-sheU, or bead. 


Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 


With angels fair and good. 


" Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay, 


I love such holy ramblers ; still 


Well hast tliou spoke ; say furtli thy say." — 


Tliey know to charm a weary hill, 




With song, romance, or lay : 


XXIIL 


Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, 


" Here is a holy Palmer come, 


Some lying legend, at the least. 


From Salem first, and last from Rome ; 


They bring to cheer the way." — 


One, tliat hath kiss'd the blessed tomb, 




And visited each holy slu-ine. 


XXVL 


In Araby and Palestine ; 


" All ! noble su," young Selby said. 


On lulls of Armenie hath been. 


And tuiger on his lip he laid, 


Where No:di's ark may yet be seen ; 


" Tliis man knows much, perchance e'en more 


By that Red Sea, too, liatli he trod. 


Tlian lie could learn by holy lore. 


Wliicli parted at the propliet's rod ; 


Still to him.self he's mutteruig. 


In Sinai's wilderness he saw 


And shrinks as at some unseen tiling. 


The Mount, wlicre Israel lieard the law 


Last niglit we listen'd at his cell ; 


'Mid tlumder-dint, and flashing levin. 


Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 


And sliadows, mists, and darkness, given. 


He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er 


He shows Saint James's cockle-shell, 


No living mortal could be near. 


Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 


Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, 


And of that Grot where Olives nod,' 


As other voices spoke again. 


Wliere, darling of each lieart and eye. 


I cannot tell — I hke it not — 


From aU the youth of Sicily, 


Friar Joint hatli told us it is wrote. 


Saint Rosalie" retired to God.^ 


No conscience eleai', and void of wrongs 




Can rest awake, and pray so long. 


XXIV. 


Himself still sleeps before liis beads 


" To stout Samt George of Norwich merry, 


Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds." — ' 


Saint Tliomas, too. of Canterbury, 




Cuthbcrt of Durliam and Sauit Bede, 


XXVIL 


For liis sins' pardon liath lie pi'ay'd. 


— " Let pass," quoth Marmion ; " Vy my fay. 


He linows the passes of tiic North, 


Tliis man shall guide me on my way. 


And seeks for slu'ines bey^)nd tlie Fortli ; 


Althongli the great arch-fiend and he 


Little lie eats, and long will wake. 


Had sworn themselves of company. 


And drinks but of tlie .stream or lake. 


So please you, gentle youth, to call 


This were a guide o'er mtjor and dale ; 


This Palmer' to the Castle-hall." 


But, when our Jolin hatli (]uaff 'd liis ale. 


The suranion'd Palmer came in place ; 


As little as the wind tliat blows. 


His sable cowl o'erliung liis face ; 


' MS. — " Ami of the olive's shaded cell." 


we think, are of this description ; and this commemoration Kti 


M.S.— " Retired to (Jod St. Rosalie." 


Sir Hugh Heron's troopers, who 


' Pee A|i|ieiidix. Note (,i. 


' Have drunk the monks of St. Botiian's ale,* &c. 


■ MS. — " And witli niothcglin vvarm'd his nose. 




As little a.s." &c. 


The long account of Friar John, thongli not without merit. 


6 " This jtoem lias fatilt-t of too great magniti! :*e to be passed 


offends in the same sort, nor can we easily conceive, how any 


without notice. Tliere is a debasing lowncsa and vulgarity in 
some passages, which we think must he offensive to every 


one could venture, in a serious poem, to speak of 




reader of delicacy, and which are not, for the most part, re- 


And icnrms itsilf tiiriiinst his nose.^ " — Jeffrey. 


veemed by any vigor or picturesque ellect. Tlie venison pasties, 


6 See Appendix. Note R. ' Ibid. Note S 



MARMION. 



93 



[n liis black mantle was he clad. 
With Potor's keys, in cloth of rerl, 

On Iiis bro.id ehoiililera wrought ; 
The scallop shell his cap diil deck; 
The cnu'itix around his neck 

Was from Loretto brought ; 
His sandals were with travel tore. 
Start", budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 
The faded palm-branch in his hand 
Show'd pilgrim from the Holy Land.' 

xxviir. 

When as the Palmer came in liall. 

Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall. 

Or had a stateUer step withal. 

Or look'd more high and keen; 
For no saluting did he wait, 
But strode across the hall of state, 
And fronted Marmion where he sate," 

As he liis peer had been. 
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; 
His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
And when he struggled at a smile. 

His eye look'd haggard wild : 
Poor wretch ! the mother that liim bare, 
If she had been in presence there. 
In ills wan face, and sun-bm'n'd hair, 

She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe. 
Soon change the form that best we know — 
For deadly fear can time outgo, 

And blanch at once the hair ; 
Hard toil can roughen form and face,' 
And want can quench the eye's bright grace, 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 

More deeply than despair. , 

Happy whom none of these befall,* 
But this poor Palmer knew them alL 

XXIX. 
Lord Marmion then liis boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took on him the task, 
So he would march with morning tide,* 
To Scottish court to be liis guide. 
'' But I have solemn vows to pay. 
And may not linger by the way, 

To fair St. Andrews bound, 
Witliin the ocean-cave to pray, 
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, 

' " The firel presentment of tlie mysleriong Palmer is lanila- 

ble." — JtFFREV. 

2 MS. — " And near Lord Marmion took his seat.-'' 

' MS, — " Hard toil can fitter form and face, 

t roughen youthful grace. 

And want can < (luench / , .. ,, 

) ]. [ the eves of grace, 

t dim \ 

* MS. — " Happy whom none such wi}rs befall." 

* MS. — " So he would ride with morning tide." 



From midnight to the dawn of day, 

Simg to the billows' sotuid ;*" 
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well, 
Whose spring can phrensiod dreams dispel. 

And the crazed brain restore :' 
S;unt Mary grant, that cave or spring 
Could back to peace my bosom bring. 

Or bid it throb no more !" 

XXX. 

And now the midnight draught of sleep. 
Where wine and spices riclily steep. 
In massive bowl of silver deep. 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, 
The Captain pledged his noble guest, 
Tlie cup went through among the rest,* 

Who dr:iin'd it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer pass'd it by, 
Though Selby press'd him courteotisly. 
This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 
It hush'd the merry wassel roar,' 

The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle naught was heard. 
But the slow footstep of the guard, 

Pacmg his sober round. 

XXXI. 

With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 

And first the chapel doors unclose ; 

Then, after morning rites were done 

(A hasty mass from Friar John),'" 

And knight and squire had broke their 

fast. 
On rich substantial repast. 
Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse : 
Then came the .stirrup-cup in course : 
Between the Baron and his host. 
No point of courtesy was lost : 
High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid. 
Solemn excuse the Captain made, 
TiU, filing from the gate, had pass'd 
Tliat noble train, their Lord the last. 
Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 
Thunder'd the cannon from the wall. 

And shook the Scottish shore ; 
Around the castle eddied slow, 
Volumes of smoke as white as snow, 

And hid its tmrets hoar ; 



' See Appendix, Note T. ' Ihid. Note U. 

^ MS. — "The cup pass'd round among the rest." 
^ MS. — " Soon diet! the merry wassel roar." 
1° " In Catliolie ciMintries, in oriler to reconcile the pleasures 
of the great with the oliservances of religion, it was common, 
when a party was hem for tlie chase, to cclehrate m.ass, ahrulged 
and maimed of its ritt-s. called a hunling-mass. the hrevitv of 
Miich was ilcsigued to corres|tond with the impatience of the 
I amlipoce."— \"o(c (o "y/ie.SMot." .Vric KUit 



9+ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 11. 



Till they roll'd fortli upon the air,' 
Aud met tlie river breezed there, 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 



iHar mioii. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 



TO THE 
REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M. 

As/iestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
TiiK scenes are desert now, and bare. 
Where flourish'd once a forest fair," 
When these waste glens with copse were lined. 
And peopled with tlie hart and hind. 
Yon Tliorn — perchance whose prickly spears 
Have fenced him for tliree hundred yeai-s, 
While fell around his green compeers- 
Yon lonely Thorn, would he could tell 
The changes of his parent dell,' 
Since he, so gray and stubborn now. 
Waved in each breeze a saphng bough ; 
Would he could tell liow deep the shade 
A thousand mmgled branches made ; 
How broad the shadows of the oak. 
How clung the rowan* to tlie rock, 
And tlirough the fohage show'd his head. 
With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
What pmes on every mountain .'sprung, 
O'er every dell what birches Imng, 
In every breeze what aspens sliook. 
What alders shaded every brook ! 

" Here, in my shade," metliinks he'd say, 
" The mighty stag at noon-tide lay : 
Tlie wolf I've seen, a fiercer game 
(The ncigliboring dingle bears his name). 
With lurclmig step around me prowl. 
And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
The mountain-boar, on battle set. 
His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 

1 MS. — " Slow lliey roUM fbrtii upon the air." 

3 See Appendix, Note V. 

3 "Tlie second epistle opens again with 'clianceand change;' 
hat it cannot he denied tliat tlie mode in wiiich it is introduced 
is new and political. The comparison of Eltrick Forest, now 
open and naked, with tlie state in which it once w.is — covered 
with wood, the favorile resort of the royal hunt, and tlie refuge 
of daring outlaws — leads tiie ]ioet to imagine an ancient tliorn 
gifted with tiie jiowers of reason, and relating the various 
scenes which it li.is witnessed during a period of three hundred 
years. A melancholy train of fancy is naturally encouraged 
IiV lUe idea." — Mimt/ity ticviciD. 



Wliile doe, and roe, and red-deer good. 

Have bounded by, through gay green-wood. 

Then oft, from Newark's' riven tower, 

Salhed a Scottish monarch's power : 

A thousand vassals muster'd round. 

With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hoimd; 

And I might see the youth indent. 

Guard every pass with crossbow bent ; 

Aud through the brake the rangers stalk, 

And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; 

And foresters, in green-wood trim. 

Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim. 

Attentive, as the bratchet's' bay 

From the dark covert drove the prey, 

To shp them as he broke away. 

The startled quarry bounds amain. 

As fast the gallant greyhomids strain ; 

Wliistles the arrow from the bow, 

Answers the harquebuss below ; 

While all the rockmg liiUs reply. 

To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry. 

And bugles ringing lightsomely." 

Of such proud huntings, many tales 
Yet hnger in our lonely dales. 
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, 
Wliere erst the outlaw drew his arrow.' 
But not more blithe than silvan court, 
Tlian we have been at humbler sport ; 
Though small om- pomp, and mean our game, 
Our mu-th, dear Marriott, was the same. 
Remember'st thou my greyhounds true ! 
O'er holt or hill there never flew, 
From shp or leash there never sprang, 
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 
Nor dull, between each merry chase, 
Pass'd by the intermitted space ; 
For we had fair resource in store, 
In Classic aud in Gotliic lore : 
We mark'd each memorable scene, 
And held poetic talk between ; 
Nor hiU, nor brook, we paced along. 
But had its legend or its song. 
All silent now — for now are still 
Tliy bowers, untenanted BowliiU !° 
No longer, from thy mountains dun, 

■* Mountain-ash. 

MS. — " How broad the ash his shadows flung, 
How to the rock the rowan clung." 

See Notes to the Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

* Slowhonnd. 

' The Tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out Newark 
Castle and Uttrick Forest against the King, may be found in 
the Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. In the Macfarlane MS., among 
other causes of James the Fifth's charter to the hurgh of Sel- 
kirk, is mentioned, that tlie citizens assisted him to suppress 
this dangerous outlaw. 

8 A seat of the Duke of Buccleuch on the Yarrow, in Et- 
trick Forest. See Notes to the Lav of the Tjast MinstroJ. 



MARMION. 



91; 



The yeoman hears the well-known gun, 
And while liis honest heart glows warm, 
At thnuglit of his paternal farm, 
Round to his mates a brimmer fills, 
And drinks, " The C'hieftiun of the Hills !" 
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers. 
Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, 
Fau' as the elves whom Janet saw 
By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh ; 
No youthful Baron's left to grace 
The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase, 
And ape, in manly step and tone, 
Tlie majesty of Oberon ;' 
And she is gone, whose loyely face 
Is but her least and lowest grace ■' 
Tliough if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given. 
To show our earth tlie charms of Heaven, 
She could ntit ghde along tiie air, 
'VS'^ith form more hght, or face more fair. 
No more the widow's deafen'd ear 
Grows quick that lady's step to hear ; 
At noontide she expects her not, 
Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
Pensive she turns her humming wheel. 
Or pensive cooks hea' orphans' meal ; 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread. 
The gentle hand by which tkey're fed. 

From Yair, — which hills so closely bind. 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find. 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. 
Till all liis eddying cm'rents boU, — 
Her long-descended lord' is gone, 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys,' 
Companions of my mountain joys. 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
Wlien thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
Close to my side, with what delight 
Tliey press'd to hear of Wallace wight, 
When, pointing to his airy moimd, 
I call'd his ramparts holy groimd !' 
Kmdled their brows to hear me speak; 
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, 
Despite the difference of our years, 
Return agam the glow of theu's. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feeUngs pure, 
rhey will not, cannot, long endure ; 

Mr. Marriott was governor to the young nobleman Iteje 
a) ided to, George Henry, Lord Scott, son to Cliarles, Earl of 
D«ikeith (afterwards Duke of Buccleuch and Ciueensherry), 
aa-l who (lied early in 1808. — See Life of Scott^ vol. iii. 
li|,. 59-61. 

3 The four next lines on Harriet, Countess of Dalkeith, af- 
terwards Duchess of Buccleuch. were not in the original MS. 

3 The late Alcvander Priiigle, Esq.. of Whytbank — whose 
beautiful seat of the Yair stands oi\ the Tweed, about two 
niles below Ashesliel. the then residence of the poet. 

« The sons of Mr. Pringle of Whytbank. 



Condenm'd to stem tlie world's rude tide, 

You may not linger by the side ; 

For Fate shall tlirust you from the shore, 

And Passion ply the sail and oar.° 

Yet cherish the remembrance still, 

Of the lone mountain and the rill ; 

For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 

Wlien fiercer transport shall be dumb. 

And you will think right frequently. 

But, well I hope, without a sigh. 

On the free hours that we have spent 

Together, on the brown hill's bent. 

When, musing on companions gone. 
We doubly feel ourselves alone. 
Something, my friend, we yet may gain; 
There is a pleasure in this pain : 
It soothes the love of lonely rest, 
Deep in each gentler heart impress'd. 
'Tis silent amid worldly toils. 
And stifled soon by mental broils , 
But, in a bosom tlms prepared. 
Its stUl small voice is often heard, 
Wliispering a mingled sentiment, 
'Twixt resignation and content. 
Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, 
By lone St Mary's silent lake ;' 
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor 

sedge. 
Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
At once upon the level brink ; 
And just a trace of silver sand' 
Marks where the water meets the land. 
Far in the mirror, bright and blue. 
Each lull's huge outline you luay view ;* 
Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, 
Save where, of land, yon slender line 
Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine. 
Yet even this nakedness has power, 
And aids the feeling of the hour : 
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy. 
Where Uving tiling conceal'd might lie ; 
Nor pomt, retiring, hides a dell. 
Where swain, or woodman lone, might 

dwell ; 
There's nothing left to fancy's guess, 

5 Ther« is, on a high monntainons ridge above the farra ol 
Ashestiel, a fosse called Wallace's Trench. 

8 MS. — " And youth shall ply the sail and oar." 

' See Appendix, Note W. 

B MS.—" At once upon the \ *'''^"' \ brink ; 
' silver * 

And just 1 line of peblilij sand." 

9 MS. — '* Far traced upon the lake yoa view 

The hills' \ " { sides and sombre hoe." 
• bare > 



96 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto L 


You aee that all is loneliness : 


Back to my lonely home retire. 


And silence aids — though the steep hills 


And light my lamp, and trim my fire ; 


Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 


There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 


In summer tide, so soft they weep, 


Till the wild tale had all its sway," 


The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 


And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 


Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 


I heard unearthly voices speak. 


So stilly is the solitude. 


And thought the Wizard Priest was come. 




To claim again his ancient home ! 


Naught living meets the eye or ear. 


And bade my busy fancy range. 


But well I ween the dead are near ; 


To frame him fitting shape and strange, 


For though, in feudal strife, a foe 


Till from the task my brow I clear'd,'' 


Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low,' 


And smiled to think that I had fear'd. 


Yet still, beneath the hallow'd soil. 




The peasant rests him from his toil. 


But chief, 'twere sweet to tliink such life 


And, dying, bids his bones be laid. 


(Though but escape from fortune's strife). 


Where erst his suuple fathers pray'd. 


Something most matchless good and wise. 




A great and grateful sacrifice ; 


If age had tamed the passions' strife,' 


And deem each hour to musing given, 


And fate had cut my ties to life. 


A step upon the road to heaven. 


Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell. 




And rear again the chaplain's cell. 


Yet hhn, whose heart is ill at ease. 


Like that same peaceful hermitage, 


Such peaceful solitudes displease : 


Where Milton long'd to spend his age.' 


He loves to drown his bosom's jar 


'Twere sweet to mark the settuig day. 


Amid the elemental war : 


On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; 


And my black Pahner's choice had been 


And, as it faint and feeble died 


Some ruder and more savage scene. 


On the broad lake, and motmtain's side, 


Like that which frowns round dark Loch- 


To say, " Tlius pleasures fade away ; 


skene.^ 


Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. 


There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 


And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray ;" 


Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; 


Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower, 


O'er the black waves incessant driven. 


And think on Yarrow's faded Flower : 


Dark mists infect the smnmev heaven ; 


And when that mountam-sound I heard. 


Through the rude barriers of the lake, 


Wliich bids us be for storm prepared. 


Away its hurrying waters break. 


The distant rustling of his wings. 


Faster and whiter dash and curl. 


As up liis force the Tempest brings, 


Till do-nm yon dark abyss they hurl. 


'Twere sweet, ere yet liis terrors rave. 


Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 


To sit upon the Wizard's grave ; 


Thunders the viewless stream below. 


Tliat Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust 


Diving, as if condemn'd to lavr 


From company of holy dust ;* 


Some demon's subterranean cav. , 


On wliich no simbeam ever shines — 


Who, prison'd by enchanter's spell. 


(So superstition's creed divines) — 


Shakes the dark rock witli groan and yell. 


Thence view the lake, with suUeQ roai'. 


And well that Palnier's form and mieu 


Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 


Had suited with the stormy scene. 


And mark the wild-swans mount the gale, 


Just on the edge, stramiiig his k(.n 


Spread wide thi'ough mist theu" snowy sail,' 


To view the bottom of the den, 


And ever stoop again to lave 


Wliere deep, deep down, and far witliin. 


Their bosoms on the surging wave ; 


Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; 


Then, when against the driving hail 


Then, issuing forth one foamy wave. 


No longer might my plaid avail. 


And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 


1 See Appeurlix, Note X. 


And every herb thai sips the dew ; 


I " A few of the lines wliich follow breathe as trae a sjtirit 


Till old experience do attain 


it' ]iea«:e ami repose, as even the simple strains of our venei^ 


To something like prophetic strain." 


iblir V>'alton." — Manlhiy Rrvlew. 


It Penieroso. 


3 " And may at last my weary age 


i See Appendix, Note Y. 


Find ont the jjeaceful hermitage. 


■ MS.—" Spread thraitrrh broad mist their snowy sail." 


The hairy gown and mossy cell. 


fi MS.—" Till faiinj wild had all krr sway." 


Where I may sit and rightly spell 


' MS.—" Till from the task my brain 1 clear'd." 


f)f every star that heaven doth show, 


* See Appendi.\. Note Z. 



CANTO It. 



MARMION. 



97 



Wliitc as the snovry charger's tail. 


Rear'd o'er the foaming spray ; 


Drives down tlie pass of Motiatdale. 


And one would still adjust her veil, 




Disorder'd by the summer gale, 


Marriott, tliy hm-p, on Isis strung, 


Perchance lest some more worldly eye 


To many a Border tlienie lias rung:' 


Her dedicated charms miglit spy ; 


Then list to me, and thou shall know 


Perchance, bi'cause such action graced 


Of this mysterious Mim of Woe. 


Her fair turii'd arm ami slender waist. 




Light was each simple bosom tliere. 
Save two, who iU might pleasure share, — 




fll a V in ion. 


The Abbess, imd the Novice Clare. 






IIL 




The Abbess was of noble blood. 


CAXTO SECOND. 


But early took the veil and hood. 




Ere upon life she cast a look. 


Cfje Conbcnt. 


Or knew the world that she forsook. 




Fair too she was, and kind had been 


I. 


As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 


The breeze, which swept away the smoke, 


For her a timid lover sigh. 


Round Norham Castle roU'd, 


Nor knew the influence of her eye. 


Vri\cn all the loud artillery spoke. 


Love, to her ear, was but a name. 


With licjhtmiig-flash and thunder-stroke, 


Combined with vanity and shame ; 


As Marmion left the Hold. 


Her hopes, her fears, her joy.s, were all 


It curl'd not Tweed alone, that breeze, 


Bounded within the cloister wall : 


For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 


The deadliest sm her mind could re.ich. 


It fi'eshly blew, and sti'ong, 


Was of monastic rule the breach ; 


Where, from high Wliitby's cloister'd pile,' 


And her ajubition's liighest aim 


Bound to St. Cuthberfs ikoly Isle,' 


To emulate Saint Hild.i's fame. 


It bore a bark along. 


For this she gave her .ample dower,* 


Upon the gale she stoop'd her side. 


To raise the convent's eastern tower ; 


And bounded o'er the swelling tide, 


For this, with carving rare imd quaint. 


As she were d.incing home ; 


She deck'd the chapel of the saint, 


The merry seamen laugh'd to see 


And gave the relic-shrine of cost 


Then- gallant ship so lustily 


With ivory and gems emboss'd. 


FiuTow the green sea-foiun. 


The poor Iter Convent's bounty blest. 


Much joy'd they in their honor'd freight ; 


The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 


For, on the deck, m chau- of state. 




The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed. 


IV. 


With five fail- nuns, the galley graced. 


Black was her garb, her rigid rule 




Reform'd on Benedictine school ; 


n. 


Her cheek was pale, her form was spare ; 


'Twas sweet to see these holy maids, 


Vigils, an<l penitence austere, 


Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, 


Had early quench'd the light of youth. 


Then- first flight fi'om the cage. 


But gentle w:is the dame, in sooth ; 


How timid, and how curious too. 


Though vain of lu-r religious sway. 


For aU to them was strange and new. 


She loved to see her mtiid.s obey. 


And all the common sights they view. 


Yet notliing stern was she in cell, 


Their wondennent engage. 


And the nuns loved their Abbess well. 


One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, 


Sad was tliis voyage to the dame ; 


With many a benedicite ; 


Simamon'd to Luiilisfarne, she came. 


One at the rippling surge grew pale. 


There, with Sauit Cuthberfs Abbot old. 


And would for terror pray ; 


And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 


Tlien shi-iek'd, because the sea-dog, nigh. 


A chapter of Saint Benedict, 


His round bl.ick head, and sparkling eye, 


For inquisition stern and strict, 


1 See various ballads by Mr. Marriott, in the 4th vol. of the 


• MS. — *' rjrns she that gave her ample dower 


(order Minstrelsy. 


'Ticas she. witli carving rare and quaint. 


> See Appendix, Note 2 A. > Ibid, Note 2 B. 


Who deck'd the chapel of the saint." 



98 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO U 



On two apostates from the faith, 
And, if need were, to doom to deatli. 



Naught say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save tliis, that she was young and fair ; 
As yet a n >vice miprofess'd. 
Lovely and gentle, but distress'd. 
She was betroth'd to one now dead, 
Or worse, who had dishonor'd fled. 
Her kinsman bade her give her hand 
To one, who loved her for her land : 
Herself, almost heart-broken now, 
Was bent to take the vestal vow. 
And sliroud, witliin Saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and wither'd bloom. 

VI. 

She sate upon the galley's prow, 
And seem'd to mark the waves below ; 
Nay, seem'd, so tix'd her look and eye, 
To count them as they ghded by. 
She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 
Far other scenes her thoughts recall, — ■ 
A sun-scorch'd desert, waste and bare. 
Nor waves, nor breezes murmur'd there ; 
There saw she, where some careless hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heap'd the sand, 
To hide it till the jackals come. 

To tear it from the scanty tomb. 

See what a woful look was given. 
As she raised up her eyes to heaven I 

VIL 

Lovely, and gentle, and distress'd— 

These charms might tame the fiercest breast : 

Harpers have sung, and poets told. 

That he, in fury micontroU'd, 

The shaggy monai'ch of the wood. 

Before a virgin, fail* and good. 

Hath pacified his savage mood. 

But passions in the human frame, 

Oft put the Hon's rage to shame ; 

And jealousy, by dark intrigue. 

With sordid avarice in league, 

Had practised with their bowl and knife. 

Against the mourner's harmless life. 

Tills crime was charged 'gainst those who lay 

Prison'd in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

vm. 

And now the vessel skirtc the str.ond 
Of mountainous Northumberland ; 
Towns, towers, and haUs, successive rise, 
And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay. 
And TjTiemouth's priory iwid bay ; 
They mark'd, amid her trees, the hall 



Of lofty Seaton-Delaval; 

They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 

Rush to the sea tlu'ough sounding woods ; 

They pass'd the tower of Widderington," 

Mother of many a vahant son ; 

At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 

To the good Saint who own'd the cell; 

Then did the Alne attention claim, 

And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 

And next, they cross d themselves, to hear 

The whitening breakers sound so near. 

Where, boding tlu-ough the rocks, they roar. 

On Dunstanborough's cavern'd slwre ; 

Thy tower, proud Bamborough, mark'd they 

there. 
King Ida's castle, huge and square. 
From its tall rock look grimly down. 
And on the sweUing ocean frown ; 
Then from the coast they bore away, 
AnJ reach'd the Holy Island's bay. 

IX. 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain. 
And girdled in the Saint's domain : 
For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
"V^aries from continent to isle ; 
Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, 
The pUgrims to the shrine find way ; 
Twice every day, the waves efface. 
Of staves and saudall'd feet the trace. 
As to the port the galley flew. 
Higher and liigher rose to view 
The Castle with its battled walls, 
The ancient Monastery's halls, 
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 



In Saxon strength that Abbey frown'd, 
With massive arches broad and round. 

That rose alternate, row and row. 

On ponderous columns, short and low, 
Built ere the art was known. 

By pointed aisle and shafted stalk. 

The arcades of an alley'd walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
Had pour'd his impious rage in vain; 
And needful was such strength to these, 
Expo-ed to the tempestuous seas, 
Scourged by the wind's eternal sway, 
Open to rovers fierce as they, 
■Which could twelve hundred years withstand 
Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later style, 

See the notes ou Chevy Chase. — Percy's Rtliques 



ANTo 11. MARMION. 99 


Show'd where the spoiler's hand had been ; 


And monks cry, " Fye upon your name ! . 


Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 


In wratli, for loss of silvjui game. 


Had worn the pillar's carving quaint, 


Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." — 


And nioulder'd in his niche the saint, 


" This, on Ascension-day, each year. 


And ruunded, with consuming power. 


Wliile laboring on our harbor-pier, 


Tlie pointed angles of each tower ; 


Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." 


Yet still entire the Abbey stood, 


They told, how in their convent-cell 


Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 


A Saxon princess once did dwell, 




The lovely Edelfled ;' 


XL 


And how, of thousand snakes, each one 


Soon as they near'd his turrets strong. 


Was changed into a coil of stone, 


The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song. 


When holy Hilda pray'd ; 


And with the sea-wave and the wind. 


Themselves, within their holy boimd. 


Their voices, sweetly slu-ill, combined. 


Then stony folds had often found. 


And made harmonious close ; 


They told, how sea-fowls' pmions fail. 


Then, answering from the sandy shore. 


As over Whitby's towers they sail,' 


Half-drowu'd amid the breakers' roar, 


And, sinking down, with flutterings faint 


According chorus rose : 


They do their homage to the saint. 


Down to the haven of the Isle, 




Tlie monks and nuns in order file. 


xrv. 


From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 


Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters ikil. 


Banner, and cross, and relics there. 


To vie with these in holy tale ; 


To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ; 


His body's resting-place, of old. 


And, as they caught the somida on air. 


How oft their patron changed, they told ;' 


They echoed back the hynm. 


How, when the rude Dane bum'd their pilt,. 


The islanders, in joyous mood. 


The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 


Eush'd emulously through the flood, 


O'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor. 


To hale the bark to land ; 


From sea to sea, from shore to shore, 


Conspicuous by her veil and hood. 


Seven years Samt Cuthbert's corpse they bora 


Signing the cross, the Abbess stood. 


They rested them in fair Melrose ; 


And bless'd them with her hand. 


But though, alive, he loved it well, 




Not there his relics might repose ; 


xn. 


For, wondrous tale to tell I 


Suppose we now the welcome said. 


In his stone-coflin forth he rides. 


Suppose the Convent banquet made : 


A ponderous bark for river tides, 


All through the holy dome. 


Yet light as gossamer it glides. 


Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 


Downward to Tilmouth ceU. 


■\Mierever vestal maid might pry, 


Nor long was his abiding there. 


Nor risk to meet unhallow'd eye. 


For southward did the saint repair; 


The stranger sisters roam : 


Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 


Till fell the evening damp with dew. 


His holy corpse, ere Wardiiaw 


And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew. 


Hail'd him with joy and fear ; 


For there, even summer night is chill 


And, after many wanderings past, 


Then, having str.iy'd and gazed their fill. 


He chose his lordly seat at last, 


They closed around the fire ; 


Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 


And aU, in turn, essay'd to paint 


Looks down upon the Wear : 


The rival merits of their saint, 


There, deep in Dmham's Gothic shade, 


A theme that ne'er can tire 


His relics are in secret laid ; 


A holy maid ; for, be it known. 


But none may know the place. 


That their saint's honor is their own. 


Save of his holiest servants three, 




Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 


XIIL 


Who share that wondrous grace. 


Tlien Whitby's nuns exulting told. 




How to their house three Barons bold 


XV. 


Must menial service do;' 


Who may his miracles declare ! 


While horns blow out a note of shame, 


Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir 


' S«e Appendii, Note 2 C. a Ibid. Note 2 D. 


» See Appendii, Note 2 E. * Ibid. Note 2 F 



100 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii. 


(Although with them they led 


Some vague tradition go, 


Galwegians, "wild as ocean's gale, 


Few only, save the Abbot, knew 


And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail, 


Where the place lay ; and still more few 


And the bold men of Teviotdale), 


Were those, who had from him the clew 


Before his standard tied." 


To that tb'ead vault to go. 


'IVas he, to vindicate his reign. 


Victim and executioner 


Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 


Were bhntlfold when trimsported there. 


And tm-n'd the Conqueror back again," 


In low dark rounds the iU'ches hung. 


When, with his Norman bowver band, 


From the rude rock the side-walls sprung ; 


He came to waste Northumberland. 


The grave-stones rudely sculptured o'er, 




Half sunk in earth, by time half wore. 


XVI. 


Were all the pavement of the floor ; 


But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 


The mildew-drops fell one by one. 


If, on a rock, bj' Lindisforne, 


With tinJding plash, upon the stone. 


Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 


A cresset,* in an u'on chain,' 


The sea-born beads that bear his name •} 


Which served to light this drear domain. 


Such tales had Whitby's fishers told. 


With damp and darkness seem'd to strive, 


And said they might liis shape behold. 


As if it scarce might keep ahve ; 


And hear Ms anvil sound ; 


And yet it dimly served to show 


A deaden'd clang, — a huge dim form, 


The awful conclave met below. 


Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm* 




And night were closing round. 


XIX. 


But this, as tale of idle fame. 


There, met to doom in secrecy. 


The nuns of Lindisfame disdain. 


Were placed the heads of convents tliree ; 




AU servants of Saint Benedict, 


xvn. 


The statutes of whose order strict 


■While round the fire such legends go, 


On iron table lay f 


Far diiferent was the scene of woe. 


In long'black dress, on seats of stone. 


Where, m a secret aisle beneath, 


Behind were these thi-ee judges shown 


Council was held of life and death. 


By the pale cresset's ray : 


It was more dark and lone that vault. 


The Abbess of Samt Hilda's, there, 


Than the worst dungeon cell : 


Sat for a space with visage bare, 


Old Colwulf ' built it, for Iiis fault, 


Until to hide her bosom's swell. 


In penitence to dwell, 


And tear-drops that for pity fell. 


When he, for cowl and beads, laid down 


She closely drew her veil : 


Tlie Saxon battle-axe and crown. 


Ton shrouded figure, as I guess. 


This den, whicli, chilling every sense 


By her proud mien and flowing dress. 


Of feeling, hearing, sight. 


Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,' 


Was call'd the Vault of Penitence, 


And she with awe looks pale : 


Excluding ah- and light. 


And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 


Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 


Has long been quench'd by age's nighty 


A place of burial for such dead. 


Upon whose wruikled brow alone. 


As, having died in mortal sin. 


■Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace, is shown. 


Might not be laid the church within. 


Whose look is hard and stern, — 


'Twas now a place of punishment ; 


Saint Outhbert's Abbot is his style ; 


Whence if so loud a shriek were sent. 


For s.anctity call'd, through the isle. 


As reach'd the upper au-. 


The Saint of Lindisfarne. 


Tlie hearers bless'd themselves, and said. 




The spirits of the sinful dead 


XX. 


Bemoan'd their torments there. 


Before them stood a guilty pan-. 




But though an equal fate they share. 


xvni. 


Yet one alone deserves our care. 


But though, ui the monastic pile, 


Her sex a page's dress beUed ; 


Did of tliis penitential aisle 


The clo.'jk and doublet loosely tied. 


1 SeeAppendii,Note2G. 2Iba.Nole2H. 3 Ibid.NoleSI. 


' MS. — " Suspended by an iron chain. 


• MS. — " Seen onhf Tchen the gathering storm." 


A cresset show'd this S ''"'' j domain." 


See Appendix, Note 2 K. 


i di-ear \ 


• Antiqoe diandelier. 


8 MS. — ' On stony table lay." ' See Appendix, Note 21* 



CANTO n, MARMION. 101 


Obscffed her duirtns, but cimlil not hide. 


Such tools the Tempter ever needs, 


Her Ciip dovn\ o'er lior luce she drew; 


To do the savagest of deeds ; 


And, on her doublet breast, 


For them no vision'd terrors daunt. 


She tried to liiile the bad^e of blue, 


Theu- nights no faucietl spectres hamit, 


Lord Murniion's falcon crest. 


One feiir with them, of all most base, 


But, At tlie Prioress' command, 


The fear of death, — alone finds place. 


A Monk undid the silken band, 


This wretch was clad in frock and cowl. 


Ti\it tieil her tresses fair. 


And shamed not loud to moan and howl. 


And raiseil tlie bonnet from her head, 


His body on the floor to dasli. 


And down her slemler form they spread, 


And crouch, hke hoimd beneath the lash ; 


In riniflets rich and rare. 


Wliile his mute partner, standing near. 


Constance de Beverley they know, 


Waited her doom without a tear. 


Sister profess'd of FontevTaud, 




Whom the church rmniber'd with the dead, 


XXIII. 


For broken vows, and convent fled. 


Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, 




Well might her paleness terror speak ! 


XXI. 


For there were seen iu that dark wall. 


Vi'iien thus her face was given to view 


Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall ; 


(Although so pallid was her hue, 


Who enters at such grisly door, 


It did a ghastly contrast bear 


Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 


To those bright ringlets glistering fair), 


In each a slender meal was laid, 


Her look composed, and steady eye. 


Of roots, of water, and of bread : 


Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 


By each, in Benedictine dress. 


Anil there she st(H>d so calm and pale. 


Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 


That, but her breatliing did not fail. 


Who, holding high a lilazing torcli. 


And motion slight of eye and head, 


Show'd the grim entrance of the porch'. 


And of her bosom, warranted 


Reflecting back the smoky beam. 


That neither sense nor pulse .she lacks. 


Tlie dark-red walls and arches gleam. 


^'ou might have thought a form of wax, 


Hewn stones and cement were display'd. 


Wrought to the very life, was there ; 


And building tools in order laid. 


So still she was, so pale, so fair.' 






XX lY. 


XXII. 


These executioners were chose. 


Her comrade was a sordid soul. 


As men who were with maiildnd foes, 


Such as does murder for a meed ; 


And with despite and envy fired. 


Who, but of fear, knows no control. 


Into the cloister had retu-ed ; 


Because his conscience, sear'd and foul. 


Or who, in desperate doubt of grace, 


Feels nut the import of his deed ; 


Strove, by deep penance, to efface 


One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires' 


Of some foul crime the stain ; 


Beyond his own more brute deshes. 


For, as the vassals of her will, 


» •' The picture of Constance before her judges, thongh more 


Not once had tnrn'd to either side — 


lahort'd than that of the voyage of the Lady Abbess, is not, 


Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, 


to onr ta-^te. so pleasing ; tiiough it has beauty of a kind fully 


Or shade the glance o'er which they rose. 


as iiopular." — JKFFRliY. 


But round their orbs oftleepest blue 


'• I sent for * IVIaruiion,' brcaose it occurred to me there 


The circling white rlilalcd grew — 


might be a resemblance b-tweeii part of ' I*aristna.' and a sim- 


And there with glassy gaze she stood 


ilar scene in the second cattto of ' Mannion.' I fear there is. 


As ice were iu her curdled blood ; 


thongh I never thought of it before, and couM hardly wish to 


But every now and then a tear 


imitate that which is inimitable. I wish you would ask Mr. 


So large and slowly gather'd slid 


GilVord whether 1 ought to say any thing upon it. I had com- 


From the long dark fringe of that fair lid. 


pleted the story on the passage from Gibbon, which indeed 


It was a thing to see. not hear! 


leads to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind ; 


And those who saw, it did surprise, 


but it comes upon me not very comfortably." — l,ord Byron 


Such drops could fall from i uman eyes. 


to .Mr. .Vurraij. Feb. 3. 1816.— Compare : 


To speak she thought — the imperfect jote 




Was choked within her swelling throat. 


"... Parisina's fatal charms 


Vet seem'd in tlial low hollow groan 


Again attracted every eye — 


Her whole heart gustling in the lone." 


Would she thus hear him doomM to die? 


Byron's H'orks, vol. jt. p 171. 


:^he slooil. I said, all pale and still. 


3 (d some recent editions this word had been erroneoasly 


The living cause of Hugo's ill ; 


printed " inspires." The MS. ha.s the correct line. 


Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide, 


" One whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires." 



102 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii 


Such men tlie Chiircli selected still, 


XXVII. 


As either joy'd in doing ill, 


" I sperfk not to implore your grace,* 


Or tliouglit more grace to gain, 


Well kuow I for one minute's space 


If, in her cause, they wrestled down 


Successless jiiight I sue : 


Feelings their natui-e strove to own. 


Nor do I speak your prayers to gain; 


By strange device were they brought 


For if a death of Ungering pain, 


there, 


To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 


They knew not how, nor knew not where. 


Vain are your masses too. — 




I listened to a traitor s tale. 


XXV. 


I left the convent and the veil ; 


And now that blind old Abbot rose, 


For three long years I bow'd my pride. 


To speak the Chapter's doom,_^ 


A horse-boy in his train to ride ; 


On those the wail M'as to enclose. 


And well my folly's meed he gave, 


Alive, withm the tomb ;* 


Who forfeited, to be his slave, 


But stopp'd, because that woful Maid, 


All here, and all beyond the grave. — 


Gathernig her powers, to speak essay'd. 


He saw young Clara's face more fair. 


Twice she essay'd, and twice in vain; 


He knew her of broad lands the heir. 


Her accents might no utterance gain ; 


Forgot his vows, his faith foreswore, 


Naught but imperfect murmurs slip 


And Constance was beloved no more. — 


From her convulsed and quivering Up; 


'Tis an old tale, and often told ; 


'Twixt each attempt all was so still, 


But did my fate and wish agree,. 


Ton seem'd to hear a distant rill— 


Ne'er had been read, ui story old. 


'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; 


Of maiden true betray'd for gold. 


For though this vault of sin and fear 


That loved, or was avenged, like me ! 


Was to the sounding surge so near. 




A tempest there you scarce could hear, 


XXVIII. 


So massive were the walls. 


" The King approved his favorite's aim ; 




In vain a rival barr'd his claim, 


XXVI. 


Whose fate with Clare's was plight, 


At length, an effort sent apart 


For he attaints that rival's fame 


The blood that curdled to her heai't, 


With treason's charge — and on they came. 


Anil light came to her eye. 


In mortal hsts to fight. 


And color dawn'd upon her cheek, 


Their oaths are said, 


A hectic and a flutter'd streak,^ 


Then prayers are pray*d. 


Like that left on the Chevint peak. 


Their lances in the rest are laid 


By Autumn's stormy sky ; 


They meet in mortal shock ; 


And when her silence broke at length, 


And, hark ! the throng, with thundering cry. 


Still as she spoke she gather'd strength, 


Shout 'Marmion, Marmion I to the sky. 


And rrmVI herself to bcar.^ 


De Wilton to the block !' 


It was a fearful sight to see 


Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide* 


Such high resolve and constancy. 


Wlien in the hsts two champions ride, 


In form so soft and fair.* 


Say, was Heavens justice here ? 


1 See Aiipeiuiix, Note 2 M. 


Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 


» MS.—" A feeble and a fluiter'tl «lreak. 


For if my penance be in vain, 


liike that with which the mornings break 


Your prayers 1 cannot want. 


In Auttimn's sober ?jky." 


Full well I knew the charch's doom. 


3 " Mr. S. has juclidoHsIy i-onihrneit ihe horrors of tlie pun- 


What time I left a convent's gloom, 


ishment with :i very beiiutifal picture of the onender, so as to 


To fly with him I loved ; 


heighten llie interest which the sitimtion itself must necessarily 


And well my folly's meed he gave — 


•xeite; an<l the struggle of t'oMsUuce to sjieak, before the 


1 forfeited, to he a slave. 


fatal senlenee. is finely \in\ntet\."~ Monthly lieview. 


All here, and all beyond the grave. 


« MS. — " Anil niann'd herself to l)ear. 


And faithless hatli he proved ; 


It was a fearful thing to see 


He saw another's face more fair, 


Snch high resolve and constancy, 


He saw her of broad lands the heir. 


In foriD BO soft and fair ; 


And Cons-taiice loved no more — 


t.ikc Siimmer^s dew hrr accents fell, 


Loved her no more, who, once Heaven's brida 


Bnt dreadful was her tale to tcll.^' 


Now a scorn'd menial by his side, 


* MS. — " I «|»eak not now to sue for grace. 


Had wander'd Europe o'er." 


For well I know one niinule's space 


* MS, — " Say, ye who preach the heavens decide 


Your mercy scarce would grant ' 


When in the lists the warrior^ ride * 



CANTO II. MARMION. lOS 


■ttlicn, lojal in his love iind faith, 


Some traveller then shall find my bones 


Wiltou I'ouml overthrow or death, 


Wliitening amid disjointed stones. 


Beuoatli a traitor's speai" ? 


And, ignor.ant of priests' cruelty," 


How false the charge, how true lie fell. 


M.arvel such rehces here should be." 


Tills guilty packet best can tell." — 




Then drew a packet from her breast. 


XXXII. 


Paused, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest 


Fix'd was her look, and stern her an- : 




B.ack from her shotilders stream'd her luiir, 


XXIX. 


The locks that wont her brow to shade, 


" still was false Marmion's bridal staid ; 


Stared up erectly from her head f 


To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 


Her figure seem'd to rise more high ; 


The liated match to shun. 


Her voice, despair's wiUl energy 


' Ho ! shifts she thus V King Henry cried. 


Had given a tone of prophecy. 


' Su- Marniion, she sh.all be thy bride, 


Appall'd the astonish'd conclave sate ; 


If she were sworn a nun.' 


With stupid eyes, the men of fate 


One way remain'd — the Iviiig's command 


Gazed on the light inspu-ed form. 


Sent JIarmion to the Scottish land : 


And hsten'd for the avenging storm ; 


I lingor'd here, and rescue pUmn'd 


Tlie judges ftilt the victim's dread ; 


For Clara imd for me : 


No liand was moved, no word was said, 


Tliis caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear, 


Till thus the Abbot's doom was given. 


He would to Wliitby's slu-ine repair, 


Raising his sightless balls to heaven : — 


Aiid, by his drugs, my rival fair 


" Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 


A saint m heaven should be. 


Smful brother, part in peace 1"* 


But ill the dastard kept his oath. 


From that dire dungeon, place of doom. 


Whose cowiurdice has undone us both. 


Of execution too, and tomb, 




Paced forth the judges three ; 


XXX. 


Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 


'• And now my tongue the secret tells. 


Tlie butcher-work that there befell. 


Not that remorse my bosom swells, 


Wlieu they had glided from the cell 


But to assure my soul that none 


Of sin and misery. 


Shall e-scr wed with Marniion.' 




Had foitune my last hope betray'd. 


XXXIII. 


Tlijs packet, to the King convey'd. 


An hundred winding steps convey 


Had git en liim to the headsman's stroke, 


That conclave to the upper day ;" 


Although my heart that inst:mt broke. — 


But, ere they breathed the fresher air, 


Now, men of death, work forth your will. 


Tliey heard the shriekiiigs of despair 


For I c;m suffer, and be still ; 


And mtuiy .a stifled groan : 


And come he slow, or come lie fast. 


With speed their upward way they take 


It is but Death who comes at last. 


(Such speed as age and fear can make). 




And cross'd themselves for terror's sake, 


XXXI. 


As hurryuig, tottering on : 


" Vet dread me, from my living tomb, 


Even in the vesper's heavenly tone,' 


Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! 


They seem'd to hear a dying gri!an. 


If Mai-mion's late remorse shovdd wake. 


And bade the passing knell to toll 


Full soon such vengeance will he take, 


For welfare of a parting soul. 


That you shall wish the fiery Dane 


Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 


Had rather been your guest again. 


Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 


[ Beliind, a darker hour ascends ! 


To Warkworth cell the echoes roll'd. 


The altars quake, the crosier bends. 


His beads tlie wakeful hermit told, 


The ire of a despotic lung 


The Bamborough peasant raised his head. 


Riiles I'ortli upon destruction's wing; 


But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 


Then shall these vaults, so strong .and deep. 


So far was heard the mighty knell. 


Burst open to the sea-wuids' sweep ; 


The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 


1 The MS. adds — " His schemes reveal'd, his honor gone." 


* MS. — " From that dark penance vault to day." 


s MS. — " And, witless of priests' cruelty." 


• MS. — " Tliat night amid the vesper's swell, 


• MS.— ■• Stared up j ^P'''"S j from her head." 


Tliey thought they heartl Const.intia's yeU, 


f uncurling 1 


And bade the mighty hetl to toll, 


* See Note 2 .M on Stanza xiv. ante, p. 102. 


For welfare of a passing soul." 



104 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III. 



Spread his broad nostrils to the wmd, 
Listed before, aside, beliind, 
Tlien couch'd him down beside the hind, 
And quaked among the mountain fern, 
To heal' that soimd so dull and stern.' 



iHartnion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 



WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESa.s 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
Like April morning clouds, that pass, 
With varying shadow, o'er the grass. 
And imitate, on field and furrow, 
Life's checker'd scene of joy and sorrow ; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north, 
Now in a torrent racing forth. 
Now winding slow its silver train, 
And almost sliunbering on the plaiu ; 
Like breezes of the autumn day, 
Whose voice inconstant dies away, 
And ever swells again as fast, 
Wlieu the ear deems its murmur past ; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
Flits, wiuds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of Light and Shade's mconstant race ; 
Pleased, views the rivulet afar. 
Weaving its maze irregular ; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh througli Autumn trees ; 
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, 
Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale ! 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
I love the license aU too well. 
In sounds now lowly, and now strong, 
To raise the desultory song ? — •' 
Oft, when 'mid such capricious cliime, 
Some transient fit of lofty rhyme 

* " The sound of the knell tliat was rung for the parting Roul 
of this victim of seduction, is described witii great force and 
Bolemnityi" — Jeffrey. 

" Tlie whole of this trial and doom presents a high-wrought 
scene of horror, which, at tJie close, rises almost to too great a 
pitch."— «co(s Mig., March, 1808. 

- William Erskine, Esq., advocate, SheritF-depnte of the 
Orkneys, became a Judge of the Court of Session by the title 
of Lord Kinnedder, and died at Edinburgh in August, 1822. 
He bad been from early youtli the most intimate of the Poet's 
friends, aiid his chief confidant and adviser as to all literary 
maUeis. £ee a notice of his life and character by the late Mr. 



To thy kind judgment seem'd excuse 

For many an error of the muse, 

Oft hast thou said, " If, still misspent, 

Tliine horn's to poetry are lent,' 

Go, and to tame thy wandering course, 

Quaif from the fountain at the source ; 

Approach those m:i8ters, o'er whose tomb 

Immortal laurels ever bloom : 

Instructive of the feebler bard, 

StiU from the grave their voice is heard ; 

From them, and from the patlis they show'd. 

Choose lioQor'd guide and practised road; 

Nor ramble on through brake and maze, 

With harpefs rude of barbarous days. 

" Or deem'st thou not our later time' 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable henrse ? 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
When valor bleotls for liberty ? — 
Oh, hero of that glorious tune. 
When, with mirivall'd light subUme, — 
Though martial Austria, and though aU 
The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood her foes, — 
The star of Brandon btu'gli arose ! 
Thou couldst not live to see her beam 
Forever queiich'd iu Jena's stream. 
Lamented Cliief ! — it was not given 
To thee to change the doom of Heaven, 
And crush that dragon in its birth. 
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
Lamented Chief I — not tliine the power, 
To save in that presumptuous hour. 
When Prussia hurried to the field. 
And suatch'd the spear, but left the shield ! 
Valor and .skill 'twas thine to try. 
And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 
Ill had it seem'd thy silver hair 
The last, the bitterest pang to share. 
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven, 
And birthrights to usurpers given ; 
Tliy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel, 
And witness woes thou couldst not heal I 
On thee relenting Heaven bestows 

Hay Donaldson, to which Sir Walter Fcott contributed st v» 
ral paragraphs. — Ed. 
3 MS. — " Wi*'. -ound now lowly, and now higher, 

Irregular to wake tlie lyre." 
* MS. — " Thine hours to ihriftUss rhijme are lent.** 
^ MS. — " Dost tliou not deem our later day 
Yields topic meet for classic lay 1 
Hast thou no elegiac tone 
To join that universal moan. 
Which niin«;lcd with tlie battle's yell. 
Where venerable Brunswick fell ? — 
What ! not a vet^e. a tear, a sigh. 
When valor bleeds for liberty ?" 



CANTO lU. 



MARMION. 



105 



[■"or honor'd life aa honor'd close ;' 

Ami wlien revolves, in time's sure cluuige, 

Tlie hour of Gerinauy's revenge, 

Wlien, breathing fui'y for her saJie, 

S'liue new Armiuius shall awake. 

Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 

To whet hi^ sword on BKiraswicK's tomb.'' 

" Or of the Red-Cross hero' teach, 
Dauntless in dmigeon as on breach: 
Alike to him the sea, the shore, 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar : 
Alike to liim the w:xr that calls 
Its votaries to the shatter'd wiills, 
Wliieli the grim Turk, besmear'd with blood. 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of the polar lake. 
When stubborn Russ, and metal'd Swede, 
On the wai-p'd wave their death-game play'd ; 
Or that, where Vengeance and Affright 
IJowld round the father of the fight, 
Who snatch'd, on Alexandila's sand, 
The conqueror's wreath, with dying hand.* 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine. 
Restore the ancient tragic line. 
And emulate the notes that wrung 
From the wild harp, wliich silent hung 
By silver Avon's holy shore. 
Till twice an hundred years roU'd o'er ; 
When she, the bold Enchantress,' came, 
With fearless hand and heart on ilame ! 
From the pale willow snatch'd the treasm-e, 
And swept it with a kindred measure. 
Till Avon swans, while rung the grove 
With Mont fort's hate and Basil's love, 

1 MS. — " For honor'il til'e an honor'd close— 
The hoon which falling heroes crave, 
A soldier's death, a warrior's grave. 
Or it", with more exulting swell. 
Ofconnuering chiefs thon lov'st to tell, 
Gi%'e to the harji an unheard strain. 
And sing the triumphs of the main — 
Of him the Red-Cross hero teach, 
Dauntless on Acre's bloody breach. 
Anil, scorner of tyrannic power, 
As dauntless in the Temple's tower: 
Alike to him. the sea, the shore. 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar, 
Tlte general's eye. the pilot's art, 
The soldier's arm. the sailor's heart. 
Or if to touch such chord Ivj thine," &c. 
* " Scott seems to have communicated fragments of the poem 
;ery freely during the whole or its progress. As early as the 
22,1 February, 1907, I find Mrs. Hayman acknowledging, in 
the name of the Princess of Wales, the receipt of a copy of the 
[ntroJuction to Canto III., in which occurs liie tribute to her 
ro>al highness's heroic father, mortally wounded the year 
belbre at Jena— a tribute so grateful to her feelings that she 
herself shortly after sent Uie pof^t an elegant silver vase as a 
1-1 



Awakening at the inspired strain, 
Deem'd their own Shakspeare lived again." 

Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging, 
With praises not to me belonging. 
In t.tsk more meet for mightiest powei.i. 
Woiddst thou engage my thriftless hours. 
But say, my Erskine, hast thou weigh'd 
That secret power by all obey'd, 
Wliich warps not less the passive mind. 
Its source conceal'd or imdefined ; 
'Wliether an impulse, that has birth 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 
One with our feelings and our powers. 
And rather part of us tlian om-s ; 
Or whether titlier term'd the sway 
Of habit, form'd in early day ? 
Howe'er derived, its force confest 
Rules with despotic sway the breast. 
And drags us on by viewless chain, 
Willie taste and reason plead m vain.* 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why, 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky. 
He seeks not eager to inhale 
The fi-eshness of the momitain gale, 
Content to rear his wliiten'd wall 
Beside the dank and dull canal ? 
He'll say, from youth he loved to see 
The white sail ghding by the tree. 
Or see yon weatherbeateu hind, 
"Whose sluggish herds before him wind. 
Whose tatter'd plaid and rugged cheek 
His northern clune and kindred speak ; 
Through England's laugliing meads he goes, 
And England's wealth around him flows ; 
Ask, if it would content liini well. 
At ease in those gay plams to dwell, 

memorial of her thankfulness. And about the same time the 
Marchioness of Abercorn expresses the delight with which both 
she and her lord had read the generous verses on Pitt and Fox 
in another of those epistles." — Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 9 
= Sir Sidney Smith. 
* Sir Ralph Abercromby. 
^ Joanna Baillie. 

6 " As man, perhaps, the moment of his breatti. 
Receives the lurking principle of death ; 
The young disease, that must subdue at length, 
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with hisstrenjjth ■ 
So, cast and mingled with his very frame. 
The Mind's disease, its Rui.tNO Passion, came : 
Each vital humor which should feed the whole, 
Soon flows to this, in body and in soul 
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head, 
As the mind opens, and its functions spread, 
Imagination plies her dangerous art. 
And pours it all npon the peccant part. 

" Nature its mother. Habit is its nurse ; 
Wit, Spirit. Faculties, but make it wor^o ; 
Reason itself but gives it edge and power; 
As Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more soar," &o 
Popk's Essay on Man, — Eo 



lOG 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ni. 



Wliere hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 
And spires and forests intervene, 
And the neat cottage peeps between ? 
No ! not for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range : 
Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bennevis gray, and Garry's lake. 

Thus while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charm'd me yet a child, 
Rude though they be, still with the chime 
Return the thoughts of early time ; 
And feelings, roused in life's first day. 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 
Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour.' 
Though no broad river swept along, 
To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 
Tliough sigh'd no groves in summer gale. 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claim'd homage from a shepherd's reed ; 
Yet was poetic impulse given. 
By the green hiU and clear blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of lovehest green ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-flower grew,' 
And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruin'd wall. 
I deem'd such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all its round survey'd ; 
And still I thought that shatter'd tower' 
The mightiest work of human power : 
And marvell'd as the aged liind 
With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind. 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spm-r'd their horse, 
Then- southern rapine to renew, 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue. 
And, home returning, fill'd the hall 
With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl.' 
Methought that still with trump and clang, 
The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
Methought grim features, seam'd with scars, 
Glared through tlie window's rusty bars, 

' MS. — " The lonely hill, the rocky tower, 

That caught attention's wakening honr." 
MS. — " Recesses where the icoudbinr. grew.*' 
8 Smailholm Tower, in Berwicksliire, the scene of the 
Vathor's infancy, is sitaated about two miles from Dryborgh 
ibhey. 
* The two next couplets are not in the MS. 
MS. — " While still with mimic hosts of shells, 
Again my sport the combat tells — 
Onward the Scottish Lion bore, 
The scatter'd Southron fled before." 



And ever, by the winter he.arth, 

Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, 

Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms. 

Of witches' spells, of warriors" arms : 

Of patriot battles, won of old 

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 

Of later fields of feud and fight, 

Wlien, potu-ing from their Highland height, 

The Scottish clans, in headlong sway. 

Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 

Wliile stretch'd at length upon the floor,' 

Again I fought each combat o'er. 

Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 

The mimic ranks uf war display 'd ; 

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 

And still the scatter'd Southron fled before." 

StiU, with vain fondness, could I trace, 
Anew, each kind famihar face, 
That brighten'd at our evening fire ! 
From the thatch'd mansion's gray-hair'd Sire.'' 
Wise without learning, plain and good. 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen, 
Show'd what in youth its gl.ance had been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbors sought, 
Content with equity unbought ;" 
To him the venerable Priest, 
Our frequent and familiar' guest, 
Wliose life and manners well could pauit 
Alike the student and the saint ;° 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke : 
For I was wayward, bold, an^i wild, 
A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child ; 
But half a plague, and half a jest. 
Was stiU endured, beloved, caress'd. 

For me, thus nm'tiu'ed, dost thou ask 
The classic poet's well-coim'd task ? 
Nay, Erskine, nay — On the wild hill 
Let the wild heath-bell flourisli still ; 
Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, 
But freely let the woodbine twhie. 
And leave imtrunm'd the eglantine : 
Nay, my friend, nay — Since oft thy praiso 
Hath given fresh vigor to my lays ; 
Since oft thy judgment could refine 

6 See notes on The Ere of St. Jo/tit. 

' Robert Scott of Sandyknows. the grandfather of the Poet. 

8 Upon revising the Poem, it seems pro|ier to mention that 
the lines, 

" Whose doom discording neighbors sought. 
Content with etiuity unbought:" 
have been nnconscionsly borrowed from a passage In Dryden's 
beautiful epistle to John Driden of Chesterton. — 1808. JVc,'*' 
tu Second Edit. 

» MS. — " The student, gentleman, and saint." 

Tlie reverend gentleman alluded to was Mr. John Martin 



CANTO III. MARMION. 107 


My flattcn'd thought, or cumbrous line ; 


The village inn seem'd large, though rude * 


Still kiiul, as is thy wont, attend. 


Its cheerful fire ixnd hearty food 


And in the niuistrel spare the friend. 


Might well reUeve his train. 


Though wild a.s cloud, as stream, as gale, 


Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, 


Flow forth, flow unrestriiiu'd, my T,»le 1 


With jinghng spurs the court-yard rung : 




They hind their horses to the stall. 




For fortige, food, and firing c.all. 




And various damor fills the hall : 


ill a r m i n . 


Weighing the labor with the cost. 


Toils everywhere the bustling host. 


CANTO THIKD. 


in. 




Soon, by the cliinmey's merry blaze, 




Through the rude hostel might you gaze ; 


Elje J^ostel, or Enn. 


Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, 




The rafters of the sooty roof 


I. 


Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 


The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : 


Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store. 


The mountain path the Palmer show'd, 


And gammons of the tusky boar, 


By glen and streamlet winded still, 


And savory haunch of deer. 


Where stunted birches hid the rill. 


The cliimney arch projected wide ; 


rhey might not choose the lowland road. 


Above, iironnd it, and beside. 


For the Merse forayers were abroad. 


Were tools for housewives' hand ; 


WTio, fired with hate and thirst of prey. 


Nor wanted, in that martial day. 


Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way. 


The implements of Scottish fray. 


Oft on the trampling band, from crown 


The buckler, lance, and brand. 


Of some tall chff, the deer look'd down ; 


Beneath its shade, the place of state. 


On wing of jet, from his repose 


On oaken settle Marmion sate. 


In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ; 


And view'd around the blazing hearth. 


Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, 


His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 


Nor waited for the bending bow ; 


Whom with brown ale, in joUy tide. 


And when the stony path began. 


From ancient vessels ranged aside. 


By which the naked peak they wan, 


Ftill actively their host suppUed. 


Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 




The noon had long been pass'd before 


IV. 


They gain'd the height of Lamraermoor ;' 


Theirs was the glee of martial breast. 


Thence winding down the northern way, 


And laughter theirs at Uttle jest ; 


Before them, at the close of day. 


And oft Lord Mitrmion deign'd to aid. 


Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay.' 


And mingle in the mirth they made ; 




For though, with men of high degree, 


II. 


The proudest of the proud was he. 


No summons calls them to the tower, 


Tet, train'd in camps, he knew the art 


To spend the hospitable hour. 


To win the soldier's hardy heart. 


To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone ; 


They love a captain to obey. 


His cautious dame, in bower alone, 


Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May ; 


Dreaded her castle to unclose. 


With open hand, and brow as free. 


So late, to unknown fi-iends or foes. 


Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 


On through the hamlet as they paced, 


Ever the first to scale a tower. 


Before a porch, whose front was graced 


As venturous in a lady's bower : — 


With bush and flagon trimly placed, 


Such boxom chief shall lead his host 


Lord Marmion drew his rein : 


From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 


minister of Mertonn, in which parish Smailholm Tower is sit- 


3 The village of Gifford lies abont fonr miles from Hadding- 


nated. 


ton : close to it is Yester House, the seat of the Marqois of 


i MS. — " They might not choose the easier road. 


Tweeddale, and a little farther op the stream, which descends 


For many a forayer was abroad." 


from the hills of Lammermoor, are the remains of the old ca— 


2 See Notes to " The Bride of Lammermoor." Waverley 


tie of the family. 


Novels, volj. xiii. and xiv 


i See Appendix, Note 2 N 



108 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto 


III. 


V. 


Now must I Tenture, as I may, 




Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 


To sing liis favorite roundelay." 




Right opposite the Palmer stood ; 






His thin dark visage seen but half, 


IX. 




Half hidden by liis hood. 


A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had. 




Still fix'd on Marmion was liis look. 


The air he chose was wild and sad ; 




Which he, who Ul such gaze could brook, 


Such have I heard, in Scottish land. 




Strove by a frown to quell ; 


Rise from the busy harvest band, 




But not for that, though more than once 


When falls before the mountaineer, 




Full met then- stern encountermg glance, 


On Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. 




The Palmer's visage fell. 


Now one sluill voice the notes prolong, 
Now a wild chorus swells the song : 




VL 


Oft have I listen'd, and stood stiU, 




By fits less frequent from the crowd 


As it came softeii'd up the liill. 




"Was heard the bmst of laughter loud ; 


And deem'd it the lament of men 




For still, as squire and archer stared 


Wlio languish'd for then- native glen ; 




On that dark face and matted beard. 


And thought how sad would be such soimd 




Their glee and game declined. 


On Susquehanna's swampy ground. 




All gazed at length in silence drear, 


Kentucky's wood-encumber'd brake, 




Unbroke, save when in couu-ade'a ear 


Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 




Some yeoman, wondering in liis fear. 


Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain. 




Thus wliisper'd forth his mind : — 


ReciiU'd fair Scotland's hills again ! 




" Samt Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 






How pale his cheek, his eye how bright. 


X. 




Wliene'er the firebrand's fickle Ught 


Sona. 




Glances beneath his cowl I 


Where shaU the lover rest, 




Full on om- Lord lie seta his eye ; 


Wliom the fates sever 




For his best palfrey, would not I 


From his true maiden's breast, 




Endure that sullen scowl." 


Parted forever ? 
Where through groves deep and higli. 




VII. 


Sotmds the far billow. 




But Marmion, as to chase the awe 


Where early violets die. 




Wliich thus had quell'd their hearts, who 


Under the willow. 




saw 
The ever-varying fire-light show 


CHOEUS. 




Tliat figure stern and face of woe. 


Meu loro, itc. Soft shall be his pillow. 




NoAv caird upou a squire : — 






" Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay, 


There, through the smnmer day. 




To sjieed the lingering night away ? 


Cool streams are laving ; 




We slumber by the fire." — 


There, while the tempests sway. 
Scarce are bouglis wavuig ; 




VIII. 


There, thy rest shalt thou take. 




" So please you," thus the youth rejoin'd, 


Parted forevei', 




" Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 


Never again to wake, 




Ill may we hope to please your ear, 


Never, never ! 




Accust(]m'd Constant's strains to hear. 






The harp full deftly can he strike. 


CHORUS. 




And wake the lover's lute alike ; 


Eleu loro, &c Never, never I 




To dear Saint Valentme, no tlirush 


XL 




Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush, 
No nightingale her love-lorn tmie 




Where shall the traitor rest, 




More sweetly warbles to the moon. 


He the deceiver, 




Woe to the cause, whate'er it be. 


Who could win maiden's breast. 




Detains from us his melody, 
Lavish'd on rocks, and billows stern. 


Ruin and leave her ? 




In the lost battle, 




Or duller monks of lindisfarne. 


Borne do^vn by the flying, 
"Wliere mingles war's rattle 




* MS — " Full met their eyes* encouDtering glance." 


With groans of the dying. 





CANTO III. 



M ARM ION. 



109 



OBOKUS. 


XIV. 


Eleu loro, Ac There shall he be lying. 


Marmion, whose steady he.irt and eye 




Ne'er changed in worst extremity ; 


Her wing shall the eagle flap 


Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 


O'er the false-hearted ; 


Even from his King, a haughty look ;• 


His warm blood the wolf shjill lap, 


Whose accent of ctimmand controll'd. 


Ere hfe be parted. 


In camps, the boldest of the bold — 


Shame and dishonor sit 


Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now, 


By his grave ever ; 


FaU'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow : 


Blessing shall hallow it, — 


For either iu the tone. 


Never, never 1 


Or sometlung iu the Palmer's look. 




So full upon his conscience strook. 


CHOBUS. 


That auswer he found none. 


Elert loro, &c. Never, never 1 


Thus oft it haps, that when within 




They shrink at sense of secret sin. 


XII. 


A feather daunts the brave ; 


It ceased, the melancholy somid ; 


A fool's wild speech confounds the wise. 


And silence sunk on all aronnd. 


And proudest princes veil their eyes 


The air was sad ; but sadder still 


Before theur meanest slave. 


It fell on Marmion's ear, 




And plain'd as if disgrace and Ul, 


XV. 


And shameful death, were near. 


WeE might he falter 1— By his aid 


He drew his mantle past his face. 


Was Constance Beverley betray' d. 


Between it and the band, 


Not that he augur'd of the doom. 


And rested with liis head a space, 


Wliich on the hving closed the tomb : 


Reclining on his hand. 


But, tired to hear the desperate maid' 


His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween. 


Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ; 


That could their import have been seen. 


And wroth, because in wild despair,* 


The meanest groom in aU the haU, 


She practised on the life of Clare ; 


That e'er tied courser to a staU, 


Its fugitive the Church he gave. 


Would scarce have wish'd to be their 


Though not a victim, but a slave ; 


prey. 


And deem'd restraint in convent strange 


For Lutterward and Fontenaye. 


Would hide her wi-ongs, and her revenge. 




Himself, proud Henry's favorite peer. 


XIII. 


Held Romish thunders idle fear, 


High minds, of native pride and force. 


Secure his pardon he might hold. 


Most deeply feel thy pangs. Remorse ! 


For some slight mulct of penance-gold. 


Feai-, for their scourge, mean vUlains have. 


Thus judguig, he gave secret way. 


Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 


When the stern priests surprised thou* pre^ 


Yet fatal strength they bo.ast to steel 


His train but deem'd the favorite page 


Their minds to bear the wounds they feel. 


Was left behind, to spare liis age ; 


Even while they writhe beneath the smart 


Or other if they deem'd, none dared 


Of civU conflict in the heart. 


To mutter what he thought and heard : 


For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, 


Woe to the vassal who durst pry 


And, smihng, to Fitz-Eustace said— 


Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 


" Is it not strange, that, as ye sung. 




Seem'd in mine ear a death-peal rung. 


XVL 


Such as in nunneries they toll 


His conscience slept — he deem'd her well. 


For some departing sister's soul ? 


And safe secured in distant cell ; 


Say, what may this portend •" — 


But, waken'd by her favorite lay. 


Then first the Palmer silence broke 


And that str.ange Palmer's boding say, 


(The Uvelong day lie had not spoke). 


That fell so ominous and drear, 


" The death of a dear fi-iend.'" 


Full on the object of his fear. 


' Stec Appendii, Note 2 0. 


Even from liis Kinf;, a scornful look." 


• MS.—" Marmion, whose pride ) ,j . . 


3 MS. — " But tireil to hear lhe/Mr/ow« maid." 


_._ I VUUIU UCVCi uluVIV. 

Wliose naughty bouI i 


* MS. — " Incensed^ because in wild despair.** 



no 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III 



To aid remorse's veuom'd throes, 
Dark tales of convent-vengeauce rose ; 
And Constance, late betray'd and scom'd. 
All lovely on his soul return'd ; 
Lovely as when, at treacherous call. 
She left her convent's peaceful wall, 
Crimson'd with shame, witli ten-or mute, 
Dreading alike escape, pursuit. 
Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 

XVIL 

" Alas !" he thought, " how changed that mien ! 

How changed these timid looks have been,^ 

Smce years of guilt, and of disgmse. 

Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes! 

No more of virgin terror speaks 

The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 

Fierce, and unfeminine, are there, 

Phrensy for joy, for grief despair ; 

And I the cause — for whom were given 

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 

Would," thought he, as the picture grows, 

" I on its stalk had left the rose ! 

Oh, why should man's success remove 

The very charms that wake liis love ! — • 

Her convent's peaceful .solitude 

Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 

And, pent within the narrow cell. 

How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 

How brook the stern monastic laws ! 

The penance how — and I the cause ! — 

Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse !" — 

And twice he rose to cry, " To horse !" — 

And twice liis Sovereign's mandate came, 

Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 

And twice he thought, " Oave I not charge 

She should be safe, though not at large 1 

They durst not, for their island, slired 

One golden ringlet from her head." 

XVIIL 

Wliile thus in Marmion's bosom strove 

Repentance aud reviving love. 

Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway 

I've seen Loch Vennachar obey. 

Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard. 

And, talkative, took up the word : 

" Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 
From Scotland's simple land away," 

To visit realms ifar, 

: The MS. reads :— 

" Since fiercer pMsions wild and high, 
Have flush'd her clieek with deeper dye. 
And years of guilt, and of disguise. 
Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes. 
And I the cause — for whom were given 
Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven 1 — 



Full often learn the art to know 
Of future weal, or future woe. 

By word, or sign, or star ; 
Yet might a knight liis fortune hear, 
If, kuight-Uke, he despises fear. 
Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 
Aright our hamlet legend told." — 
These broken words the menials move 
(For marvels still the vulgar love). 
And, Marmion giving hcense cold, 
His tale the host thus gladly told : — 

XIX. 

" A Clerk could tell what years have flown 

Since Alexander fill'd our throne 

(Tliird monarch of that warlike name), 

And eke the time when here he came 

To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 

A braver never drew a sword ; 

A wiser never, at the hour 

Of midnight, spoke the word of power : 

The same, whom ancient records call 

Tlie founder of the Goblin-Hall.' 

I would. Sir Knight, yom' longer stay 

Gave you that cavern to survey. 

Of lofty roof, and ample size. 

Beneath the castle deep it Ues : 

To hew the living rock profound, 

The floor to pave, the arch to rotmd, 

There never toil'd a mortal arm. 

It all was wrought by word and charm ; 

And I have heard my grandsire say, 

Tliat the wild clamor and affray 

Of those dread artisans of heU, 

Who labor'd under Hugo's spell, 

Soimded as loud as ocean's war, 

Among the caverns of Dtmbar. 

XX. 

" The King Lord Gilford's castle sought, 
Deep laboring with uncertain thought ; 
Even then he muster'd all liis host, 
To meet upon the western coast : 
For Norse and Danish galleys plied 
Their oars within the frith of Clyde. 
There floated Haco's banner trun,< 
Above Norweyan warriors grim,' 
Savage of heart, and large of hmb , 
Threatening both continent and isle, 
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 

How will her ardent spirit swell, 
And chafe within the narrow cell 1" 
s MS. — " From this plain simple land away.' 

3 See Appendi.\, Note 2 P. 

4 See Appendix. Note 2 CI. 

6 MS. — " There floated Haco's banner grim 

O'er fierce of heart and large of limb. 



CillTO III. 



MARMION. 



Ill 



Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground. 

Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 

And tarrieii not liis garb to change, 

But, iu his wizard habit strange,' 

Caine forth, — a quauit and fearful sight ; 

His mautle lined with fox-skins white ; 

His liisrh and wrinkled forehead bore 

A pointed cap, such as of yore 

Clerks saj' that Pharaoh's Magi wore : 

His shoes were mai-k'd with cross and spell. 

Upon his breast a pentacle ;" 

His zone, of virgin parchment thin. 

Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 

Bore many a planetary sign. 

Combust, and retrograde, and trine ;' 

And in his hand he held prepared, 

A naked sword without a guard. 

XXI. 

" Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
Had mark'd strange hues upon his face ; 
Vigil and fast had worn him grim. 
His eyesight dazzled seem'd and dim, 
As one unused to upper day ; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, 
In his unwonted wild attire ; 
Unwonted, for traditions run. 
He seldom thus beheld the sun. — 
' I know,' he said — his voice was hoarse. 
And broken seem'd its hollow force, — 
' I know the cause, although untold, 
Why the King seeks liis vassal's hold ; 
Vainly from me my hege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart. 
His courage may do more than art. 

XXII. 

" ' Of middle air the demons proud. 
Who ride upon the racking cloud, 
Can read, in fix'd or wandering star, 
The issue of events afar ; 
But stUl their sullen aid withhold, 
Save when by mightier force controll'd. 
Such late 1 summon'd to my hall ; 
And though so potent was the call. 
That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
I deem'd a refuge from the spell. 
Yet, obstinate in silence still, 
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
But thou — who Uttle know'st thy might, 

1 See Appenilii. Note 2 R. = Ibid. Note 2 S. 

'^ MS. — " Bare many a character and sign. 
Of planets retro^ade and trine." 

* See Appendix, Note 2 T. 

* MS — " With antaaght valor mayst compel 

Wliat is denied to nia^ic spell." 



As born upon that blessed night' 

When y.awning graves, and dymg groan, 

Proclaim'd hell's empire overthrown, — 

With imtaught valor shalt compel 

Response denied to magic spell.' — ' 

' Gramcrcy,' quoth out Monarch free, 

' Place him but front to front with me. 

And, by tliis good and honor'd brand, 

The gift of C(Bur-de-Lion's hand, 

Sootlily I swe.ar, that, tide what tide, 

The demon shall a buffet bide.' — ' 

His bearing bold the wizard view'd. 

And thus, weU pleased, his speech renew'd :— 

' Tliere spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark : 

Forth, pacing hence, at midnight dark. 

The rampart seek, whose circhug crown'' 

Crests the ascent of yonder down : 

A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 

There halt, and there thy bugle wmd. 

And trust thine elfin foe to see. 

In guise of thy worst enemy ; 

Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — 

Upon liim ! and Samt George to speed ! 

If he go down, thou soon shalt know 

'Wliate'er these .airy sprites can show ; — 

If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 

I am no warrant for thy Ufe.' 

XXIII. 

" Soon as the midnight bell did ring. 

Alone, and arm'd, forth rode the King 

To that old camp's deserted round :* 

Sir Knight, you weU might mark the moimd. 

Left hand the town, — the Pictish race, 

The trench, long since, iu blood did trace ; 

The moor around is brown and b.are, 

Tlie space within is green and fair. 

The spot our village children know. 

For there the earliest wild-flowers grow ; 

But woe betide the wandering wight, 

Tliat treads its circle in the night ! 

The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 

Gives ample space for full career : 

Opposed to the four points of heaveu, 

By four deep gaps are entrance given. 

Tlie southernmost om- Monarch past,° 

Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 

And on the north, within the ring, 

Appear'd the form of England's King, 

Who then, a thousand leagues afar. 

In Palestine wagetl holy war : 

Yet arms like England's did he wield, 

c MS.—" Bicker and bnffet he shall bide." 

7 MS.-" Seek ! """ i old I '''"P '"^'"^ i aa a crown. 

f yon ) f trench that ' 

8 MS. — *' Alone, and arm'd. rode forth the King 

To that encampment's haunted round " 
" MS. — " The southern gate onr Monarch past." 



112 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iii. 


Alike the leopards in the sliield, 


The Elfin Warrior doth wield. 


Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 


Upon the brown hUl's breast ;* 


The rider's length of Hmb tlie same : 


And many a knight hath proved liis chance 


Long afterwards did Scotland know, 


In the charm'd ring to break a lance. 


Fell Edward' was her deadliest foe. 


But all have foully sped ; 




Save two, as legends tell, and they 


XXIV. 


Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay. — 


" The vision made om- Monarch start, 


Gentles, my tale is said." 


But soon he mann'd his noble heai't, 




And in the first career they ran, 


XXVL 


The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man ; 


The quaighs' were deep, the Hquor strong. 


Yet did a splinter of liis lance 


And on the tale the yeoman-throng 


Through Alexander's visor glance. 


Had made a comment sage and long. 


And razed the skin — a puny wound. 


But Marmion gave a sign : 


The King, Ught leaping to the gi-ound, 


And, with their lord, the squires retire ; 


With miked blade his phantom foe 


The rest, around the hostel fire, 


CompeU'd the future war to show. 


Their drowsy limbs reclme ; 


Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 


For pillow, underneath each head, 


Where still gigantic bones remain, 


The quiver and the targe were laid. 


Memorial of the Danish war ; 


Deep slumbering on the hostel floor,' 


Himself he saw, amid the field. 


Oppress'd with toil and ale, they snore : 


On high Ms brandish'd war-axe wield, 


The dying flame, in fitful change. 


And strike proud Haco from hia car, 


Threw on the gi-oup its shadows strange. 


While all aromid the shadowy Kings 




Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wings. 


XXVIL 


'Tis said, that, in that awful night. 


Apart, and nestling in the hay 


Remoter visions met his sight. 


Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 


Foreshowing future conquests far,' 


Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 


When our sons' sons wage northern war ; 


The folcUngs of his mantle green : 


A royal city, tower and spire. 


Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream. 


Redden'd the miduigiit sky with fire, 


Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 


And shouting crews her navy bore. 


Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, 


Triumphant to the victor shore.' 


Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 


Such signs may learned clerks explain. 


A cautious tread his slumber broke. 


They pass the wit of simple sw.iin. 


And, close beside liim, when he woke. 




In moonbeam half, and half m gloom. 


XXV. 


Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; 


" The joyful King tiu-u'd home again, 


But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 


Headed liis host, and queU'd the Dane ; 


His master Marmion's voice he knew.' 


But yearly, when retm-u'd the night 




Of his strange combat with the sprite. 


XXVIIL 


His wound must bleed and smart ; 


— " Fitz-Eustace ! rise, I cannot rest ; 


Lord Gifford then would gibing say. 


Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, 


' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 


And graver thoughts have chafed my mood ; 


The penance of your start.' 


The ah must cool my feverish blood ; 


Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 


And fam would I ride forth, to see 


King Alexander fills liis grave. 


The scene of elfin chivalry. 


Cm- Lady give him rest 1 


Arise, and saddle me my steed ;' 


Yet still the knightly spear and shield 


And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 


1 Edward I., surnamed Longshanks. 


< See Appendix, Note 2 U. 


» MS.—" To be fulfill'd in times afar. 


6 A wooden cup, composed of staves hooped together 


When our sons' sons wage nortliern war ; 


MS. — " Deep slumbering on the floor of clay. 


A royal city's towers and spires 


Oppress'd with toil and ale, lliey lay , 


Redden'd tlie midnight sky witll fires. 


The dying flame, in fitful change. 


And shouting crews her navy bore, 


Threw on them lights and shadows strange.'' 


Triumphant, from the vantjuish'd shore." 


' MS. — "Bnt, ere his dagger Eustace drew, 


s For an account of the expedition to Copenhagen in 1801, 


// spoke — Lord Marmion's voice he knew " 


•ee Southey's Life of Nelson, chap. vii. 


6 MS. — " Come down and saddle me my steed." 



UANTo IV. MARMION. 113 


Tliou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; 


The foot-tramp of a flying steed, 


I would not, that the prating knaves 


Come town- ward rusliing on ; 


Had cause for saving, o'er thyir ale, 


First, dead, as if on turf it trode. 


That I could credit such a tale." — 


Then, clattering, on the village road, — 


Then softly down the steps they slid, 


In other pace than forth he yode,' 


Eustace the stable door undid, 


Return'tl Lord Marmion. 


And, darkling, Marmion's steed array'd, 


Down hastily he sprmig from sella. 


Wliile, whispering, thus the Baron said : — 


And, in his haste, wellnigh he fell ; 




To the squire's h.and the rein he threw. 


XXIX. 


And spoke no word as he withdrew : 


" Didst never, good my youth, hear tell. 


But yet the moonlight did betray. 


That on the hour when I was born. 


The falcon-crest was soil'd with clay ; 


Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 


And pl.ainiy might Fitz-Eustace see. 


Down from Ids steed of marble fell, 


By stains upon the charger's knee. 


A weary wiglit forlorn ? 


And his left side, that on the moor 


The flattering chaplains aU agi-ee, 


He had not kept liis footing sure. 


The champion left liis steed to me. 


Long musmg on these wondrous signs, 


I would, the omen's truth to show, 


At length to rest the squire reclmes. 


That I could meet this Elfin Foe !' 


Broken and short ; for stUl, between. 


Blithe would I battle, for the right 


Would dreams of terror intervene : 


To ask one question at the sprite : — 


Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 


A'ain thought 1 for elves, if elves there be, 


The first notes of the mormng lark. 


An empty race, by fount or sea. 




To dashmg waters dance and sing,' 




Or round the green oak wheel theh ring." 






Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 




And from the hostel slowly rode. 


ill arm ion. 




XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace foUow'd him abroad. 




INTRODUOTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 


And mark'd liim pace the village road. 
And listen'd to his horse's tramp, 






TiU, by the lessening sound. 
He judged that of the Pictish camp 


TO 


JAMES SKEJSE, ESa.< 


Lord Marmion sought the round. 


Ashesiid, Ettrick Forest. 


AVouder it seem'd, in the squire's eyes. 


An ancient mmstrel sagely said. 


Tli.at one, so wary held, and wise, — 


" Where is the life which late we led ?" 


Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 


That Motley clown in Arden wood. 


For gospel, what the church believed, — 


Whom humorous Jacques with envy view'd. 


Should, stirr'd by idle tale. 


Not even that clown could ampHfy, 


Ride forth in sUence of the night. 


On this trite text, so long as I. 


As hoping half to meet a sprite. 


Eleven years we now may tell, 


Array'd in plate and mail. 


Since we have known each other well ; 


For httle did Fitz-Eustace know. 


Since, riding side by side, our hand 


That passions, in contending flow. 


First drew the voluntary brand ;' 


Unfix the strongest mind ; 


And sure, through many a varied scene, 


Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 


Unkindness never came between. 


We welcome fond credulity. 


Away these winged years have flown. 


Guide confident, though blijid. 


To join the mass of ages gone ; 




And though deep mark'd, Uke all below. 


XXXT 


With checker'd shades of joy and woe ; 


Little for tliis Fitz-Eustace cared. 


Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, 


But, patient, waited till he heard. 


Mark'd cities lost, and empires changed. 


At distance, prick'd to utmost speed, 


While here, at home, my narrower ken 


1 MS. — " I wouI«J, to prove the omen risht, 


4 Jamen Skene, Esq., of Rnbislaw. Aberdeenshire, was \^m- 


That I conI<i meet this Elfiii Knight !" 


net in the Royal Edinburgh Light Horse Volunteers , and Sir 


' MS. — " Dance to the vvilil waves' murmuring." 


Walter .'-'cott was (iuartermaster of the same corps. 


' TodCy used by old poets tor went 
15 


6 MS. — " Unsheatii'd the voluntary brand.'* 



114 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv. 


Somewhat of manners sa-w, and men ; 


Oft he looks forth, and hvtpes, in vain. 


Though vaiying wishes, hopes, and fears, 


The blast may sink m mellowing rain ; 


Fever'd the progress of these years. 


Till, dark above, and white below,* 


Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but seem 


Decided drives the flaky snow. 


The recollection of a dream, 


And forth the hardy swain must go. 


So still we gUde down to the sea 


Long, with dejected look aud whhie. 


Of fathomless eternity. 


To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 




Whisthng and cheermg them to aid. 


Even now it scarcely seems a day. 


Around his back he wreathes the plaid : 


Smce first I tuned this idle lay ; 


His flock he gathers, and he guides. 


A task so often thrown aside, 


To open downs, and mountain-sides. 


When leisure graver cai'es denied, 


Where fiercest though the tempest blow, 


Th.at now, November's dreary gale. 


Least deeply Ues the chift below. 


Whose voice inspired my opening tale, 


The blast, that whistles o'er the fells,' 


Tliat same November gale once more 


Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 


Whu'ls the di-y leaves on Yarrow shore. 


Oft he looks back, while streaming far, 


Their vex'd boughs streaming to the sky, 


His cottage wmdow seems a star, — ° 


Once more our naked bhches sigh. 


Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 


And Blackhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, 


Turns patient to the blast again. 


Have donnd their wintry shrouds again : 


And, facmg to the tempest's sweep. 


And mountam dark, and flooded mead,' 


Drives through the gloom his lagging 


Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 


sheep. 


Earlier than wont along the sky. 


If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 


Mix'd with the rack, the snow mists fly ; 


Benumbing death is in the gale : 


Tlie shepherd, who m simimer sun, 


His patlis, his landmarks, all unknown, 


Had something of our envy won. 


Close to the hut, no more liis own. 


As thou with pencil, I with pen, 


Close to the aid he sought in vain. 


Tlie features traced of hill and glen ; — ° 


The morn may find the stiffen'd swain:'' 


He who, outstretch'd the livelong day. 


The widow sees, at dawning pale. 


At ease among the heath-flowers lay. 


His orphans raise their feeble wail; 


View'd the hght clouds with vacant look, 


And, close beside him, in the snow. 


Or slumber'd o'er his tatter'd book. 


Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe. 


Or idly busied him to guide 

His angle o'er the lessen'd tide ; — 


Couches upon his master's breast,' 
And Hcks his cheek to break his rest. 


At midnight now, the snowy plain 




Finds sterner labor for the swain. 


Who envies now the shepherd's lot, 




His healthy fare, liis rural cot. 


When red hath set the beamless sun,' 


His summer couch by greenwood tree. 


Through heavy vapors dark and dun ; 


His rustic kirn's" loud revelry. 


Wiien the tired ploughman, dry and warm. 


His native hill-notes, tuned on high. 


Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 


To Marion of the bhthesome eye ;" 


Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain. 


His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed 


Against the casement's tmkling pane ; 


And all Ai'cadia's golden creed ? 


The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox. 




To shelter in the brake and rocks. 


Changes not so with us, my Skene, 


Are warnings which the sliepherd ask 


Of human hfe the varying scene ! 


To dismal and to dangerous task. 


Our youthful summer oft we see" 


1 MS. — '* And noon-tide mist, and flooded mead.** 


But soon he loses it,— and then 


2 Various illustrations of the Poetry and Novels of Sir 
Walter Scott, from designs by Mr. Skene, have since b«en 
published. 
' MS.—" When red hath set the evening sun. 

And loud winds speak the storm begun.'* 
4 MS.— "Till thickly drives the flakv snow, 

And forth the hardy swain must go, 
While, with dejected look and whine," &c. 


Turns patient to his task again." 
7 R]S.— " The mom shall find the stiffen'd swain ; 
His widow sees, at morning pale. 
His children rise, and raise their wail.'* 
Compare the celebrated description of a man perishing iu ttM 
snow, in Thomson's Winter. — See Appendix, Note 2 V 
^ MS. — " Couches upon h\^ frozen breast.'* 

9 The Scottish Harvest-home. 

10 MS. — " His native wild-notes* melody. 


» MS.—" The frozen blast that sweeps the fells.* 


To Marion's blithely bliiUdng eye.*' 


6 MS. — " His cottage window beams a star, — 

1 


It MS — " Our youthful summer ofl we see 



MARMION. 



115 



Dauce by on wiugs of game and glee, 
While the diU'k storm reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of our age : 
As he, the ancient Chief of Troy, 
His manliuod spent m peace imd joy ; 
Cut Grecian fires, and loud alarms, 
Call'd ancient Priam forth to arms." 
Then happy those, since each must drain 
His shai-e of pleasure, share of p:iin, — 
Then happy those, beloved of Heaven, 
To whom the mingled cup is given • 
Wliose lenient sorrows find relief. 
Whose joys are chasteu'd by theu: grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine. 
When thou of late, wert doom'd to twine, — 
Just when thy bridal hour was by, — 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just ou thy bride her Su-e had smiled,' 
And bless'd the union of his child. 
When love must change its joyous cheer, 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end,' 
Speak more the father than the friend : 
Scarce had lamented Forbes* paid 
The tribute to his Minstrel's shade ; 
The tale of friendship scarce was told, 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 
Far may we seiu-ch before we find 
A heart so mauly and so kmd I 
But not around his honor'd urn. 
Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
The thousand eyes his care had dried, 
Pour at liis name a bitter tide ; 
And frequent falls the grateful dew, 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
" The widow's sliield, the orphan's stay." 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
" Thy f;ither's friend forget thou not :" 
And grateful title may I plead,' 
For many a kindly word and deed, 



Dance by on wings of mirth and glee. 
While the dark storm reserves its rage, 
To crush the winter of our age." 
1 MS. — " Call'd forth his feeble age to arms." 

* MS. — " Scarce on thy bride her sire had smiled." 

* MS. — *' But even the actions next his end, 

Spoke the fond sire and faithful friend." 

* See Appendix, Note 2 W. 

6 MS. — " And nearer title may I plead." 
fi MS. — " Our thoughts in social silence too." 
^ Camp was a favorite dog of the Poet's, a bull-terrier of ei- 
Iraordinary sagacity. He is introduced in Raeburn's portrait 
of Sir Walter Scott, now at Dalkeith Palace. — Ed. 

* MS. — " Till oft on voice sappress'd the feud." 



To bring my tribute to Ids grave : — 
'Tis httle — but 'tis all I have. 

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
Recalls oiu- simnner walks again ; 
When, doing naught, — and, to speak true, 
Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
The wild imbounded liills we ranged, 
While oft our talk its topic changed. 
And, desultory as our way. 
Ranged, unconfined, from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagg'd, as oft will chance, 
No effort made to break its trance. 
We could riglit pleasantly pm-sue 
Our sports in soci.al sUence too ;' 
Thou gravely laboring to portray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray; 
I spelling o'er, with much delight, 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by name, yclep'd the White. 
At cither's feet a trusty squire, 
Pandour and Camp,'' with eyes of fire. 
Jealous, each other's motions view'd. 
And scarce suppress'd their ancient feud.' 
The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
The stream was Uvely, but not loud ; 
From the white thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossom'd bough, than we. 

\ 

And bUthesome nights, too, have been ours, 
When Winter stript the summer's bowers. 
Careless we heard, what now I hear,' 
The wild blast sigliing deep and drear. 
When fires were bright, and lamps beam'd 

gay. 

And ladies timed the lovely lay ; 
And he was held a laggard soul, 
Wbo shmm'd to quaff the sparkling bowL 
Then he, whose absence we deplore,'" 
Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore, 
The longer miss'd, bewail'd the more ; 

And thou, and I, and deai'-loved R ," 

And one whose name I may not say," — 

MS. — ■" fyhen light we heard what now I hear." 

>o Colin Mackenzie, Esq., of Portmore, one of the Frincipa 
Clerks of Session at Edinburgh, and through life an intimate 
friend of Sir Walter Scott, died on 10th September, 1830.— Ed. 

n Sir William Rae of St. Catharine's, Bart., subsequently 
Lord Advocate of Scotland, was a distinguished member of 
the volunteer corps to which Sir Walter Scott belonged ; and 
he, the Poet, Mr. Skene, Mr. Mackenzie, and a few other 
friends, had formed themselves into a little semi-military club, 
the meetings of which were held at tlieir family supper-tables 
in rotation. — Ed. 

13 The gentleman whose name the Poet " might not say," 
was the late Sir WiHiam Forbes, of Pitsligo, Bart., son of Lho 
author of the Life of Beattie, and brotJier-iu-law of Mr. Sken« 



116 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IV. 



For not Mimosa's tender tree 

Slirinks sooner from t)ie touch than he, — 

lu men-y chorus -well combined, 

With laughter drowu'd the wliistling wind. 

Mirth was witliin ; and Care without 

Miglit gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 

Not but amid the buxom scene 

Some grave discourse might intervene — 

Of the good horse that bore him best, 

His shoulder, hoof, and arcliing crest : 

For, hke mad Tom's,' our chiefest care, 

Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 

Such nights we've had ; and, though the game' 

Of manhood be more sober tame, 

And though the field-day, or the drill, 

Seem less important now — yet stiU 

Such may we hope to share ag.ain. 

The sprightly thought inspires my strain ! 

And mai'k, how, like a horseman true. 

Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. 



Ma 



r 111 t n 



CANTO FOUSTH. 



L 

Eustace, I said, chd blithely mark 
The &-st notes of the merry lark. 
The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew, 
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 
And with their Ught and lively call. 
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 

Wliistling they came, and free of heart, 
But soon their mood was changed ; 

Complaint was heard on every part. 
Of sometliing disarranged. 
Some clamor'd loud for armor lost ; 
Some brawl'd and wrangled with the host ; 
" By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear,' 
That some false Scot has stolen my spear !"— 
Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire 
Found his steed wet with sweat and mire ; 
Although the rated horse-boy sware. 
Last night he dress'd him sleek and fair. 
While chafed the impatient squire Uke thunder. 
Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 
" Help, gentle Blount ! help, comr.ades all I 
Be vis lies dying in liis stall : 
To Marmion who the plight dare tell, 

Jirough life an intimate, and latterly a generous friend of Sir 
Walter Scott— died 24th October, 1828.— Ed. 

J See King JLear. 

2 MS. — " Sach nights we've had ; and though our game 
Advance of years may something tame." 



Of the good steed he loves so well ?" 
Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 
The charger panting on his straw ;* 
Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — 
" "WTiat else but evil could betide, 
With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? 
Better we had though mire and bush 
Been lantern-led by Friar Rush."" 

IL 

Fitz-Eustace, who tlie cause but guess'd, 

Kor wholly tmderstood. 
His comrades' clamorous plaints suppress'd ; 

He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued fortli, he sought. 
And fotmd deep plunged in gloomy thought, 

And did liis title display 
Simply as if he knew of naught 
To cause such disarr.ay. 
Lord Marmion gave attention cold. 
Nor marvell'd at the wonders told, — 
Pass'd them .as accidents of course. 
And bade his clarions sound to horse. 

HL 

Toimg Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
Had reckon'd with their Scottish host ; 
And, as the charge he cast and paid, 
" 111 thou deserv'st thy hire,'" he said ; 
" Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight ? 
Fairies have ridden him all the night. 

And left him in a foam ! 
I trust that soon a conjuring band. 
With Enghsh cross, and blazing brand,' 
Shall drive the devils from tliis land, 

To their infernal home : 
For in this haunted den, I trow. 
All night they trample to and fro." — 
The laughing host look'd on the liire, — 
" Gramercy, gentle southern squire. 
And if thou comest among the rest. 
With Scottish broadsword to be blest. 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow. 
And short the pimg to undergo." 
Here stay'd their talk, — for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the way. 
They journey 'd all the morning day.' 

rv. 

The green-sward way was smooth and good, 
Through Himibie's and through Saltoim's wood 
A forest glade, wl ich, varying still, 

' MS. — " By Becket's bones," cried one, " I swear." 

* IMS. — " The good horse panting on the straw." 

* See Appendi.\, Note 2 X. 

" MS. — " With bloody cross and fiery brand." 
' MS. — " They journey'd till the middle da7. 



CANTO IV. 



MARMION. 



117 



Here gave a view of diJe and hill. 


In painted tabards, proudly showing 


There narrower closed, till over head 


Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing, 


A vaulted screen the branches made. 


Attendant on a lung-at-arms, 


■• A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; 


W^hose hand the armorial truncheon held. 


■' Such as where errant-knights might sei3 


That feudal strife had often quell'd. 


Adventures of high chivalry ; 


When wildest its alarms. 


Might meet some damsel flying fast, 




With hau- unbound, aud looks aghast; 


VII. 


And smooth aud level course were here, 


He was a man of middle age ; 


In her defence to break a spear. 


In aspect manly, grave, and sage. 


Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; 


As on King's errand come ; 


And oft, in such, the story tells, 


But in the glances of Iiis eye, 


The damsel kind, fioni d;uiger freed, 


A penetratuig, keen, and sly 


Did grateful pay her champion's meed." 


Expression found its home ; 


He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind : 


The flash of that satu-ic rage, 


Perchance to show his lore design'd ; 


■Which, burstmg on the early stage, 


For Eustace much had pored 


Branded the vices of the age. 


Upon a huge romantic tome,' 


And broke the keys of Rome.' 


In the hall winiiow of liis home, 


On milk-white palfrey fortli he paced ; 


Imprinted at the antique dome 


His cap of maintenance was graced 


Of Caxton, or De Worde." 


With the proud heron-plume 


Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain, 


From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast. 


For Marniion answer'd naught again. 


Silk housings swept the ground, 




With Seothand's arms, device, and crest. 


V. 


Embroider'd round and round. 


Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill. 


The double tressure might you see. 


In notes prolong'd by wood and hill, 


First by Achaius borne. 


Were heard to echo far ; 


The thistle and the fleur-de-lis. 


Each ready archer grasp'd his bow, 


And gallant unicorn.' 


Uut by the flourish soon they know, 


So bright the King's armorial coat, 


They breathed no point of war. 


That scarce the dazzled eye could note. 


Tet cautious, as in foeman's land. 


In Uving colors, blazon'd brave, 


Lord Marmion's order speeds the band, 


The Lion, wliich his title gave. 


Some opener ground to gain ; 


A train, wliich well beseem'd his state, 


And scarce a furlong had they rode. 


But all unarm'd, around him wait. 


When thinner trees, receding, show'd 


Still is thy name in liigh account. 


A httle woodland plain. 


And still thy verse has charms. 


Just in that advantageous glade. 


Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 


Tlie halting troop a hne had made. 


Lord Lion King-at-arms !' 


As forth from the opposing shade 




Issued a gallant traia 


vin. 




Down from his horse did Marmion spring, 


VI. 


Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 


First came the trumpets, at whose clang 


For well the stately Baron knew 


So late the forest echoes rang ; 


To him such courtesy was due. 


On prancing steeds they forward preas'd. 


"Whom royal James himself had crown'd. 


With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 


And on his temples placed the roimd 


Each at his trump a banner wore. 


Of Scotland's .ancient diadem ; 


Which Scotland's royal scutcheon' bore ; 


And wet his brow with iiallow'd wine, 


Heralds and pursuivants, by name 


And on liis finger given to shine 


Bute, Islay, Marchmouut, Rothsay, came. 


The emblematic gem. 


* MS. — " Upon a Hack and pondrroua tome." 


^^ scarlet tabards;'* and in line 12th, "blazoned tmncheon." 


3 William Caxton, the earliest English printer, was bom il 


* MS.—" The flash of that satiric rage, 


Kent, A. D. 1412, and died in 1-191. Wynken de Worde wa.. 


Which, bursting from the early stage, 


his next siccessor in the production of those 


Lash'd the coarw vices of the age," &c. 


" Rare volumes, dark with tarnish'd gold," 


* MS. — "Silver unicorn." This, and the seven preceding 


"Fhich are now the delight ol" bibliomaniacs. 


lines, are interpolated in the blank page of the MS 


■ The MS. has " Scotland's royal Lion" here ; in line 9th, 


s See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 



118 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IV. 



Their mutual greetings duly made, 


Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep, 


Thfi Lion thus liis message said : — 


Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 


" Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore' 


Oft have 1 traced, witliin thy fort. 


Ne'er to knit f;iith with Henry more, 


Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, 


And strictly hath forbid resort 


Scutcheons of honor, or pretence. 


From England to his royal court ; 


Quarter'd in old armorial sort, 


Tet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name, 


Remains of rude magnificence. 


And honors much his warlike fame, 


Nor wholly yet had time defaced 


My Mege hath deem'd it sliame, and lack 


Tliy lordly gallery fair ; 


Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 


Nor yet the stony cord unbraced. 


And. by liis order, I, your guide. 


Whose twisted knots, with roses laced. 


Must lodging fit and fair provide. 


Adorn thy ruin'd stair. 


TUl finds King James meet time to see 


StUl rises unimpair'd below. 


The flower of English chivalry." 


The court-yard's graceful portico ; 




Above its cornice, row and row 


IX. 


Of fair hewn facets richly show 


Though inly chafed at this delay, 


Their pomted diamond form. 


Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 


Though there but houseless cattle go, 


The Palmer, his mysterious guide. 


To shield them from the storm. 


Beholding thus his place supplied. 


And, shuddering, still m.ay we explore. 


Sought to take leave in vain : 


Where oft whilom were captives pent. 


Strict was the Lion-King's command. 


The darkness of thy Massy More ;" 


That none, who rode in Marmion's band, 


Or, from thy grass-grown battlement. 


Should sever from the train ; 


May trace, m undulating line, 


" England has here enow of spies 


The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 


In Lady Heron's witching eyes :" 




To Marchmount thus, apart, he said. 


XIL 


But fair pretext to Marmion made. 


Another aspect Chrichtoun show'd. 


Tlie right hand path they now decline. 


As through its portal Marmiou roue , 


And trace against the stream the Tyne. 


But yet 'twas melancholy ctat.c 




Received him at the outer gate ; 


X. 


For none were in the Castle thtn. 


At length up that wild dale they wind, 


But women, boys or aged men. 


Where Crichtoun Castle' crowns the bank ; 


With eyes facarce (hied, the sorrowing dams, 


For there the Lion's care assign'd 


To welcome noble Marmion, came; 


A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. 


Her son, a stripltug twelve years old. 


That Castle rises on the steep 


Proffer'd the Darou's rein to hold ; 


Of the green vale of Tyne : 


For each man tiiat could draw a .sword 


And far beneath, where slow they creep. 


Had march'd that morning with their lord, 


From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 


Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 


Where alders moist, and willows weep. 


On Flodden, by his sovereign's side.' 


You hear her streams repine.' 


Long may his Lady look in vain ! 


Tlie towers in different ages rose ; 


She ne'er shall see his gallant Irain,^ 


Tlieir various arcliitecture shows 


Come sweeping back through Cricbtoim-Deaft 


The builders' various hands ; 


'Twas a brave race, before the name 


A mighty mass, that could oppose,* 


Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame. 


When deadliest hatred fired its foes. 




The vengeful Douglas bands. 


XIIL 




And here two days did Marmion rest, 


XL 


With every rite th.at honor claims, 


Clu-ichtoun 1 though now thy miry court 


Attended as the IGd/s own guest ; — 


But pens the lazy steer and sheep. 


Such the command of Royal James, 


> MS. — " The Lion-King his message said : — 


* MS. — *' But the huge mass eould well oppose.'* 


* My liege hath deep and deadly swore,' " &c. 


* MS. — '* Of many a mouldering shield the sense." 


a See Appendix, Note 2 Z ; and, for a foUer description of 


6 The pit, or jirison vault. — See Appendii, Note 2 Z, 


Criehton Castle, see Sir Walter Scott's Miscellaneous Prose 


' See Appendix, Note 3 A. 


Works, vol. vii. p. 157. 


8 MS " Well might his gentle Lady moam. 


3 MS. — " Her lazy streams repine." 


Doom'd ne'er to see her Lord's return." 



CANTO IV. 



MARMION. 



119 



"Wlio m.irsluiU'd then hi3 land's array, 

Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 

Pcrchant^c lie would not fuemau's eye 

Upon his gathering host should pry, 

Till full prepared was every band 

To march against the English land. 

Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 

Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ; 

And, in his turn, he knew to prize 

Lord ilarmion s powerful mind, and wise ' — 

Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece^ 

And policies of war and peace.* 

XIV. 
It chanced, as fell the second night, 

That on the battlements they walk'd, 
And, by the slowly-fading light, 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the Herald-bard^ 
Said, Marniion might his toil have spared. 

In travelling so far ; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to Jjimes had counsel given 

Against the English w;ir ;^ 
And, closer question'd, thus he told 
A tale, which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enroU'd: — 

XV. 
Sir JIJabHi 3lfntiesaw*s STale, 

"Of all the palaces so fair,* 

Built for the royal dwelling, 
In Scotland, far beyond compare 

' MS. — " Nor less the Herald Monarch knew 
Tlie Baron's powers to value fue — 
Hence confidence between them grew." 

3 MS. — " Tlien fell from Lindesay, unware, 

That iMarmion mifrht i , . , . ., 

„, - , '^ ,, S nis labor spare." 

fllarmion might well ) '^ 

3 See Appendix, Note 3 B. 

4 " In some places, Mr. Scott's love of variety has betrayed 
him into strange imitations. This is evidently formed on the 
Echuol of Sternhold and Hopkins, — 

' Of all the palaces so fair,' " &c. 

Jeffrey. 

6 In Scotiantl there are about twenty palaces, castles, and 
remains, or sites of such, 

'* Where Scotia's kings of other yejirs" 
had their royal home. 

" Linlithgow, distinguished by tlie combined strength and 
beauty of its situation, must have been early selected as a 
royal residence. David, who bought the title of saint by his 
liberality to the Church, refers several of his charters to his 
town of Linlithgow ; and in that of Holyrood expressly be- 
stows on the new monastery all the skins of tJie rams, ewes, 
and lambs, belonging to his castle of Linlitcu, which shall 
die during the year. . . . The convenience artbrded for the 
eport of falconry, which was so great a favorite during the 
feudal ages, was probably one cause of tlie attachment of the 



Linlithgow is excelling ;• 
And in its park in jovial June, 
How sweet the merry lumet's tuno, 

How bhtlie the blackbird's lay ! 
The wild-buck-bells" from ferny brake, 
The coot dives merry on the lake, 
Tlie saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all natiu-e gay. 
But June is to our Sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all the year : 
Too well his cause of grief you know 
June saw his father's overthrow.'' 
Woe to the traitors, who could bring 
The princely boy against his King ! 
Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent, 
King James's Jime is ever spent.* 

XVL 

" When last this rutliful month was 

come, 
And in Linlithgow's holy dome 

The King, as wont, was praying ; 
While, for his royal father's soul, 
The chimters sung, the bells did toll, 

The Bishop mass was saying — 
For now the year brought round again® 
The day the luckless king was slain — 
In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt. 
With sackcloth-shu't, and iron belt, 

And eyes with sorrow streaming ; 
Around bun in tlieir stalls of state. 
The Thistle's Knight Companions sate, 

ancient Scottish monarchs to Linlithgow and its fine lake. 
The sport of hunting was also followed with success in tl* 
neighborhood, from which circumstance it probably arises that 
the ancient arms of the city represent a black greyhound bitch 
tied to a tree. . . . The situation of Linlithgow Palace is 
eminently beautiful. It stands on a promontory of some 
elevation, which advances almost into the midst of the lake. 
The form is lh:it of a sf]uare court, composed of buildings ot 
four stories liigli, with towers at the angles. The fronts within 
the square, and the windows, are highly ornamented, and tlie 
size of the rooms, as well as the width and character of the 
staircases, are upon a magnificent scale. One banquet-room 
is ninety-four feet long, thirty feet wide, and thirty-three feet 
high, with a gallery for music. The king's wardrobe or 
dressing-room, looking to the west, projects over the walls, so 
as to have a delicious prospect on three sides, and is one of tlie 
mcst enviable boudoirs we have ever seen.'* — Sir Walter 
Scott's MisceUaneous Prose fforks, vol. vii. p. 382, &c. 

« See Appendix, Note 3 C. 

' See Appendix, Note 3 1>. 

8 MS. — '* In offices as strict as Lent, 

And [tenances bis Junes are spent." 

" MS. — " tor now the year brought round again 

The very day that he / i ■ 

The day that the third James S '""" ~ 

In Katharine's aisle the Monarch kneels. 

And folded hands i , , , - , -. 

. J , . , , i snow what be feela '' 

And hands sore clasped \ 



120 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Their banners o'er them beaming. 
I too was there, and. .sooth to tell, 
Bedeafen'd with the jangUng kneU, 
Was w.atching where the siuibearos fell, 

Through the stain'd casement gleaming ; 
But, while I mark'd what next befeU, 
It Beem'd as I were dreaming. 
Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, 
In azm'e gown, with cincture wliite ; 
His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down hung at length liis yeUow hair. — 
Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, 
I pledge to you my knightly word, 
Tliat, when I saw his placid grace, 
His simple majesty of face, 
His solemn bearmg, and his pace 

So stately ghding on, — 
Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an miage of the Saint, 
Wi-iO propp'd the Virgm m her faint, — 
The loved Apostle John ! 

SVII. 
" He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair, 
And stood with rustic plaimiess there, 

And Httle reverence made ; 
Nor head nor body, bow'd nor bent, 
But on the desk his arm he leant. 

And words Uke these he said. 
In a low voice, but never tone' 
So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and 

bone : — 
' My mother sent me from afar. 
Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 

Woe waits on thine an-ay ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,' 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
Jautea Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware: 
God keep thee as he may !' 

The wondering Monarch seem'd to seek 

For answer, and found none ; 
And when he raised liis head to speak, 
The monitor was gone, 
llie Mar.shal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward pass'd ; 
But, Ughter than the whirlwmd'a blast, 

He vanish'd from our eyes, 

lake sunbeam on the billow cast, 

That glances but, and tUes." 



1 MS. — *' In a low voice — but every tone 

ThriU'd through the listener's vein and bone.* 

* M3. — " And if to war thon needs wilt fare 

Of wanton wiles and woman's Jg^^j^ n 
Of woman's wiles and waiuon ' 

■ MS. — " But events, since I cross'd the Tweed, 
Have undermined my skeptic creed," 



XVIII. 

While Lindesiiy told his marvel strange. 
The twihght was so pale. 

He mark'd not Marmion's color change, 
Wliilo hstening to the tale ; 

But, after a suspended pause. 

The Baron spoke : — " Of Nature's laws 
So strong I held the force, 

That never superhuman cause 
Could e'er control their course, 
And, three days since, had judged your aim 
Was but to make your guest your game ; 
But I have seen, since past tlie Tweed,^ 
What much has clianged my skeptic creed. 
And made me credit aught." — He staid. 
And seem'd to wish his words imsaid : 
But, by that strong emotion press' d. 
Which prompts us to unload our breast. 

Even when discovery's pain. 
To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his vill.age host had told, 

At Gifford, to his train. 
Naught of the Palmer says he there. 
And naught of Constance, or of Clare ; 
The thoughts wliich broke his sleep, he seems 
To mention but as feverish dreams. 

XIX. 

" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
My burning hmbs, and couch'd mj head: 

Fantastic thoughts return'd ; 
And, by their wild dominion led. 

My heart within me burn'd.' 
So sore was the deUrious goad, 
I took my steed, and forth I rode 
And, as the moon shone bright and cnld, 
Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I pass'd through. 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Methought an answer met my ear, — 
Yet was the blast so low and drear,* 
So hoUow, and so faintly blown. 
It might be echo of my own. 

XX. 

" Tlius judging, for a little space 
I Usten'd, ere I left the place ; 

But scarce could trust my eyes, 
Nor yet can think they served me true, 

* MS. — " In vain," said he, " to rest I laid 

My baniiiig limbs, and tlirobbing head-- 
Faiitastic thoughts return'd ; 

/led, 
And. by their wild dominion < sway'd, 
' Sjiel, 
My heart within me bum'd," 

6 MS. — ** And yet it was so slow antl drear." 



CANTO IV. 



MARMION. 



121 



Wlien audi'.-n in the ring I Tiew, 


Dead or alive, good cause had he 


(u form distinct of sliape and hue, 


To be my mortal enemy." 


A mounted cliampion rise. — 




I've fonglit, Lord-Lion, many a day,' 


XXIL 


In single fight, and niix'd .afiVay, 


Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount ; 


i\jid ever, I myself may say. 


Then, Ic.arn'd in story, 'gan recount 


ITave borno me as a knight ; 


Such chance had happ'd of old. 


Hut -n-hen this unexpected foe 


When once, near Norham, there did fight 


yeom'd starting from the gulf below, — 


A spectre fell of fiendish might. 


I care not though the truth I show, — 


In likeness of a Scottish knight, 


I trembled with affright ; 


With Brian Bulmer bold. 


And as I plri-ed in rest my spear. 


And train'd him nigh to disallow 


My hand so shook with very fear, 


The aid of his baptism.al vow. 


I scarce could couch it right. 


" And sucli a phantom too, 'tis said. 




With Highland broadsword, targe, and [ilaid, 


XXL 


And fingers, red with gore, 


" Why n' <■ 1 my tongue the issue tell 1 


Is seen in Rotliiemurcus glade, 


We ra"-. our coxu-se, — my charger fell ; — 


Or where the sable pine-trees shade 


What could he 'g.ainst the shock of hell ? — 


Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid, 


I roU'd upon the plain. 


Dromouchty, or Glenmore.' 


High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 


And yet, whate'er such legends say, 


The spectre shook his naked brand, — " 


Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. 


Yet tUd the worst remain: 


On mountain, moor, or plain, 


My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 


Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,* 


Not opening hell itself could blast 


True son of chivalry should hold. 


Thcu- sight like what I saw ! 


Those midnight terrors vain ; 


Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 


For seldom have such sph-its power 


A (lice could never be mistook ! 


To harm, save in the evil homr, 


I knew the stern vindictive look. 


When guilt we meditate within,' 


And held my breath for awe. 


Or harbor uurepented sin." — 


I saw the face of one who, tied' 


Lord Marmion turu'd him half aside. 


To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 


And twice to clear his voice he tried. 


I well believe the last ; 


Then press'd Su- David's hand, — 


For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 


But naught, at length, in answer said ; 


A human warrior, with a glare 


And here their farther converse staid, 


So grimly and so ghaat. 


Each ordering that his band 


Tlu-ice o'er my head he shook the blade : 


Should bowne them with the rising daj'. 


But when to good Saint George I pray'd 


To Scotland's camp to take their way. — 


(The first time e'er I ask'd his aid). 


Such was the King's command. 


He plunged it in the sheath ; 




And, on his courser mounting Ught, 


XXIIL 


He seem'd to vanish from my sight : 


Early tbey took Dun-Edin's road, 


The moonbeam di-oop'd, and deepest night 


And I could trace each step they trode : 


Sunk down upon the heath. — 


Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone. 


'Twere long to tell what cause I have 


Lies on the path to me unknown. 


To know his face, that met me there, 


Much might it boast of storied lore ; 


Call'd by his hatred from the grave, 


But, passing such digression o'er. 


To cumber upper air ; 


Sufiice it that the route was laid 


» MS. — " I've been, Lord-Lion, many a day, 


I knew the face of one who, fled 


In combat single, or m^lee." 


To foreign climes, or iong since dead — 


' M3. — " Tile spectre shook his nalied brand, — 


I well may judge the last." 


Yet doth the worst remain : 
My reeling eyes I npward cast. — 
But opening hell could never blast 

Their sight, like what I saw." 
' MS. — " I knew the face of one long dead. 


* See the traditions oonceming Bulraer, and the spectr* 
called JJiamdearg, or Bloody-hand, in a uote on canto iii. 
Appendii, Note 2 U. 

6 MS. — " Of spotless faith, and bosom bold." 


Or who to foreign climes hath fled . . . 


^ MS. — " When mortals meditate within 


16 


Fresh guilt or unrepented sin." 



122 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv. 


Across the furzy hills of Braid. 


From west to east, from north to south. 


They pass'd the glen and scanty rill, 


Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 


And cJimb'd the opposing bank, iintil 


Marmiou might hear the mingled hum 


They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill. 


Of myriads up the momitain come : 




The horses' tramp, and tingling clank. 


XXIV. 


"Where cliiefs review'd then- vassal rank. 


Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 


And charger's shrilling neigh ; 


Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 


And see the sliifting lines advance. 


A truant boy, I sought the nest, 


While frequent flasli'd, from shield and lance. 


Or listed, as I lay at rest, 


The sun's reflected ray. 


Whde rose, on breezes thin, 




Tlie murmur of the city crowd, 


XXVII. 


And, from Ms steeple jangling loud. 


Thin cm-ling in the morning air. 


Saint Giles's mingling din. 


The wreaths of failing smoke declare 


Now, from the smnmit to the plain. 


To embers now the brands decay'd. 


Waves all the hill with yellow grain; 


Where the night-watch their fires had made. 


And o'er the landscape as I look. 


Tliey saw, slow rolling on the pliiin, 


Naught do I see unchanged remain. 


Full many a baggage-cart and wain. 


Save the rude chffs and chiming brook. 


And dire arlUlery's clumsy car. 


To me they make a heavy moan. 


By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war ; 


Of eai-ly friendsliips past and gone. 


And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,' 




And culverins which France had given. 


XXV. 


lU-omeu'd gift ! the guns remain 


But different far the change has been,' 


The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 


Since Marniion, from the crown 




Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 


XXVIII. 


Upon the bent so brown : 


Nor mark'd they less, where in the aur 


Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 


A thousand streamers flaunted fiiir ; 


Spread all the Borough-moor below,' 


Various in shape, device, and hue. 


Upland, and dale, and down : — • 


Green, sanguuie, purple, red, and blue. 


A thousand did f say ? I ween,' 


Broad, narrow, swallow-tail'd, and square, 


Thousands on thousands there were seen, 


Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,' there 


That checker'd all the heath between 


O'er the pavilions flew.' 


Tlie streamlet and the town ; 


Highest and midmost, was descried 


In crossing ranks extencUng far. 


The roval baimer floating wide ; 


Forming a camp irregular ;' 


The staff, a pme tree, strong and straight,' 


Oft giving way, where still there stood 


Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone. 


Some rehcs of the old oak wood. 


Wliich still in memory is shown. 


That darkly huge did intervene, 


Yet bent beneath the standard's weight 


And tamed the glaring white with gi-een : 


Whene'er the western wind unroU'd, 


In these extended lines there lay 


With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold. 


A martial kingdom's vast array. 


And gave to view the dtvzzUng field. 




Wliere, in proud Scotland's royal shield, 


XXVI. 


The ruddy Hon ramp'd in gold." 


For fi'om Hebudes, dark with rain. 




To eastern Lodou's fertile pkiin. 


XXIX. 


And from the southern Redswh-e edge. 


Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright, — " 


To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 


He view'd it with a cliief 's delight, — 


• MS. — *' But, oh ! far different change has been 


6 Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of 


Since Marmion, from the crown 


those entilK'd to display tliem. 


Of Blacktbrd-hill, upon the scene 


' See Appendix, Note 3 F. 


Of Scotland's war look'd d' tvn.'* 


8 MS. — " The standard staff, a mountain pme. 


t See Appendix, Note 3 E. 


Pitch'd in a huge memorial stone. 


' MS. — " A thousand said the verse ? I ween, 


That still in n-onument is shown.'* 


Thousands on thousands there were seen, 


8 See Appendix, Note 3 G. 


That whiten'd all the heath between." 


10 MS. — " Lord Marmion's large dark eye flash'd light, 




It kindled with a chief's delight. 


« Here ends the stanza in the MS. 


Forglow'd with martial joy bis heart. 


• Seven cnlverins so called, cast by one Borthwick. 


As upon battle-day." 



CANTO IV. 



MARMION. 



123 



Until witliin him burn'd his heart, 

And lightning from his eye did part, 
As ou the battle-day ; 

Such ghmce lUd falcon never dart, 
When stooping on liis prey. 
" Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, 
Thy King from warfare to dissuade 

Were but a vain essay : 
For, by Saint George, were that host mine. 
Not power infernal nor divine. 
Should once to peace my soul incline, 
Till I had dimm'd their armor's shine 

In glorious battle-fray !" 
Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood : 
" Fair is the sight,— and yet 'twere good. 

That kings would think withal, 
When peace ;md wealth theii- land has Uess'd, 
'Tis better to sit still at rest,' 

Than rise, perchance to falL" 

XXX. 

still on the spot Lord Mai'niion stay'd. 

For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd. 
Wlien sated with the martial show 
That peopled all the plain below. 
The wandering eye could o'er it go, 
And mark the distant city glow 

With gloomy splendor red ; 
For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow. 
That round her sable turrets flow, 
The morning beams were shed, 
And tmged them with a lustre proud, 
Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 

Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, 

Where the huge Castle holds its state, 
And all the steep slope down. 

Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky. 

Piled deep and massy, close and high, 
Mine own romantic town 1^ 

But northward far, with purer blaze, 

Ou Ochil mountains fell the rays. 

And as each heathy top they kiss'd, 

It gleam'd a purple amethyst. 

Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ; 

Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law: 
Anil, broad between them roU'd, 

The gallant Frith the eye might note, 

Whose Islands on its bosom float. 
Like emeralds chased in gold. 

Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent; 



' MS.—" 'Tis better sitting still at rest, 
Than rising bat to fall ; 
^nd white these tcords they did exchange, 
They reached the campus extremest range.** 
The Poet appears to have struck his pen through the two 
iDes in italics, on conceiving the magniticent picture which re- 
'jlaces them in the texL 
' MS — " Dun-Eiiin's towers and town.'* 



As if to give his raptiu-e vent. 
The spiu' he to his charger lent, 

And raised his bridle hand. 
And, making demi- volte in ail. 
Cried, " Where's the coward that would not uar« 

To fight for such a land !" 
The Lindesay smiled his joy to see ;' 
Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee. 

XXXL 
Thus while they lootd a flourish proud, 
Where mingled trump and clarion loud, 

And fife, and kettle-drum. 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery. 
And war-pipe with discordant cry, 
And cymbal clattering to the sky, 
Makuig wUd music bold and high. 

Did up the movmtain come ; 
The whilst the bells, with distant chime, 
Merrily toU'd the hour of prime, 
And thus the Lindesay spoke :* 
" Tims clamor still the war-notes when 
The king to mass his way has ta'en. 
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne,' 

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame ;° 
But me remind of peaceful game. 

When bUther was their cheer, 
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. 
In signal none his steed should spare. 
But strive which foremost might repair 

To the downfall of the deer. 

XXXII. 

" Nor less," he said, — " when looking forth, 
I view yon Empress of the North 

Sit on her hUly throne ; 
Her palace's imperial bowers, 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
Her stately halls and holy towers — '' 

Nor less," he said, " I moan. 
To tliink what woe mischance may bring. 
And how these merry bells may ring 
The death-du-ge of our gallant king ; 

Or with the larum call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 

Dim-EtUn's leaguer'd wall. — 
But not for my presaging thought. 
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought 1* 

3 MS. — " The Lion smiled his joy to see." 
* MS. — " And thus the L'on spoke.** 
6 MS. — " Or to onr Lady's of Sienne.*' 
6 MS. — *' To you they speak of martial fame. 

To me of mood more mild and tame — 
Blither would be their cheer." 
t MS. — " Her stately fanes and holy towers." 
8 MS. — " Dream of a conquest cheaply bought ** 



124 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V. 



Lord Marmion, I say nay : 


The needful water from the spring ; 


God is the guider of the field, 


"When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er, 


He breaks the champion's spear and shiela, — 


Beguiles the dreary hour no more. 


But thou thyself shalt say, 


And darkling poHtician, cross'd. 


When joins yon host in deadly stowre. 


Inveighs iigauist the lingering post. 


Tliat England's dames must weep in bower. 


And answermg housewife sore complains 


Her monks the death-mass sing ;' 


Of cai-riers' snow-impeded w-ains ; 


For never saw'st thou such a power 


"When such the country cheer, I come, 


Led on by such a Kmg." — 


Well pleased, to seek om- city home ; 


And now, down winduig to the plam. 


For converse, and for books, to change 


The barriers of the camp they gain. 


The Forest's melancholy range. 


And there they made a stay. — 


And welcome, with renew'd deUght, 


Tliere stays the Miiiitrel, tiU he fling 


The busy day and social night. 


His hand o'er every Border strmg. 




And tit liis harp the pomp to sing. 


Not here need my desponding rhyme 


Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, 


Lament the ravages of time, 


In the succeeding lay. 


As erst by Newark's riven towers. 




And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers.* 




Ti'ue, — Caledonia's Queen is chan'^'ed * 




Since on her dusky summit ranged, 


ill arm I on. 


Within its steepy limits pent. 
By bidwark, Ime, and battlement. 




And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
Guai'ded and gai-rison'd she stood, 


INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.' 




Denying entrance or resort, 


TO 


Save at each tall embattled port : 


GEORGE ELLIS, ESa.= 


Above whose arch, suspended, hung 


Edlnhurgh. 


Portculhs spiked with iron prong. 


When dark December glooms the day. 


That long is gone, — but not so long, 


And takes our autumn joys away ; 


Smce, early closed, and opening late, 


"RTien short and scant the simbeam throws. 


Jealous revolved the studded gate. 


LTpon the weary waste of snows, 


Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 


A cold and profitless regard. 


A wicket churUslily supplied. 


Like patron on a needy bard ; 


Stem then, and steel-girt was thy brow. 


When silvan occupation's done. 


Dun-Edin ! 0, how alter'd now. 


And o'er the chimney rests the gun. 


When safe amid thy mountain court 


And h.ang, in idle trophy, near, 


Thou sit'st, like Empress at her sport, 


The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; 


And hberal, miconfined and free. 


When wiry terrier, rough and grun. 


Flingmg thy white arms to the sea,' 


And greyhound, with his length of limb. 


For thy dai'k cloud, with umber'd lower. 


And pointer, now employ'd no more. 


Tliat hung o'er cUfi', and lake, and tower. 


Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ; 


Thou gleam'st against the western ray 


When in his stall the impatient steed 


Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 


Is long condemn'd to rest and feed ; 




"Wlien from our snow-encircled home. 


Not she, the Championess of old. 


Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 


In Spenser's magic tale enroll'd, 


Since path is none, save that to bring 


She for the ch.armed spear renown'd 



1 MS. — " Their monks dead masses sing." 

2 " These Introductory Epistles, tliough excellent in them- 
Gelves, are in fact only interruptions to the table, and accord- 
ingly, nine readers out of ten have perused them separately, 
either before, or after the poem. In sliort, tlie personal ap- 
pearance of the Minstrel, who, though the Last, is the most 
charming of all minstrels, is by no means compensated by the 
idea of an author shorn of his picturesque beard, and ■u'riUng 
letters to his intimate friends." — George Ellis. 

3 This accomplished gentleman, the 'well-known coadjutor 
of Mr. Canning and Mr. Frere in the " Antijacohin," and edi- 
tor of " SpecimeiLS of Ancient English Romances." &c., died 



10th April, 1815, aged 70 years ; being succeeded in his estatct 
by his brother Charles Ellis, Esq., created, in 1827, Lord Sea 
ford.— Ed. 
4 See Introduction to canto ii. 
6 See Appendix. Note 3 H. 

fl Since writing this line, I find I have inadvertently borrow 
ed it almost verbatim, though with somewhat a different meda 
ing, from a chorus in " Caractacus ;" 

" Britain heard the descant bold. 

She flung tier white arms o'er toe eea, 
Proud in her leafy bosom to enfold 
The freight of harmony." 



CANTO V. M ARM ION. 12E 


W'liich forced each knight to Idss the groxind, — 


Destined in every ago to be 


Not she more clmnged, when, placed at rest, 


Refuge of injured royalty ; 


"WHiat time she was Malbecco's guest/ 


Since first, when conquering York arose. 


She gave to flow lier maiden vest ; 


To Heiu*y meek she gave repose,^ 


When from the corslet's grasp relieved, 


Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 


Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 


Great Bourbon's reUcs, sad she saw.* 


Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, 




Erst hiddeu by the aventayle ; 


Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they rise. 


And down her shoulders graceful roU'd 


How gladly I avert mine eyes. 


Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 


Bodings, or true or false, to change. 


They who whilom, in michught fight, 


For Fiction's fair romantic range, 


Had marvell'd at her matchless might. 


Or for tradition's dubious light, 


No less her maiden charms approved. 


That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 


But looking hked, and Ukiug loved.' 


Dazzling alternately and dim. 


The sight could jealous pangs beguile, 


Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim. 


And chai-m Malbecco's cares a while ; 


Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see, 


And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 


Creation of my fantasy. 


Forgot his Columbella's claims, 


Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,' 


And passion, erst unknown, could gain 


And make of mists invading men. 


The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 


Wto loves not more the night of Jime 


Nor durst light Paridcl advance. 


Than dull December's gloomy noon ? 


Bold as he was, a looser glance. 


The moonlight than the fog of frost ? 


She charm'd, at once, and tamed the heart. 


And can we say, which cheats the most ? 


Incomparable Britomarte ! 






But who shall teach my harp to gain 


So thou, fair city ! disarray'd 


A sound of the romantic strain, 


Of battled wall, and rampart's aid, 


Wliose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 


As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 


Could win the royal Henry's ear," 


Than in that panoply of war. 


Famed Beauclerc call'd, for that he loved 


Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 


The minstrel, and his lay approved ? 


Strength and security are flown ; 


Who shall these liugermg notes redeem. 


Still, as of yore. Queen of the North ! 


Decaying on Oblivion's stream; 


Still canst thou send thy children forth. 


Such notes as from the Breton tongue 


Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 


Marie translated, Blondel stmg ? — 


Thy burghers rose to man thy wall. 


! born. Time's ravage to repau-, 


Than now, in danger, shall be thme. 


And make the dying Muse thy care , 


Thy dauntless voUmtary line ; 


Who, when his scythe her hotiry foe 


For fo.sse and turret proud to stand. 


Was poising for the final blow, 


Theu' breasts the bulwarks of the land. 


The weapon from his hand could wring, 


Thy thousands, train'd to martial toil. 


And break liis glass, and shear his wing, 


Full red would stain their native soil. 


And bid, reviving in his strain. 


Ere fi-om thy mural crown there fell 


The gentle poet live again ; 


Tlie slightest koosp, or pinnacle. 


Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 


And if it come, — as come it may, 


An unpedantic moral gay. 


Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 


Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 


Renown'd for hospitable deed, 


On wings of unexpected wit ; 


That virtue much with heaven may plead, 


In letters as in life approved 


In patriarchal times whose care 


Example honor'd, and beloved, — 


Descending angels deign'd to share ; 


Dear Ellis ! to the bard unpart 


That claim may wrestle blessings down 


A lesson of thy magic iu-t. 


On those who fight for The Good Town, 


To win at once the head and heart, — 


> See "The Fairy Qaeen,'* book iii. canto il. 


be remained nntil August, 1799. When again driven froin hli 


^ " For every one her liked, and every one her loved.'* 


country by the Revolution of July, 1830. the same unfortunate 


Spenser, as above. 


Prince, with all the immediate members of his family, songlit 
refuge once more in the ancient palace of the Stuarts, and r» 


* See Appendi.T, Note 3 I. 


raained there until 18th September, 1832. 


* In Jannary, 1796. tlie exiled Count d'Artois, afterwards 


5 MS.—" Than gaze out on the foggy fen '* 


Charges X. of France, took aphis residence in Hotyrood, where 


' Seo Appendix, Note 3 K. 



126 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v. 


At once to charm, instruct and mend, 


Upon the Southern band to stare. 


My guide, my pattern, and my friend !' 


And envy with their wonder rose. 




To see such well-appointed foes; 


Such minstrel lesson to bestow 


Such length of shafts, such mighty bows,* 


Be long thy pleasing task, — but, ! 


So huge, that many simply thought. 


No more by thy example teach. 


But for a vaunt such wcajjons wrought ; 


— Wliat few can practise, all can preach, — 


And Uttle deem'd theu- force to feel. 


With even patience to endure 


Through huks of mail and plates of steel. 


Lingering disease, and painful cure, 


Wlien rattling upon Flodden vale. 


Antl boast afliiction's pangs subdued 


The cloth-yard .arrows flew like hail.* 


By mild and manly fortitude. 




Enough, the lesson has been given: 


IL 


Forbid the repetition. Heaven I 


Nor less did Marinion's skilful view 




Glance every line and squatlron through; 


Come listen, then ! for thou hast known. 


And much he marvell'd one small land 


And loved the Minstrel's varying tone. 


Cotild marshal forth such various band: 


Who, like his Border su-es of old. 


For men-at-arms were here. 


Waked a wild measm-e rude and bold. 


Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 


Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot pl.iin, 


Like iron towers for strength and weight. 


With wonder heard the northern strain.'' 


On Flemish steeds of bone and, height. 


Come hsten ! bold in thy applause. 


With battle-axe and spear. 


The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 


Young knights and squu-es, a lighter train. 


And, as the ancient art could stain 


Practised their chargers on the plain," 


Achievements on the storied pane, 


By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 


IiTegularly traced and plaun'd. 


Each warhke feat to show. 


But yet so glowing and so grand, — 


To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain. 


So sh.-iU lie strive, in changeful hue, 


And high curvett, that not in vain 


Field, feast, and combat to renew. 


The sword sway might descend amain 


And loves, and ai-ms, ami harpers' glee, 


On foeman's casque below.'' 


And all the pomp of chivalry. 


He saw the hardy burghers there 




March arm'd, on foot, with faces bare,' 




For visor they wore none, 


in a r m t n . 


Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 


But bumish'd were their corslets bright, 




Their brigantines, and gorgets light, 
Like very silver shone. 




CANTO FIl.-rH. 


Long pikes they had for standing fight, 
Two-handed swords they wore, 




ffiSe ffioutt. 


And mtmy wielded mace of weight," 


I_ 


And bucklers bright they bore. 


The train has left the hiUs of Braid ; 


IIL 


The barrier guard have open made 


On foot the yeoman too, but dress'd 


(So Lmdesay bade) the palisade, 


In liis steel-jack, a swarthy vest. 


That closed the tented ground; 


With u-on quilted well ; 


Their men the warders backward drew. 


Each at his back (a slender store) 


And cairied pikes a.s they rode through, 


His forty days' provision bore. 


Into its ample bound/' 


As feudal statutes tell 


Fast ran the Scottish warriors there. 


His arms were halbert, axe, or spear,'" 


1 "Come thou, my friend, my genius, come along, 


Antf Marmion with his train rode through, 


Oil master of the poet and the song !" 


Across its ample bound." 


Pope to Bolingbroke. 


* .MS. — *' So long their shafts, so large their bows." 


* At Panning-hill, Mr. EHis's seat, near Windsor, part of the 


' See Appendix, Note 3 L. 


firrt two cantos of IMarmion were written. 


c MS. — " There tirt^ed their chargers on the plain.** 


•MS. — *'The barrier guard the 1 ion knew, 


' See Appendix, Note 3 M. s Ibid. Note 3 N 


Advanced their i)ike3, and soon withdrew 


» MS.—" And m<i,7s did many \ """''' \ of weight. 


The slender palisades and few 


( bear i 


That closed the tented ground ; 


1" See Appendix, Note 3 0, 



CANTO V MARMION. 127 


A crossbow there, a hagbut liere, 


V. 


A dagger-kuife, and brnml. 


Next, Marmion mark'd the Celtic race. 


Sober he seem'd, and sad of cheer, 


Of different languiige, form, and face, 


As loth to leave his cottage dear, 


A various race of man ; 


And march to foreign strand ; 


Just then the Chiefs their tribes array'd. 


Or musing, who would guide Uis steer, 


And wUd and garish semblance made. 


To till the fallow land. 


The checker'd trews, and belted plaid. 


Yet deem not in his thuughtful eye 


And varymg notes the war-pipes bray'd. 


Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 


To every varying clan ; 


More dreadful far liis ire 


Wild through their red or sable hair 


Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name, 


Look'd out their eyes with savage stare,' 


In eager mood to battle came. 


On Marmion as he pass'd ; 


Their valor like light straw on flame, 


Their legs above the knee were bare ; 


A fierce but fading fire. 


Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare. 




And harden'd to the blast ; 


IV. 


Of taller race, the chiefs they own 


Not so the Borderer : — bred to -war, 


Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's undress'd hide 


He knew the battle's dm afar, 


And jo\''d to hear it swell. 


Their hau-y buskins well supplied ; 


His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 


The graceful bonnet deck'd their head : 


Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please 


Back from their shoulders hung the plaid 


Like the loud slogan yell. 


A broadsword of unwieldy length, 


On active steed, with lance and blade. 


A dagger proved for edge and strength. 


Tlie light-ai-m'd pricker plied his trade, — 


A studded targe they wore. 


Let nobles fight for fame ; 


And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, ! 


Let vassals foUow where they lead. 


Short was the .shaft, and weak the bow, 


Burghers to guard their townships bleed, 


To that which Eugland bore. 


But war's the Borderer's game. 


The Isles-men cjirried at their backs 


Then- gain, their glory, then- delight, 


The ancient Danish battle-axe. 


To sleep the day, marau<l the night. 


They raised a wild ;ind wondering cry. 


O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 


As with his guide rode Marmion by. 


Joyful to fight they took their way. 


Loud were their chimoring tongues, as when 


Scarce caring who might win the day, 


The clanging sea-fowl leaves the fen, 


Their booty was secure. 


And, with their cries discordant mix'd, 


These, as Lord Marmion's train pass'd by. 


Grimibled and yell'd the pipes betwixt. 


Look'd on at first with careless eye, 




Nor marveU'd aught, well taught to 


VL 


know 


Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd, 


The form and force of English bow. 


And reach'd the City gate at last, 


But when they saw the Lord array'd 


Wliere all around, a wakeful guard. 


In splendid arms and rich brocade, 


Arm'd Burghers kept their watch and ward. 


Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 


Well had they cause of jealous fear, 


" Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there ! 


Wlien lay encarap'd, in field so near. 


Canst guess which road they'll homeward 


The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 


ride ?— 


As through the bustling streets they go. 


! could we but on Border side. 


All was aUve with martial show : 


By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide. 


At every turn, with dinnmg clang, 


Beset a prize so fair ! 


The armorer's anvil chish'd and rang : 


That fanglcss Lion, too, tlieir guide. 


Or toU'd the swarthy smith, to wheel 


Might chance to lose liis glistering hide ;' 


The bar that arms the charger's heel ; 


Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied. 


Or axe, or falchion, to the side 


Could make a kirtle rare." 


Of jarring grmdstone was applied. 


MS.—" Hist, Ringan I seest thoo there ! 


rhe fanglesa Lion, too, his enide. 


Canst guess what homeward road they take- 


Might chance to lose his glittering hide.*' 


By Eiise<lale glen, or Yelholm lalte 1 




I could we but by bush or brake 


« MS.—" Wild from their red and swarthy haii 


Beset a prize so fair I 


Look'd through their eyes with savage start 



128 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Page, groom, and squire, with hurraing pace, 


And flinty is her heart, can view 


Through street, ami hine, and market-place, 


To battle march a lover true — 


Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 


Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 


While burghers, with important face, 


Nor own her share of pam. 


Described each new-come lord, 




Discuss'd liis lineage, told his name, 


VIH. 


His following,' and his warlike fame. 


Through tliis mix'd crowd of glee and ga 


Tlie Lion led to lodging meet, 


The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 


Which high o'erlook'd the crowded street ; 


While, revel ent, all made room. 


There must the Baron rest, 


An easy task it was, I trow. 


Till past the hour of vesper tide, 


King James's manly form to know ; 


And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 


Although, his com-tesy to show, 


Such was the King's behest. 


He doff 'd, to Marmion bending low, 


Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 


His broider'd cap and plume. 


A banquet rich, and eo.stly wines, 


For royal was liis garb and mien, 


To Marmion and his train ■' 


His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, 


And when the appointed hour succeeds, 


Trimm'd with the fur of martm wild ; 


The Baron dons his peaceful weeds, 


His vest of changeful satin sheen. 


And following Lindesay as he leads. 


The dazzled eye beguiled ; 


The palace-halls they gain. 


His gorgeous collar hung adown, 




Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown,* 


VIL 


The thistle brave, of old renown: 


Old Holy-Rood rung merrily, 


His trusty blade, Toledo right,' 


That night, with wassell, mirth, and glee : 


Descended from a baldric bright ; 


King James within her princely bower. 


White were his buskins, on the heel 


Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power. 


His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 


Summon'd to .spend the partmg hour ; 


His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 


For he had charged, tliat his array 


Was button'd with a ruby rare : 


Should southward march by break of day. 


And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen 


WeU loved that splendid monarch aye - 


A prince of such a noble mien. 


The banquet and the song. 




By day the tourney, and by night 


IX. 


The merry dance, traced fast and light, 


The Monarch's form was middle size ; 


The maskers quaint, the pageant bright. 


For feat of strength, or exercise, 


The revel loud and long. 


Shaped m proportion fair ; 


Iliis feast outshone his banquets past ; 


And hazel was his e.igle eye. 


It was his blithest — and his last. 


And auburn of the darkest dye 


The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay. 


His short curl'd beard and hair. 


Ca.st on the Court a dancing ray ; 


Light was his footstep in the dance, 


Here to the harp did minstrels smg; 


And firm his stirrup m the lists; 


There ladies touch'd a softer string ; 


And, oh ! he had that merry glance, 


With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest. 


That seldom lady's heart resists. 


llic Ucensed fool retail'd his jest ; 


Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 


His magic tricks the juggler plied ; 


And loved to plead, lament, and sue ; — 


At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 


Suit Hghtly won, and sliort-livcd pain. 


While some, in close recess apart, 


For monarehs seldom sigh in vaia 


Courted the ladies of then- heart. 


I said he joy'd m banquet bower ; 


Nor courted them in v ain ; 


But, 'mid his mirth, 'twas often .strange, 


For often, m the parting hour, 


How suddenly his cheer would change, 


Victorious Love asserts liis power 


His look o'ercast and lower. 


O'er coldness and disdain ; 


If in a sudden tmn, he felt 


J Followinir — Feodal retainers. — This worj, oy the way, 


* MS. — "His trusty blade, Toledo right, 


nas been, since the Author of Marmion used it, and thought it 


Descended from a baldric bright, 


tailed for explanation, completely adopted into English, and 


Anil dangled at his knee : 


especially into Parliamentary parlance. — En. 


White were his buskins ; from their heel 


1 See Appendix, Note 3 P. 


His spurs inlaid J 

His fretted spurs i'''^S°'''='"'^"^' 



M.S.— ' Bearing the badge of Scotland's crown.' 



Were jingling merrily.' 



CANTO y. ' MARMION. 129 


Tlie pressure of his iron belt, 


Her Monarch's risk in battle broil : — 


That bound liis breast in penance pain. 


And in gay Holy-Rood, the while. 


In memory of liis father slain.' 


Dame Heron rises with a smile 


Kven so 'twas strange how, evermore, 


Upon the harp to play. 


Soon as the passing pang was o'er. 


Fau- was her rounded arm, aa o'er 


Forward he rush'd, with double glee, 


The strings her fingers flew ; 


Into the stream of reveb-y : " 


And as she toucb'd and tuned them all, 


Tims, dim-seen object of affright 


Ever her bosom's rise and f:ill 


Startles the courser in bis flight, 


Was plainer given to view ; 


And iialf be halts, half springs aside ; 


For, all for heat, was laid aside 


lUit feels the quickening spur applied. 


Her wimple, and her hood untied.' 


Anil, straining on the tigiiten'd rein, 


And first she pitch'd her voice to sing. 


Scours doubly swift o'er bill and plain. 


Then gl.anced her dark eye on the King, 




And then around the silent ruig; 


X. 


And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say 


O'er James's heart, the courtiers say. 


Her pretty oath, by Tea, and Nay, 


Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway :' 


She could not, would not, durst not plav ' 


To Scotland's Court she came. 


At length, upon the harp, with glee, 


To be a hostage for her lord. 


Mingled with arch simplicity. 


Who Cessford's gallant heart liad gored. 


A soft, yet lively, au* she rung. 


And with the King to make accord, 


W^hile thus the wily lady sung : — 


Had sent his lovely dame. 




Nor to that lady free alone 


XII. 


Did the gay King allegiance own ; 


LocnrjiVAR.' 


For the fair Queen of France 


aaUn jlgcron's Sona. 


Sent liim a turquois ring and glove. 


0, young Locbinvar is come out of the west. 


And charged bim, as her knight and love. 


Through all the wide Border bis steed was the best , 


For her to bre.ak a lance ; 


And save his good broadsword he weapons liad 


And strike three strokes with Scottish br.ind,^ 


none. 


And march three miles on Southron land. 


He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. 


And bid the banners of his band 


So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. 


In English breezes dance. 


There never was knight like the young Lochinviu. 


And thus, for France's Queen he drest 




His manly limbs in mailed vest ; 


He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 


And thus admitted English fair 


He swam the Eske river where ford there was 


His inmost counsels still to share ; 


none; 


And thus, for both, be madly plann'd 


But ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 


The ruin of himself and land '. 


Tlie bride had consented, the gallant came late : 


And yet, the sooth to tell. 


For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 


Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen,* 


Was to wed the fair EUen of brave Locbinvar. 


Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen. 




From Margaret's eye that fell, — 


So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 


His own Queen Margaret, who, in Litbgow's 


Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 


bower. 


all; 


All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour. 


Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on bis sword 




(For the poor craven bridegi'oora said never a word), 


XL 


" come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 


The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile, 


Or to d.ance at om- bridal, young Lord Locliinvar 1 " — 


And weeps the weary day. 




The war against her native soil. 


" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ;— 


' See Appendijc. Note 3 Q. 


And on the righted harp with glee, 


■ Ibid. Note 3 R. » Ibid. Note 3 8. 


Mingled with arch 9im[>licity, 


' MS. — '* Nnr France's daeen, nor England's fair. 


A soft, yet lively, air she rang. 


Were worth one [learl-tlrop. passing rare. 


While thus her voice attendant sang.'* 


From Margaret's eyes that fell." 


The hallad of TiOchinvar is in a %'ery slight degree fonnded 


• The MS. has only— 


on a ballad called " Katharine Janfarie." which may be foQud 


*' For. all for heat, was laid aside 


in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. iii. 


Her wiinptcd hood and gorget's pride : 





130 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v | 


Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 


He whisper'd praises in her ear. 


tide—' 


In loud applause the courtiers vied ; 


And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 


And ladies wink'd, and spoke aside. 


To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 


The witcliiug dame to Marmion threw 


There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 


A glance, where seem'd to reign 


That would gladly be bride to the young Locliin- 


The pride that claims applauses due, 


var." 


And of her royal conquest too, 




A real or feign'd disdain : 


Tlie bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, 


FaniiUar was the look, and told. 


Ho quaff 'd off the wine, and he threw down tlie 


Marmion and she were friends of old. 


cup. 


The King observed then- meeting eyes. 


She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to 


With sometliing hke displeased surprise ; 


sigh. 


For monarchs ill can rivals brook. 


Witli a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 


Even in a word, or smile, or look. 


He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 


Straight took he forth the parclmient broad, 


" Now tread we a measure 1" said young Lochin- 


■Wliich Marmion's high commission show'd : 


var. 


" Our Borders sack'd by many a raid. 




Our peaceful liege-men robb'd," he said : 


So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 


" On day of truce oiu- Warden slalii. 


That never a hall such a galUard did grace ; 


Stout Barton kiU'd, his vassals ta'en — 


Wliile her mother did fret, and lier father did 


Unworthy were we here to reign, 


fume. 


Should these for vengeance cry in vain ; 


And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 


Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, 


Illume ; 


Our herald has to Hemy borne." 


And tlie bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'Twere better 




by far. 


XIV. 


To have match'd our fair cousin with young Loch- 


He paused, and led where Douglas stood. 


invar." 


And with stern eye the pageant view'd : 




I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore. 


One touch to lier hand, and one word in her ear, 


Who coronet of Angus bore, 


When they reach'd the hall-door, and tlie charger 


And, when his blood and heart were hign,' 


stood near ; 


Did the thu-d James in camp defy. 


So Ught to the croupe the fair lady lie swimg, 


And all his minions led to die 


So light to the saddle before her he .sprung ! 


On Lauder's dreary flat : 


" She is won 1 we are gone, over bank, bush, and 


Prmces and favorites long grow tame, 


scaur; 


And trembletl at the homely mime 


They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 


Of Ar<-liib:Ud Bcll-the-Cat ;' 


Lochinvar. 


The same who left the dusky vale 




Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 


There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Neth- 


Its dungeons, aud its towers, 


erby clan ; 


Where Bothwell's turrets brave tlie air, 


Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 


And Bothwell bank is blooming fan-. 


tliey ran : 


To fix liis princely bowers. 


lliere was racing and cha.sing, on Caimobie Lee, 


Though now. in age, he had laid down 


But the lost bride of Netlierby ne'er did they see. 


His armor for th(; peaceful gowti. 


So daring in love, and s<i dauntless in war. 


And for a statf his brand, 


Have ye e'er heard of gallant like yomig Ijochin- 


Yet often would flash forth the fire. 


var? 


That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 




And minion's pride withstand; 


XIIT. 


And ev(;n that day, at comicil board. 


The Monarch o'er the siren hung 


Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, 


And boat the measure as she sung ; 


Aga'mst the war had Angus stood. 


And, pressing closer, and more near. 


And chafed his royal lord,' 


1 See the novel of Redgannllet, for a detailed picture ofsome 


King James's minions led to die. 


of tlie e.^traordinary phenomena of the sprin^-tides in the Sol- 


On Lauder's dreary flat," 


vir Frith. 


3 Bcll-thc-Cal. see Appendi.x, Note 3 T. 


^ MS. — " And when hia hlood and heart were hi^lt. 


iSee Appendi.v, Note3U. 



CANTO V. 



MARMION. 



131 



XV. 

His giant-form, like ruin'd tower, 
TUouf;h I'liU'ii its iiiuscles" brawny vaunt, 
Huge-bonod, ami tall, anil grim, and gaunt, 

Soeni'd o'er tlie gaudy scene to lower : 
His locks and beard ill silver grew ; 
His eyebrows kept tlieir sable hue. 
Near Douglas when the Monarch stood. 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
" Lord Jlarniion, since these letters say 
That iu tile North you needs must stay. 

While slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, 
To say — -Return to Litidisfarne, 

Until my herald come again. — 
Then rest you in TiuitaUon Hold ;' 
Tour host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A cliief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears thcu- motto on his blade,' 
Their blazon o'er his towers display'd ; 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose. 
More than to face his country's foes. 

And, I bethink me, by St. Stephen, 

But e'en this morn to me was given' 
A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A bevy of the miuds of Heaven. 
Under your guard, these liolj' maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades. 
And, while they at Tantallon stay. 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." 
And, with the slaughter'd favorite's name, 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire remorse, and shame. 

XVI. 
In answer naught could Angus speak ; 
His proud heart swell'd welliiigh to break : 
He turn'd aside, and down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the Monarch sudden took, 
Tliat sight his kind heart could not brook : 

" Now, by the Bruce's soul,' 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! 
For sure as doth his spirit live. 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold. 
In speech more free, in war more bold. 
More tender and more true :' 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again." 
And, while the King his hand did strain. 
The old man's tears fell down like rain, 

' See App ndii, Nole 3 V. 
- See Appendix, Note 3 W. 

• MS. — " But yegter morn wa.s hither driven.'* 

• The neit two iinea are not in tiie original MS. 



To seize the moment Marmion tried. 
And whisper'd to the King aside : 
" Oh 1 let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed I 
A cliilil will weep ii bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her sparrow part," 
A stripling for a womiui's heart ; 
But woe awaits a country, when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and high. 
When Douglas wets his manly eye 1" 

XVII. 

Displeased was James, that stranger vieVd 

And tamper'd with his changing mood. 

"Laugh those that can, weep those that may," 

Thus did the fiery Monarch say, 

" Southward I march by break of day ; 

And if within Tantallon strong. 

The good Lord Marmion tarries long. 

Perchance our meeting next may fall 

At Tamworth, in his castle-hall." — 

The haughty Marmion felt the taunt. 

And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt : 

" Much honor'd were my humble home, 

If in its hulls King James should come ; 

But Nottingham has archers good. 

And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ; 

Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. 

On Derby HUls the paths are steep ; 

In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; 

And many a banner will be torn. 

And many a knight to earth be borne, 

And many a sheaf of arrows spent, 

Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent: 

Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may I"— 

The Monarch lightly turn'd away. 

And to his nobles loud did call, — 

" Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a hall 1"' 

Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 

And led Dame Heron gallantly ; 

And minstrels, at the royal order, 

Rung out — " Blue Bonnets o'er the Border." 

xvin. 

Leave we these revels now, to tell 
"What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, 
Wliose galley, as they sail'd again 
To Wliitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, 
Till James should of their fate decide ; 

And soon, by liis command. 
Were gently summon'd to prepare 

6 " O, Dowglas ! Dowgtaal 
Tcndir and trew." 

The Hotilale. 
• MS. — " A maid to Bee her /ore t/cpart." 
' The ancient cry to make room for a dance or pageant 



132 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V. 



To journey under Marmion'a care, 


There on their brows the moon-beam 


As escort honor'd, safe, and fjiir, 


broke. 


Again to English land. 


Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke, 


Tlie Abbess told her chaplet o'er, 


And on the casements play'd. 


Nor knew which saint she should implore ; 


And other Ught was none to see. 


For, when she thought of Constance, sore 


Save torches gliding far. 


She fear'd Lord Mannion's mood. 


Before some chieftain of degree, 


And judge what Clara must have felt 1 


Who left the royal revelry, 


Tlie sword, that hung in Marmion's belt, 


To bowne him for the war. — 


Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 


A solemn scene the Abbess chose ; 


Unwittingly, King James had given. 


A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 


As guard to Wliitby's shades. 




The man most dreaded under Heaven 


XXI. 


By these defenceless maids: 


" 0, holy Palmer 1" she began, — 


Tot what petition could avail. 


" For sure he must be sainted man. 


Or who would listen to the tale 


"Wliose blessed feet have trod the ground 


Of woman, prisoner, and mm. 


Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 


'ilid bustle of a war begun i 


For Ills dear Church's sake, my tale 


They deem'd it Ixipeless to avoid 


Attend, nor deem of light avail, 


The convoy of their dangerous guide. 


Though I must speak of worldly love, — 




How vain to those who wed above ! — 


XIX. 


De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd' 


Their lodging, so the King assign'd. 


Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 


To Maj'mion's, as their guardian, join'd ; 


(Idle it were of \\1iitby's dame. 


And thus it fell, that, passing nigh, 


To say of that same blood I ctmie) ; 


Tlie Palmer caught^ the Abbess' eye, 


And once, when jealous rage was liigh, 


Who warn'd him by a scroll. 


Lord Marmion said despiteously. 


She had a secret to reveal. 


Wilton was traitor in his heart. 


That nuich concern'd the Church's weal, 


And had made league with Martin Swart,* 


Ai>d health of sinner's soul ; 


Wlien he came here on Sinmel's part ; 


And, with deep charge of secrecy. 


And only cowardice did restrain 


She named a place to meet. 


His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 


Within an open balcony, 


And down he threw his glove ; — the thing 


Tliat hung from dizzy pitch, and high. 


Was tried, as wont, before the King; 


Above the stately street : 


Wliere frtinkly did De Wilton own. 


To which, as common to each home, 


That Swart in Gueldres he had known ; 


At night they might in secret come. 


And that between them then there went 




Some scroll of courteous compliment. 


XX. 


For tliis he to his castle sent ; 


At night, in secret, there they came, 


But when his messenger return'd. 


Tlie Palmer and the holy Dame. 


Judge how De Wilton's fury burn'd ! 


Tlie niofiii among the clouds rose high. 


For in his packet there was laid 


And all the city hum was by. 


Letters that claim'd disloyal aid. 


Upon the street, whore late before 


And proved King Henry's cause betray'd. 


Did dill of war and wiirriors roar. 


His fame, thus blighted, in the field 


You might have heard a pebble fall. 


He strove to clear, by spear and shield ; — 


A beetle hum, a cricket sing, 


To clear his fame, in vain he strove. 


A.n owlet flap his boding wing 


For wondrous are His ways above ! 


On Giles's steeple tall. 


Perchance some form was unobserved ; 


Tlie antique buildings, climbing high. 


Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved -.' 


Whose Gotliic frontlets sought the sky, 


Else how could guiltless champion quail, 


Were here wrapt deep in shade ; 


Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 


1 " There are pa5s.iges in which the flatness and ledioD3ness 


ing off. We select it from the Abbess's explanation to De 


if the narrative is retieveil hy no sort of beauty nor elegance of 


Wilton : — ' De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd,' &c. (and 


diction, anil wliicli form an extraordinary contrast with the 


twenty-two following lines)."— Jeffrey. 


more animated and finished portions of the poem. We shall 


2 See Appendix. Note 3 X. 


•wt atUict our reaiiers with more than one specimen of tills fall- 


a Ibid. Note 3 Y. 



«ANTO V. MARMION. 138 


XXIL 


Traced quaint and varying character. 


" His squire, \i iio now De Wilton saw 


Perchance you may a marvel deem, 


Aa recrciint doom'd to suffer law, 


That Mnrmion's paramoiu- 


Repontiuit, own'd in vain, 


(For such vile .thing she was) should scheme 


Tliat, wliile lie had the scrolls in care, 


Her lover's nuptial hour ; 


A stranger maiden, passing fair. 


But o'er him thus she hoped to gain. 


Had drencli'il liini with a buTorage rare : 


As privy to his honor's stain, 


His words no faith could gain. 


Illimitable power; 


With Clare alone he credence won, 


For tliis she secretly retain'd 


WIio, rather than wed Mariniou, 


Each proof that might the plot reveal. 


Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair. 


Instructions with his hand and seal ; 


To give our house her hvings fair 


And thus Saint Hilda deign'd. 


And die a vestal vot'ress there. 


Tlurough simier's perfidy impure. 


The impulse from the earth was given, 


Her house's glory to secure, 


But bent her to the paths of heaven. 


And Clare's immortal weak 


A ))ui-er heart, a lovelier maid. 




Ne'er shelter'd her in \Vliitby's shade, 


XXIV. 


No, not since Saxon Edelfled; 


" 'Twere long, and needless, here to tell. 


Only one trace of earthly strain, 


How to my hand these papers fell ; 


That for her lover's loss 


With me they must not stay. 


She cherishes a sorrow vain. 


Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true 1 


And murmurs at the cross. — 


■Who knows what outrage he might do. 


And then her heritage ; — it goes 


Wliile journeying by the way ? — 


Along the banks of Tame ; 


0, blessed Saint, if e'er agiiin 


Deep fields of grain the reaper mows. 


I venturous leave thy calm domain. 


In meadows rich the heifer lows, 


To travel or by land or mam. 


The falconer and huntsman knows 


Deep penance may I pay ! — 


Its woodlands for the game. 


Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer : 


Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear. 


I give this packet to thy care, 


And I, her humble vot'ress here, 


For thee to stop they will not dare ; 


Should do a deadly sin, 


And ! with cautious speed, 


Her temple spoil'd before mine eyes. 


To Wolsey's hand the papers bring. 


If this false Marmion such a prize 


That he may show them to the kinjj : 


By my consent should win ; 


And, for thy weU-earn'd meed. 


Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn 


Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine 


That Clare shall from our house be torn ; 


A weekly mass shall still be tliuie. 


And grievous cause have I to fear, 


Wliile priests can sing and read. — 


Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 


Wliat .ail'st thou ? — Speak !" — For as he took 




Tlie charge, a strong emotion shook 


XXIII. 


His frame ; and, ere reply. 


" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betray'd 


They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone. 


To evil power, I claim thuie aid. 


Like distant clarion feebly blown. 


By every step that thou hast trod 


That on the breeze did die ; 


To holy shrine and grotto dim, 


And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear. 


By every martyr's tortured hmb. 


" Saint Withold, save us ! — What is here 1 


By angel, saint, and seraphim, 


Look at yon City Cross ! 


And by the Church of God ! 


See on its battled tower appear 


For mark : — When Wilton was betray'd. 


Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear. 


And with his squire forged letters laid, 


And blazon'd banners toss !" — 


She was, alas ! that sinful maid. 




By whom the deed was done, — 


XXV. 


! shame and horror to be said ! — 


Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone,' 


She was a perjured nun ! 


Rose on a turret octagon ; 


No clerk in all the land, like her, 


(But now is r.ozed tliat monument 


» MS.—" Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone. 


On its destroyer's drowsy / u^-^a i 


Rose on a tuiret hexagon : 


Upon its base destroyer's ^ 


(Dust unto dust, lead unto lead, 


The .Minstrel's malLson is said.") 



134 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■WTience royal edict rang, 
And voice of Scotland's law was sent 

In glorious trumpet-clang. 
! be lii8 tomb as lead to lead. 
Upon its duU destroyer's head ! — 
A minstrel's malison' is said.") — 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passuig Nature's liiw, 

Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
Figures that seem'd to rise and die, 
fiibber and sign, advance and fly. 
While naught coniirm'd could ear or eye 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
Heralds and Pursuiviuits prepiire. 
With trumpet sound and blazon fair, 

A summons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud. 
As foncy forms of midnight cloud. 
When flings the moon upon her shroud 

A wavering tinge of flame ; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud. 
From midmost of the spectre crowd, 

This awful summons came:—* 

XXVI. 
" Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 

Wliose names I now shaU call, 
Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ; 
Subjects of him who sent me here, 
At liis tribunal to appear, 

I summon one and all : 
I cite you by each deadly sin. 
That e'er hath soil'd your hearts witliin : 
I cite you by each brutal lust, 
That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 

By wrath, by pride, by fear,* 
By each o'ermastering passion's tone. 
By tlie dark grave, and dying groan ! 
When forty days are pass'd and gone,' 
I cite you, at your Monarch's throne, 

To answer and appear." 
Then thunder'd forth a roll of names : 
Tlie fii'st was thine, unliappy James 1 

Then all thy nobles came ; 
Crawford, Glencahn, Montrose, Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — 
Why should I tell then' separate style ; 

Each cliief of bhth and fame. 
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
Fore-doom'd to Flodden's carnage pile, 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marraion, Lord of Fontenaye, 

\ 7. e. Curse. 

« See Appendix, Note 3 Z. a Ibid. Note 4 A. 

* MS. — " Bv wrath, by fraud, by fear." 



Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; 

De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 

The self-same thundering voice did say. — ' 

But then another spoke : 
" Thy fatal summons I deny, 
And thine infernal Lord defy. 
Appealing me to Him on high. 

Who bm-st the sinner's yoke." 
At that dread accent, with a scream, 
Parted the pageant like a dream, 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the Abbess fell, 
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell ; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell, 

And found her there alone. 
She mark'd not, at the scene aghast. 
What time, or how, the Palmer pass'd. 

xxvn. 

Shift we the scene. — The camp doth move, 

Dim-Edin's streets are empty now. 
Save when, for weal of those they love. 

To praythe prayer, and vow the vow, 
The tottering child, the anxious fair. 
The gray-hair'd she, with pious care, 
To chapels and to shrines rep.iir— 
Where is the Pahner now ? and where 
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare ? — 
Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair 

They journey in thy charge : 
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand. 
The Palmer still was with the band ; 
Angus, Hke Lindesay, did conunand. 

That nmis should roam at large. 
But in that Palmer's alter'd mien 
A wondrous change might now be «een. 

Freely he spoke of war. 
Of marvels wrought by smgle haa^ 
■ftlien lifted for a native land ; 
And still look'd liigh, as if he plann'^ 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed and strok* 
And, tucking up his sable frocke. 
Would first his mettle bold provoke, 

Then sooth or queU his pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 

xxvin. 

Some half-hour's march behind, there cama. 

By Eustace govern'd fair, 
A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 

ft MS. — " Ere twenty days are pass'd and gone, 
Before the mighty Morarch's throne, 
I cite yon to appear." 
« MS. — *' In thundering tone the voice did saj." 



CANTO V. 



MARMION. 



136 



With all her nuns and Clare. 


Comnumding, that, beneath his care, 


No audience had Lord Maruiiou sought ; 


Without delay, you shall repair 


Ever iie fear d to aggravate 


To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare." 


Chu-a de Clare's suspicious hate ; 




And safer 'twas, he thought, 


XXX. 


To wait till, from the nuns removed, 


Tlic startled Abbess loud exclaim'd ; 


The iniluence of kinsmen loved, 


But she, at whom the blow was aim'd, 


And suit by Henry's self approved. 


Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 


Her slow consent had wi'ought. 


She deem'd she heard her death-doom read. 


His was uo flickering flame, that dies 


" Cheer thee, my child !" the Abbess said. 


Tlnless when fami'd by looks and sighs, 


" They dare not tear thee from my hand. 


And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 


To ride alone with armed band." — 


He long'd to stretch his wide command 


" Nay, holy mother, nay," 


O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 


Fitz-Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 


Besides, when Wilton with him vied. 


Win be in Lady Angus' care, 


Although the pang of humbled pride 


In Scotland while we stay ; 


The place of jealousy supplied. 


And, when we move, an easy ride 


Yet conquest by that meanness won 


Will bring us to the English side. 


He almost loath'd to think upon, 


Female attendance to provide 


Led him, at times, to hate the cause. 


Befitting Gloster's heir : 


Wliich made liim burst thi'ough honor's laws. 


Nor thinks nor dreams my noble lord. 


If e'er he lov'd, 'twas her alone, 


By shghtest look, or act, or word. 


Who died witliin that vault of atone. 


To harass Lady Clare. 




Her faithful guardian he will be, 


XXIX. 


Nor sue for slightest courtesy 


And now, when close at hand they saw 


That e'en to stranger falls, 


North BerOTck's town, and lofty Law,' 


TUl he shall place her, safe and free. 


Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while. 


Within her kinsman's halls." 


Before a venerable pile," 


He spoke, and blush'd with earnest grace; 


■Wliose turrets view'd, afar. 


His faith was pamted on his face, 


The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,' 


And Clare's worst fear relieved. 


Tlje ocean's peace or wai*. 


The Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd 


At tolling of a bell, forth came 


On Hem-y, and the Douglas blamed. 


Tlie convent's venerable Dame, 


Entreated, threaten'd, grieved; 


And pray'd Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 


To martyr, saint, and prophet pray'd. 


With lier, a loved and honor'd guest, 


Against Lord Marmion inveigh'd, 


Till Douglas should a bark prepare 


And call'd the Prioress to aid. 


To waft her back to Wliitby fair. 


. To curse with candle, bell, and book. 


Glad was the Abbess, you may guess, 


Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 


And thank'd the Scottish Prioress- 


" The Douglas, and the King," she said, 


And tedious were to tell, I ween. 


" In theu- commands will be obey'd ; 


The courteous speech that pass'd betweea 


Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 


O'erjoy'd the nuns their palfreys leave ; 


The maiden in Tantallon hall." 


But when fivir Clai-a did intend, 




Like them, from horseback to descend, 


XXXL 


Fitz-Eustace said, — " I grieve. 


The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 


Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart, 


Assumed her wonted state again, — 


Such gentle company to part ; — 


For much of state she had, — 


Tliink not discourtesy, 


Composed her veil, and raised her head. 


But lords' commands must he obey'd; 


And — " Bid," m solcnm voice she said. 


And Marmion and the Douglas said. 


" Thy master, bold and bad. 


That you must wend with me. 


The records of his liouse turn o'er, 


Lord Marmion hath a letter broad. 


And, when he .shall there written see. 


■Which to the Scottish Earl he show'd, 


That one of his own ancestry 


' MS. — " North Berwick'B town, and conic Law." 


near North Berwick, of which there are still some remaina. It 




was fonnded by Duncan, Earl of Fife, in 1216. 


■ The convent alloded to is a foundation of Cistertian nons. 


s MS. — " The lofty Bass, the Lamb's green isle " 



136 



SCOTT'S POETICx\.L WORKS. 



CANTO V 



Drove the monks fortli of Coventry," 
Bid him Ms fate explore ! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust, 

His charger hurl'd him to the dust, 

And, by a base plebeian thrust, 
He died his band before. 

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ; 

He is a Chief of high degree, 
And I a poor recluse : 

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 

Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise : 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The mighty in his sin. 

And Jael thus, and Deborah" 

Here hasty Blount broke in : 
" Fitz-Eustsce, we must march our band: 
St. Anton fire thee I wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand. 

To hear the Lady preach ? 
By this good light ! if thus we stay, 
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay. 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, d'on thy cap, and mount thy horse ; 
The Dame must patience take perforce."— 

XXXII. 

" Submit we then to force," said Clare, 
" But let tlxis barbarous lord despab- 

His purposed aim to win ; 
Let liim take living, land, and life ; 
But to be Marmion's wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin : 
And if it be the King's decree. 
That I must fiud no sanctuary. 
In that inviolable dome,'' 
Where even a homicide might come. 

And safely rest his head. 
Though at its open portals stood, 
Tliiratrng to pour forth blood for blood, 

The kinsmen of the dead ; 
Yet one asylum is my own 

Against the dreaded hour ; 
A low, a sUent, and a lone. 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there. — 



1 See AppendLx, Note 4 B. 

"-■ This line, necessary to the rhyme, is now for the first time 
restored from the MS. It must have been omitted by an over- 
si^'ht in the original printing. — Ed. 

3 For the origin of Marmion's visit to Tantallon Castle, in 
the Poem, see Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 17. 

^ " Daring the regency (subsequent to the death of James 
V.> the Dowager Q.ueen Regent, Mary of Guise, became desi- 
rotis of putting a French garrison into Tantallon, as she had 
into Dunbar and Inchlteith, in order the betler to bridle the 
lords and barons, who inclined to the reformed faith, and to 
secure by citadels the sea-coast of the Frith of Forth. For 
this purpose, the Regent, to use the phrase of the time, ' dealed 



Mother, your blessmg, and in prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare !" 
Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a one : 
Weeping and wading loud arose, 
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 

Of every simple nun. 
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. 
And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide. 

Then took the squire her rein. 
And gently led away her steed. 
And, by each courteous word and deed. 

To cheer her strove in vain. 

xxxin. 

But scant three miles the band had rode, 

When o'er a height they pass'd. 
And, sudden, close before them show'd 

His towers, Tantallon vast ;' 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far, 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose. 
And round three sides the ocean flows, 
The fourth did battled walls enclose, 

And double mound and fosse.* 
By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong. 
Through studded gates, an entrance long. 

To the main court they cross. 
It was a wide and stately square : 
Around were lodgmgs, fit and fair, 

And towers of various form. 
Which on the court projected far. 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keep, there turret high. 
Or pinnacle that sought the sky, 
Wlience oft the Warder could descry 

The gatheruig ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 
Here did they rest. — The princely care 
Of Douglas, why should I declare. 
Or say they met reception fan' ? 

Or wliy the tidings say. 
Which, varying, to Tantallon came, 
Bj' hurrying posts or fleeter fame. 

With ever-varying day S 

witli' the (then) Earl of Angus for his consent to the propu^-* 
measure. He occu|)ied himself, while she was speakin;;. ii> 
feeding a falcon which sat upon his wrist, and only replied hj 
addressing the bird, but leaving the Qneen to make the ajipli 
cation, ' The devil is in this greedy gled — she will ne\ .r be 
fou.' But when the liueen. wilhoul appearing to notice thii 
hint, continued to jtress her obno.\ions request, Angus re|i!ied, 
in the true spirit of a feudal tioble. ' Yes, Madam, the caslle is 
vout^: God forbid else. But by the might Oi God. Madam !' 
such was his usual oath, ' I must be your Captain and Keeper 
for you, and I will keep it as well as any you can place 
there.'" — Sir Walter Scott's Miscettaneous Frost 
Works, vol. vii. p. 436. 



OANTO VI. MARMION. 137 


Aiul. iirst tliej- lieavd King James hail wiui 


Even, heathi^n yet, the savage Dane 


Etall, and Wark, and Ford ; and then, 


At lol more deep the mead did drain;' 


That Xorham Castle strong was ta'en. 


High on the beach his galleys drew. 


At tliat sore marvell'd Marmion ; 


And feasted all liis pirate crew, 


And Douglas hoped his Monardi's hand 


Tiictt in his low and pine-built hall, 


\\^}uld soon subdue Northumberland : 


Whca-e sliields and axes deck'd the wall ; 


But whisper'd news there came, 


They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer ; 


'I'liat, while his host inactive lay, 


Carotised in seas of sable beer; 


And melted by degrees away, 


While rinmd, in brutal jest, were thrown 


icing James was dallying off the day 


The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone ; 


With Heron's wily dame. 


Or listen'd all, in grim delight, 


Such acts to Clironicles I yield ; 


While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight. 


Go seek them there, and see ; 


Tlien forth, in phren.sy, would they liie, 


Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 


Wliile wildly-loose their red locks fly, 


And not a liistory. — 


And dancing round the blazing pile. 


At length they heard the Scottish host 


They make such barbarous mirth the while. 


1 In that liigh ridge had made their post, 


As best might to the mind recall 


Wliich frowns o'er llillfield Plam ; 


The boisterous joys of Odin's haU 


And that brave Surrey many a band 




Had gather'd in the Southern land, 


And well our Christian sires of old 


And march'd into Northumberland, 


Loved when the year its course had roU'd, 


And camp at Wooler ta'en. 


And brought blithe Clu-istmas back agaio. 


Marmiun, like cii.irger in the stall, 


With all his hospitable train. 


That hears, without, the trumpet-caU, 


Domestic and religious rite 


Began to chafe, and swear : — 


Gave honor to the holy night ; 


" A sorry thing to hide my head 


On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 


In castle, like a fearful maid, 


On Christmas eve the mass was sung : 


When such a field is near ! 


That only night in all the year. 


Needs must I see this battle-day : 


Saw the stoled priest the chaUce rear.' 


Death to my fame if such a fray 


The damsel donn'd her kit tie sheen ; 


Were fought, and Marmion away ! 


The hall was dress'd with holy green ; 


The Douglas, too, I wot not why. 


Forth to the wood did merry-men go. 


Hath bated of his courtesy : 


To gather in the mi.sletoe. 


No longer in his halls I'll stay." 


Then open'd wide the Baron's hall 


Then bade his band they should array 


To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; 


For march against the dawning dav. 


Power laid his rod of rule aside. 




And Ceremony doff'd his pride. 




Tlie heir, with roses in his shoes, 






Tliat night might village partner clioose ; 


m a r mi n . 


The Lord, underogating, share 

Tlie vidgar game of " post and pair." 




AU hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight, 
Anil general voice, the happy night, 
That to the cottage, as the crown, 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 


INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 




TO 

RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. 


Tlie fire, with well-dried logs supplied. 


Mcrtoun-Housc,^ Christmas. 


Went roaruig up the chimney wide ; 
Tlie huge hall-table's oaken face, 


Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; 


Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace 


Hut let it whistle as it wiU, 


Bore then upon its massive board 


We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 


No mark to part the squire and lord. 


Kach age has deem'd the new-bom year 


Tlien was brought in the lusty brawn, 


The fittest time for festal cheer: 


By old blue-coated serving man ; 


" Mertoun-Honse, the seat of Hugh Scott. Esq., of Harden, 


' See Appendix. Note 4 C. 


t bp.iutifuUy situated on the Tweed, about two miles below 




Orvbur^h Abbey. 
18 


' Ibid. Note 4 D 



138 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO TI. 



Tlien the grim boar's head frown'd on higli, 

Crested with bays and rosemary. 

Well can the green garb'd ranger tell, 

How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 

What dogs before his death he tore, 

And all the baiting of the bo.ar.' 

Tile wassel round, in good brown bowls, 

Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. 

Tliero the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by 

Plum-porridge stood, and Chri.stmas pie ; 

Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce, 

At such liigh tide, her savory goose. 

Then came the merry maskers in. 

And carols roar'd, with blithesome din ; 

If unnielodious was the song. 

It was a hearty note, and strong. 

Wlio lists may in their mumming see 

Tr.aces of ancient mystery ;' 

White sluj-ts supplied the masquerade. 

And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 

But, ! what maskers, richly dight, 

Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 

England was merry England, when 

Old Clu-istmas brought his sports again. 

'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale ; 

'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 

The poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger, in our northern chme, 
Some remnants of the good old time ; 
And still, witlun our valleys here, 
We hold the kindred title dear. 
Even when, peichance, its far-fetch'd claim 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 
For course of blood, our proverbs deem. 
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.' 
And thus, my C!u-i.stmas still I hold 
Where my grsat-grandsire came of old, 
Willi amber beard, and flaxen hair,* 
And reverend apostolic air — 
The feast and li<ily-tiile to share. 
And mix sobriety with wine. 
And honest mirth with thoughts divine: 
Small thought was his, in after time 

1 MS. — " And all tlie liuntinj; of the boar. 

Then round the nu-rry w.issel-bowl, 
Garnish'd witti rihhons. hhihe<nd tiowl, 
And the large sirluin sleain'd on high, 
Plum-porridge, hare, and savory pie." 

a See Appendix, Note 4 E. 

3 " Blood is warmer than water," — a proverb meant to vin- 
dicate our family predilections. 

* See Appendi.x, Note 4 F. 

5 MS. — " In tliese fair halls, with merry cheer, 
Is bill larewell the dying year." 

• '* A lady of noble German descent, bom Countess Harriet 
BruliI of Marliuskirchen, married to H. S.ott, Esi]. of Harden 
IPOir liOnl Polwartlij. tiie author's relative and much-valued 



E'er to be hitch'd into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast, 
That he was loyal to his cost ; 
The banish'd race of kings revered. 
And lost his land, — but kept liis beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind* 
Is with fair hberty combined ; 
Where cordial fiieiuisliip gives the hand. 
And flies constraint the magic Avand 
Of the fiiir dame that rules the land." 
Little we heed the tempest drear. 
While music, mirth, and social cheer. 
Speed on their wings the passing year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns again, 
As loath to leave the sweet domain. 
And holds his mirror to her face. 
And chps her with a close embrace ; — 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome. 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just that, at this time of glee, 
My thoughts should, Hebcr, turn to thee '. 
For many a merry hour we've Inown, 
And heard the chunes of midniglt's tone 
Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease. 
And leave these classic tomes in peace 1 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore. 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, 
" Were pretty fellows in their day •,'" 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
Of wonder and of war — " Profane ! 
Wliat ! leave the I ifty Latinn strain, 
Her stately prose, her versn's charn\s, 
To hear the clash of rnsty xrnis : 
In Fairy Land or Limbo lo it, 
To jostle conjurer and gho' t, 
GobUn and witch !" — Nay Hcber dear, 
Before you touch my cha' ',er, hear : 
Though Leyden aids, ala.* ' 'lo more. 
My cause with niany-lanj,'iigcd lore," 

friend almost from infancy." — t'^ricr JMinstrelsy, \o\. ij. 
p. 59. 
' The M.S. adds : — " As boasts ol.^ Shallow to Sir John." 
I 8 " Hannibal wa-s a pretty fellow, s.t — .> ve.-y prtitty fellow 
i in his day." — Old B'-ekelor. 
j 9 M.S. — " With all his many-language-i lo-e.' 
' John Leydp- M. D , who had been of great s^^'ice to Sii 
Walter Scott ia the ,ireparaTion of the bjrde.- Mi.istrelsy, 
' sailed for India in April. 181)3, and died at Ja 'a it. August 
1811. before complttiiig hi* :^nt!i year. 

" Scenes vnug by liiin who sings no more ! 
Hie bnef and bright career is o'er. 

Anil mute his Innetui str;iins ; 
Qiie-icli'd is his lamu of viried lore. 



CANTO VI. MARMION. 139 

. ^ ) 


This may I say : — ill realms of death 


Since 'twixt them first the strife begtin. 


Ulysses meets Alcidcs' wraith; 


And neither yet has lost nor won. 


J3neas, upon Tliracia's slicire, 


And oft the Conjurer's words will make 


Tlie gliost uf iimrilor'd Polydore ; 


The stubborn Demon groan and quake ; 


For omens, wo in Livy cross, 


And oft the bands of iron break. 


At every turn, locutun Bos. 


Or bursts one lock, tliat still amain. 


As grave anil duly speaks that ox, 


Fast as 'tis opeii'd, shuts again. 


As if he told the price uf stocks ; 


That magic strife witliin the tomb. 


Or held, in Rome republican, 


May last until the day of doom. 


The place of common-councilman. 


Unless the adept shall learn to tell 




Tlie very word that clench'd the spell. 


All nations have tlicir omens drear. 


When Franch'mont lock'd the treasure cell. 


Tlieir legends wild of woe and fear. 


An Imndrcd years are pass'd and gone. 


To Cambria look — the peasant see. 


And scarce three letters has he won. 


Bctliiuk Iiim of Glenduwerdy, 




And shun " the spirit's Blasted Tree."' 


Such general superstition may 


The Highlander, whose red claymore 


Excuse for old Pitscottie say ; 


The battle turn'd on Maida's shore. 


Whose gossip history has given 


Will, on a Friday morn, look pale. 


My song the messenger from Heaven,' 


If ask'd to tell a fairy talc :' 


That -warn'd, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 


He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 


Nor less the infernal sunmioning -^ 


Who leaves that day his grassy ring : 


May pass the Monk of Durham's tale. 


Invisible to liuman ken, 


Whose demon fought in Gotliic mail ; 


He walks among the sons of men. 


May pardon plead for Fordun grave. 




Who told of Gifford's GobUn-Cave. 


Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along' 


But why such instances to you. 


Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 


Who, in an instant, can renew 


Wliich, like an eagle's nest in air. 


Your treasured ho.ards of various lore. 


Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair?* 


And fiu'nish twenty thousand more ? 


Deep in their vaults, the peasants say. 


Hoards, not like theu-s whose volumes 


A mighty treasure buried lay. 


rest 


Amass'd through rapine and through wrong 


Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest, 


By the I'lst Lord of Franchimont.' 


WliUe gripple owners stiU refuse 


The iron chest is bolted han!, 


To others what they cannot use ; 


A huntsman sits, its constant guard ; 


Give them the priest's whole century, 


Arouud liis neck his horn is hung, 


They shall not spell you letters three ; 


His hanger in his belt is slung ; 


Their pleasure in the books the same 


Before his feet his bhiod-hnunds he : 


The magpie takes in pilfer'd gem. 


An 'twere not fur his gloomy eye, 


Thy volumes, open as thy heart. 


■\Vliose withering glance no heart can brook, 


Delight, amusement, science, art, 


As true a huntsman doth he look, 


To every ear and eye impart ; 


As bugle e'er in brake did sound. 


Yet who of all who thus employ them. 


Or ever halloo'd to a homid. 


Can like the owner's self enjoy them ? — 


To chase the ficn 1. and win the prize. 


But, hark ! I hear the distant drum ! 


In tliat same dun'^enn ever tries 


The d.ay of Floddcn Field is come. — 


An siged necromantic priest; 


Adieu, detir Heber 1 hfe and health. 


It is an hundred years at least, 


And store of literary wealth. 


That lovpd the light of sonj to ponr; 


3 This paraf;niph appears interpolated on the blank pc^ of 


A (iistunt am) a ileadly shore 


the MS. 


Has Levdkn's cohl rpmaina!" 


* MS. — '* Which, high in air, like eagle's nest, 


J,or<l of the Is/es. Canto IV. post. 


Hang from the dizzy toounUin*s breast." 


See a notice of his life in the Antlior's MisceLIaneons Prose 


J See Appenilix, Note 4 I. 


Works. 


« Ibid. Note 3 B. 


> See Appendix. Note 4 G. 


' Ibid. Note 4 A. The foor linei which follow kW not In 


> Ibiil. Note 4 H. 


theM3. 



140 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi. 




Bulwark, and baiiizan, and line, 


M a r 111 i n . 


And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign; 




Above the booming ocean leant 




Tlie far-projecting battlement ; 




CANTO SIXTH. 


The billows bm'st, in ceaseless flow. 




Upon the precipice below. 


Siie 33attle. 


Where'er Tantallon faced the land, 




Gate-works, and waUs, wore strongly mami'd ; 


L 


No need upon the sea-girt side ; 


While great events were on the gale, 


Tlie steepy rock, and frantic tide, 


Ajid eacli hour brought a varying tale. 


Approach of human step denied ; 


And the demeanor, changed and cold. 


And thus these lines and ramparts rude, 


Of Douglas, fretted Marmiou bold. 


Were left m deepest soHtude. 


And, like tlie impatient steed of war. 




He snuff'd the battle from afar ; 


HI. 


And hopes were none, that back again. 


And, for they were so lonely, Clare 


Herald should come from Terouemie, 


Would to these battlements repair, 


Where England's King in leaguer lay, 


And muse upon her sorrows there, 


Before decisive battle-day ; 


And list the se.a-bird's cry ; 


Wliilst these things were, the mournful Clare 


Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide 


Did in the Dame's devotions share : 


Along the dark-gray bulwark's side, 


For the good Countess ceaseless pray'd 


And ever on the heaving tide 


i T. ) Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid. 


Look down with weary eye. 


And, with short interval, did pass 


Oft did the cliff and sweUing main. 


From prayer to bor:k, from book to mass, 


Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — 


And all in high Baronial pride, — 


A home she ne'er might see again ; 


A Ufe both dull and dignified ; 


For she had laid adown, 


Yet as Lord Marmion nothing press'd 


So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 


Upon her intervals of rest. 


And frontlet of the cloister pale. 


Dejected Clara well could bear 


And Benedictine gown : 


The formal state, the lengthen'd prayer. 


It were unseemly sight, he said, 


Though dearest to her wounded heart 


A novice out of convent shade. — • 


Tlie hours that she might spend apart. 


Now her bright locks, with sumiy glow, 




Again adorn'd her brow of snow ; 


II. 


Her mantle rich, whose borders, round, 


I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 


A deep and fretted broidery bound. 


Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 


In golden foldings sought the ground ; 


Many a rude tower and rampart there 


Of holy ornament, alone 


Repell'd the msult of the air. 


Reniain'd a cross with ruby stone ; 


Which, when the tempest vex'd the .sky, 


And often did she look 


Half breeze, half spray, came whisthng by. 


On that which in her hand she bore. 


Above the rest, a turret square 


With velvet bound, and broider'd o'er. 


Did o'er its Gotliic entrance bear. 


Her breviary book. 


Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; 


In such a place, so lone, so grim. 


'I'ho Bloody Heart was hi the Field, 


At dawning pale, or twilight dim, 


And m the cliief three nmllets stood, 


It fearful would have been 


Tlie cognizance of Douglas blood. 


To meet a form so ricldy dress'd,'* 


'riie tiu'ret held a narrow stair,* 


With book m hand, and cross on breast, 


Which, mounted, gave you access where 


And such a woeful mien. 


A parapet's embattled row 


Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, 


Did jseaw-ord round the castle go. 


To practice on the gull and crow. 


Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, 


Saw her, at distance, gliduig slow, 


Sometimes m narrow circuit bending. 


And did by Mary swear, — 


Sometimes in platform broad extending, 


Some love-lorn Fay she might have beea 


Its varying cucle did combine 


Or, in Romance, some spell-bound Queen 


» Ms.—" The luwer contain'il a narrow stair. 


« MS. — " To meet a form bo fair, and dress'd 


And gave an open access where." 


In antique robes, witii cross on breafiL*' 



CANTO VI. MARMION. 141 


For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 


It might have seem'd his passing ghost, 


A form so witcliing fair.' 


For every youthful grace was lost , 




And joy vmwonted, and siu^jrise, 


IV. 


Gave their strange wddness to his eyes. — 


Once walkiiii,' thus, at evening tide, 


Expect not, noble dames and lords. 


It chanced a ttlidini; sail she spied, 


Tliat I can tell such scene in words: 


And, sighinjj, thought — " The Abbess, there. 


Wliat skilful linmer e'er would choose 


Perchance, docs to her home repair ; 


To paint the rainbow's varying hues. 


Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free. 


Unless to mortal it were given 


Walks hand in hand with Charity ; 


To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ? 


Wliere oft Devotion's tranced glow 


Far less can my weak line declare 


Can such a glinijise of heaven bestow. 


Each c)i;mging passion's shade ; 


That the enraptured sisters see 


Brightening to rapture from despair. 


High vision and deep mystery ; 


Sorrow, surprise, and pity there, 


The very form of Hilda fair, 


And joy, with her angelic an-. 


Hovering upon the sunny air, 


And hope, that paints the future ftiir. 


And smiling on her votaries' prayer.' 


Their varying hues display'd : 


! wherefore, to my duller eye, 


Each o'er its rival's ground extentUng, 


Did stiU the Saint her form deny ! 


Alternate conquering, sliifting, blending, 


Was it, that, sesu-'d by smful scorn. 


Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield. 


My heart could neither melt nor burn ? 


And mighty Love retains the field. 


Or lie my warm affections low. 


Shortly I tell what then he said. 


With him that taught them first to glow ? 


By many a tender word delay'd,' 


Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew, 


And modest blush, and biu-sting sigh. 


To pay thy kindness grateful due. 


And question kind, and fond reply : — 


And well could brook the mild command, 


VI. 


That ruled thy simple maiden band. 


How different now ! condemn'd to bide 


3Be aifflJflton's jefstotj!.' 


My doom from this dark tyrant's pride. — ■ 


" Forget we that disastrous day, 


But Marminn has to learn, ere long, 


When senseless in the lists I lay. 


That constant mind, and hate of wrong. 


Thence dragg'd, — but how I cannot know, 


Descended to a feeble girl. 


For sense and recollection fled, — 


From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl : 


I found me on a pallet low. 


Of such a stem, a sapling weak,^ 


Witliin my ancient beadsman's shed.' 


He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 


Austin, — rcmember'st thou, my Clare, ' 




How thou didst blush, when the old man, 


V. 


When first our infant love began, 


" But see ! — what makes tliis armor here ?" — 


Said we would make a matchless pair ? 


For in her path there lay 


Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 


Targe, corslet, helm ; — she view'd them ne.ar. — ■ 


From the degraded traitor's bed, — ' 


" Tlie breast-plate pierced ! — Ay, much I fear. 


He only held my burning head. 


Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman'.s spear. 


And tended me for many a day. 


Tliat hath made fatal entrance here. 


While woimds and fever held their sw.ay. 


As these dark blood-gouts say. — 


But far more needful was his care. 


Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corslet's ward. 


When sense return'd to wake despair ; 


Not truth, as diamond pure and hard, 


For I did tear the closing wound. 


Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 


And dash me frantic on the ground. 


On yon disastrous day !" — 


If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 


She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 


At length to cahner reason brought. 


Wilton himself before her stood ! 


Much by his kiud attendance wrought, 


1 Ms. — '* A form so sad and fair." 


charged with coloring ; and yet the painter is so fatigued with 


' See Appendix, Note 4 K. 


bis exertion, tbal lie has finally thrown away the brLsh, and 


' Ma.—" Of sucfi a stem, or branch, | "'°^^'' ( weak, 


is contented with merely chatUinir out the intervening adven- 


tures of De Wilton, without bestowing on them any colors at 


He ne'er stiall bend me, thougli be brealc." 


all." — Critical Review. 


* MS. — " By many a abort caress delay'd." 


MS.—" Where an old beadsman held my bead." 


* " Wlien the surprise at meeting a lover rescued from the 


' MS.—" The banisb'd traitor's \ ''"™'''* \ bed 


dead is considered, the aV jrj "icture will not be thought over- 


1 lowly S 



142 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi. 


With liim I left my native strand. 


And, passing from a postern door, 


And, in a palmer's weeds array'd, 


We met, and 'counter'd hand to hand, — 


My liated name and form to shade, 


He fell on Gilford moor. 


I jom-ney'd many a land ; 


For the death-stroke my brand I ch-ew 


No more a lord of rank and birth, 


(0 then my hehned head he knew, 


But mingled witli the dregs of earth. 


The Palmer's cowl was gone). 


Oft Austin fur my reason fear'd, 


Then had three inches of my blade 


When I would sit, and deeply brood 


The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 


On dark revenge, and deeds of blood. 


My hand the thought of Austm staid ;' 


Or wild mad schemes uprear'd. 


I left hun there alone. — 


My fi'iend at length fell sick, and said, 


good old man ! even from tlie grave 


God would remove him soon : 


Thy spirit could thy master save : 


And, while upon his dying bed, 


If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 


He begg'd of me a boon — 


Had Whitby's Abbess, m her fear. 


If e'er my deadliest enemy 


Given to my hand tliis packet dear. 


Beneath my brand should conquer'd lie. 


Of power to clear my injured fame. 


Even then my mercy should awake, 


And vmdicate De Wilton's name. — 


And spare his hfe for Austm's sake. 


Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 




Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 


VII. 


That broke our secret speech — 


" Still restless as a second Cain, 


It rose from the infernal shade. 


To Scotland next my route was ta'en : 


Or featly was some juggle play'd, 


Full well the paths I knew. 


A tale of peace to teach. 


Fame of ray fate made various sound, 


Appeal to Heaven I judged was best, 


That death in pilgrimage I found. 


When my name came among the rest. 


That I had perish'd of my wound, — 




None cared which tale was true : 


IX. 


And hving eye could never guess 


" Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 


De Wilton in his Palmer's dress ; 


To Douglas late my tale I told, 


For now that sable slough is shed. 


To whom my house was known of old. 


And trmim'd my shaggy beard and head, 


Won by my proofs, his iiilcliion bright 


I scarcely know me in the glass. 


This eve anew shall dub me knight. 


A chance most wondrous did provide, 


These were the arms that once did turn 


That I should be that Baron's guide — 


The tide of fight on Otterburne, 


I will not name his name ! — 


And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, 


Vengeance to God alone belongs ; 


When the Dead Douglas won the field." 


But, when I think on aU my wrongs. 


These Angus gave — his armorer's care, 


My blood is hquid flame ! 


Ere morn shall every breach repair ; 


And ne'er the time shall I forget, 


For naught, he said, was m liis halls, 


Wlien, in a Scottish hostel set. 


But ancient armor on the walls. 


Dark looks we did exchange : 


And aged chargers in the stalls. 


What were liis thoughts I caimot tell ; 


And women, priests, and gray-hair'd men; 


But in my bosom muster'd HeU 


The rest were all in Twisel glen.' 


Its plans of dark revenge. 


And now I watch my armor here. 




By law of arms, till midnight's near ; 


VIII. 


Then, once again a belted knight. 


" A word of vulgar augury. 


Seek Surrey's camp witli dawn of hght. 


That broke fi-om me, I scarce knew whv. 




Brought on a village tale ; 


X. 


■Wliich wrought upon liis moody sprite. 


" There soon again we meet, my Clare 1 


And sent him armed forth by night. 


This Baron means to guide thee there : 


I borrow'd steed and mail. 


Douglas reveres his King's command. 


And weapons, from liis sleeping band ; 


Else would he take thee from his band. 


MS. — " But thought of Austin staid my liand, 


a See the ballad of Otterbourne, in the Border Minstrelsy, 


And in the she.ith I plunged tlie Ijrand, 


vol. i. p. 345. 


I left liim there alone. — 


3 VVhere James encamped before taking post on Flodden. 


good old man ! even from the grave, 


The MS. has— 


Thy spirit could De Wilton save." 


'* The rest were all on Flodden plaiu." 



OANTo VI. MARMION. 143 


Anil tliere thy kinsman, Surrey, too, 


He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 


Will j^ive De Wilton justice dun. 


And lean'd his large and wrinkled band 


Now nieeter far for uiartijU broil, 


Upon the huge and sweeping brand 


Fii-nier my limbs, and strung by toil. 


■Which wont of yore in battle fray, 


Onco more" — " Wilton 1 must we then 


His foeman's limbs to shred away. 


Risk new-found happiness again. 


As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.' 


Trust fate of arms once more ? 


He seem'd as, from the tombs arotmd 


And is there not an humble glen. 


Rising at judgment-day. 


Where we, content and poor. 


Some giant Douglas may be found 


Slight build a cottage in the shade, 


In all Ms old array ; 


A slu'phenl thon, and I to aid 


So pale his livce, so huge his limb, 


Thy task on dale and moor ? — 


So old his arms, liis look so grim. 


That reddening brow ! — too well I know. 




Not even thy Clare can peace bestow. 


XII. 


Wliile falsehood stains thy name : 


Tlien at the alt.ar Wilton kneels. 


Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go 1 


And Clare the spurs bound on his heels ; 


Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 


And think what ne.\t he must have felt, 


And weep a warrior's shame ; 


At buckling of the falcliion belt I 


Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, 


And judge how Clara changed her hue, 


Buckle the spurs upon thy heel, 


While fastening to her lover's side 


And bolt thee with thy brand of steel, 


A friend, which, though m danger tried. 


And send thee forth to fame 1" 


He once had found untrue ! 




Then Douglas struck liim with his blade : 


XI. 


" Saint Michael and Saint Andi-ew aid, 


That night, upon the rocks and bay. 


I dub thee knight. 


The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay, 


Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir ! 


And pour'd its silver hght, and pure. 


For Iving, for Church, for Lady fair, 


Through loop-hole, and through embrasure. 


See that thou fight."— < 


Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 


And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 


But cliief where arched windows wide 


Said — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy woes, 


Illuminate the chapel's pride, 


Disgrace, and trouble ; 


The sober glances fall. 


For He, who honor best bestows, 


Much was there need ; though seam'd with scars. 


May give thee double." — 


Two veterans of the Douglas' wars. 


De Wilton sobb'd, for sob he must — 


Though two gray priests were there. 


" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 


And each a blazing torch held high. 


That Doughts is my brother !" — 


You could not by their blaze descry' 


"Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so; 


The chapel's carving fair. 


To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 


Amid that dim and smoky light. 


Thy wrongs no longer smother. 


Checkering the silver moonshine bright. 


I have two sons in yonder field ; 


A bishop by the altar stood,^ 


And, if thou meet'st them tmder shield. 


A noble lord of Douglas blood. 


Upon them bravely — do thy worst ; 


With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. 


And foul fall him that blenches first !" 


Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye 




But little pride of prelacy ; 


XIII. 


More pleased that, in a barbarous age. 


Not far advanced was morning day, 


He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page. 


When Marniion did his troop array 


Than that beneath his rule he held 


To Surrey's camp to ride ; 


The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 


He had safe conduct for his band, 


Beside him ancient Angus stood, 


Beneath the royal seal and hand. 


Doff'd his furr'd gown, and sable hood : 


And Douglas gave a guide : 


O'er his huge form and visage pale. 


The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 


1 MS. — " Yon might not by their shine descry." 


s See Appendix, Note 4 L. 


3 The well-known Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dnnkeld. son 




uf Archibald Bcll-the-Cat, Earl of Angus. He was author of 


* "The following (five lines) are a sort of mongrel between 


a Scottislj (nelricai version of the jEneid, and of many other 


tJie school of Sternhoki and Hopkins, and the kter one of Mr 


poetical pieces of great merit. He had not at this period at- 


Wordsworth."— Jeffrey. 


tained the mitre. 





144 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



fAMO VI 



Would Clara on lier palfrey place, 

And whisper'd in an under tone, 

" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." — 

The train from out tlie castle drew," 

But Mormiou stopp'd to bid adieu : — 

" Though something I might plain," he said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
Sent hither by your King's behest. 

While n Tantallon's towers I staid ; 
Part we in friendsliip from your land. 
And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
" My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
Be open, at my Sovereign's will. 
To each one whom he hsts, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.^ 
My castles are my King's alone. 
From turret to foundation stone — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Jlarmiou clasp." — 

XIV. 
Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook liis very firame for ire. 

And — " This to me !" he said, — 
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard. 
Such h;md as Marmion's had not sp,ared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He, who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state. 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: 
And, Douglas, more I teU thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride. 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near 
(Nay, never look upon your lord. 
And lay youor hands upon your sword), 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, far or near 

Lord Angus, tliou hast lied !" — ' 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame tlie ashen luie of age : 
Fierce he broke forth, — " And dar'st thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall t 
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ? 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what. Warder, ho I 

Let the portcullis fall." — ' 

I MS. — " The train the portal arch pass'd through." 
» MS. — " Unmeet they be to harbor here." 
3 MS.—" False Douglas, thou hast lied." 
* See Appendix. Note 4 M. 



Lord Marmion turn'd — well was his need. 
And dash'd the rowels in liis steed. 
Like arrow througli the archway sprung, 
Tlie ponderous grate behind hmi rung : 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
Tlie bars, descending, razed his plmne. 

XV. 
The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
Nor lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth hike's level brim : 
And when Lord Marmion reach'd liis band. 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand. 
And shout of loud defiance pours. 
And shook his gamitlet at the towers. 
" Horse ! horse 1" the Douglas cried, " and 

chase 1" 
But soon he rein'd his fury's pace : 
" A royal messenger he came. 
Though most unworthy of the name, — 
A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed 1 
Did ever knight so foul a deed !' 
At first in heart it liked rae ill. 
When the Kuig praised his clerkly skUL 
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,' 
Save Gawaiu, ne'er could pen a line : 
So swore I, and I swear it stUl, 
Let my boy -bishop fret his fill. — 
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay liim where he stood. 
'Tis pity of him too," he cried : 
" Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, 
I warrant him a warrior tried." 
With this his mandate he recalls, 
And slowly seeks his castle halls. 

XVL 
The day in Marmion's journey wore ; 
Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er. 
They cross'd the heights of Stanrig-moor. 
His troop more closely there he scaim'd. 
And miss'd the Palmer from the band. — 
" Pahner or not," young Blount did s.iy, 
" He parted at the peep of day ; 
Good sooth, it was in strange array." — 
" In wh.at array ?" said Marmion, quick. 
" My Lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
But all night long, with clink and bang. 
Close to my couch did hammers cl.ang ; 
At dawn the foiling diiiwbridge rang. 
And from a loop-hole wliile I peep, 

5 See Appendix. Note -1 N. 

6 MS. — " Thanivs to Saint Botlian, son of mlue 

Could never pen a written line, 
So swear I, and I swear it still. 
Let brother (iaM'ain fret his fill *' 



CANTO VI. MARMION. 145 


Old Bell-thc-Ciit came from tlie Keep, 


XVIIL 


Wrapp'il ill a go\Ta of sables fair, 


Stung with these thotights, he urged to speed 


A9 fearful of the morning air ; 


His troop, and reach'd, at eve, the Tweed, 


Beneath, when that was blown aside, 


Wliere Liiiinel'-s convent' closed their march ; 


A rusty shirt of mail I spied. 


(There now is left but one frail arch, 


By Areliibald won in bloody work. 


Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 


Against the Saracen and Turk : 


Our time a fair exchange has made ; 


Last night it hung not in the hall ; 


Hard by, in hospitable shade. 


I thought some marvel would befall. 


A reverenil pilgrim dwells. 


And next I saw them saddled lead 


Well worth the whole Bernardme brood. 


Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ; 


That e'er wore samlal, frock, or hood.) 


A matchless horse, though something old. 


Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 


Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 


Give Marmion entertainment fair, 


I heard the Sheriff Sholto say. 


And lodging for his train and Clarc.^ 


The Earl did much the Master' pray 


Next morn the Baron chrab'd the toww-. 


To use liim on the battle-day ; 


To view afar the Scottish power. 


But he preferr'd"— " Nay, Henry, cease ! 


Encaiup'd on Flodden edge ; 


Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — 


The white pavilions made a show. 


Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray. 


Like remnants of the winter snow. 


What did Blount see at break of day i" — 


Along tlie dusky ridge. 




Long Marmion look'd : — at length liis eye 
Unusual movement might descry 


XVII. 


■^ In brief, my lord, we both descried 


Amid the shifting Hues; 


(For then I stood by Henry's side) 


The Scottish host drawn out appears. 


The Palmer mount, and outwards ride, 


For, flashing on the hedge of spears 


Upon the Earl's own favorite steed : 


The eastern sunbeam shines. 


All sheathed he w.as in armor bright. 


Their front now deepening, now extending ; 


And much resembled that same knight, 


Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending. 


Subdued by you in Cotswold fight : 


Now drawing b.ack, and now descending. 


Lord Angus wish'd him speed." — 


The skilful Marmion well could know. 


The mstaut that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 


They watch'd the motions of some foe, 


A sudden light on Marmion broke ; — 


Who traversed on the plain below. 


" Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost !" 




He mutter'd ; " 'twas uor fay nor ghost 


XIX. 


I met upon the moonlight wold. 


Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 


But living man of earthly mould. — ■ 


The Scots beheld the EngUsh host 


dotage blind and gross ! 


Leave Barmore-wood, then- evening post, 


Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 


And heedful watch'd them as they cross'd 


Had laid De 'Wilton in the dust, 


The Till by Twisel Bridge.' 


My path no more to cross. — • 


High sight it is, and haughty, while 


How st.and we now ? — he told his tale 


They dive mto the deep defile ; 


To Douglas ; and with some avail ; 


Beneath the cavern'd cliff they fall. 


'Twas therefore gloom'd his rugged brow. — 


Beneath the castle's airy wall. 


Will Surrey dare to entertain. 


By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree. 


'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain ! 


Troop after troop are disappearing ; 


Small risk of that, I trow. 


Troop after troop then baimers rearing, 


Tet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 


Upon the eastern bank you see. 


Must separate Constance from the Nun — 


Still pom-ing down the rocky den, 


0, what a tangled web we weave. 


Where flows the sullen Till, 


When first we practise to deceive ! 


And rising from the dim-wood glen. 


A Palmer too 1 — no wonder why 


Standards on standai'ds, men on men, 


I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 


In slow succession still. 


I might have known there was but one. 


And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch. 


"Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." 


And pressing on, in ceaseless march. 


1 Hia elilest son, llie Master of Angus. 


and even transcends ititelf. It is impossihle to do him ja8tic« 


' See A|i|iendix, Note 4 O. 


by making extracts, when all is equally attractive." — Mont/up 


3 " From this period to the conclusion of the poem, Mr. 


Review. 


Scott's genios, so long overclouded, tiuwts forth in lull lustre, 
19 


* See Appendix, Note 4 P. 



146 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



To gain the opposing hiU. 
That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 
Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
And many a chief of birth and rank, 
Saint Helen! at thy fount aiu drank. 
Tliy hawthorn glade, wliich now we Bee 
In .spring-tide bloom so lavisldy. 
Had tlien from many an axe its doom. 
To give the marching columns room. 

XX. 

And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow. 
Since England gains the pass the wliile, 
And struggles through the deep defile ? 
What checks tiie fiery soul of James ? 
Why sits that champion of the dames 

Inactive on his steed. 
And sees between him and his land, 
Between him and Tweed's southern strandj 

His host Lord Surrey lead ? 
Wliat 'vaUs the vain knight-errant's brand \ 
— O, X)ouglas, for thy leatling wand I 

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! 

for one hour of Wallace wight, 

Or weU-skiU'd Bruce, to rule the fight. 
And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right !" 
Another sight had seen that morn. 
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, 
And Flodden had been Baimockbourne ! 
The precious hour has pass'd in vain. 
And England's host has gain'd the plain ; 
"Wheeling their march, and circling still, 
Around the base of Flodden hill. 

XXL 

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye,' 
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and liigli, 
" Hark ! hark I my lord, an EngUsh drum ! 
And see ascending squadrons come 

Between Tweed's river and the hiU, 
Foot, horse, and cannon : — hap what hap. 
My basnet to a prentice cap, 

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till ! — 
Yet more ! yet more !^iow far array'a 
They file from out the hawthorn shade, 

And sweep so gallant by !^ 
With all their banners bravely spread, 

And aU their armor flashing high. 
Saint George might waken from the dead, 

1 MS. — " Ere first they met Lord Marmion's eye.'* 
^ MS. — " And all go sweeping by." 

8 " The speeches of Squire Btount are a great deal too nn- 
polished for a noble youth aspiring to knighthood. On two 
oecasions, to specify no more, he .addresses his brother sqniie 
In these cacophonous lines, — 

' St. Anton fire thee I wilt thou stand 
All day with bonnet in thy hand ;' 



To see fair England's stand-ards fly." 
" Stint in thy prate," quoth Bloimt, " thou'dst 

- best. 
And listen to oiu' lord's behest." — ' 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, — 
" This instant be our b.and array'd ; 
The river must be quickly cross'd. 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If fight King James, — as well I trust. 
That fight he will, and fight he must, — 
The lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry while the battle joins." 

XXIL 

Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 
Far less would listen to his prayer, 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he drew. 
And mutter'd as the flood they view, 
" The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 
He scarce will yield to please a daw : 
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe, 

So Clare shall bide with me." 
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep, 
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep,* 

He ventured desperately : 
And not a moment will he bide. 
Till squire, or groom, before him ride 
Headmost of all he stems the tide. 

And steixs it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 

Old Hubet ', led her rein. 
Stoutly they braved the current's cotirse, 
And, though fai- downward driven per 
force, 

The southern bank they gain ; 
Behind them straggling came to shore, 

As best they might, the train : 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not in vain : 
Deep need that day that every string, 
By wet imliarm'd, should sharply rmg. 
A moment tlien Lord Marmion stay'd. 
And breathed his steed, his men array'd, 

Tlien forward moved his band, 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, 
He halted by a Cross of Stone, 
Tliat, on a hillock standing lone, 

Did all the field command. 

And, 

' Stint in thy prate* qnoth Blount, 'tkou^dat lest^ 
And listen to our lord's behest.' 
Neither can we be brought to admire the simple dignity ol Sil 
Hugh the Heron, who tbus encourageth his nephew, — 
' By my fay. 
Well hast thou spoke — say forth thy say.' " — Jeffrey. 
i MS. — " Where to tile Tweed Leat's tributes creep." 



CANTO VI. MARMION. 147 


xxm. 


But, parting like a thunderbolt, 


Hence might they see the full array 


First in the vimguard made a halt. 


Of either hust, for deadly fray ;' 


Wliere such a shout there rose 


Their inar:?haird lines stretch'd east and west,' 


Of " Marmion 1 Marmion !" that the cry 


Aud friiivted north and south, 


Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, 


And distant salutation pass'd 


Startled the Scottisli foes. 


From the loud cannon mouth ; 




Not m the close successive rattle, 


XXV. 


That breathes the voice of modern battle. 


Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 


But slow and far between. — 


With Lady Chare upon the liill ! 


The hillock gain'd, Lord Marmion staid : 


On which (for f;ir the day was spent) 


** Here, by tliis Cross," he gently said, 


The western sunbeams now were bent. 


" You well may view the scene. 


The cry they heard, its meatiing knew. 


Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 


Could plain their distant comrades view : 


! think of Marmion in thy prayer I 


Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 


Thou wilt not t — well, — no less my care 


" Unworthy office here to stay ! 


Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 


No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 


Ton, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, 


But see ! look up — on Floddeu bent 


With ten pick'd archers of my train ; 


The Scottish foe has fired his tent." 


With England if the day go hard, 


And sudden, as he spoke. 


To Berwick speed amain. — 


From the sharp ridges of the hill,' 


But if we conquer, cruel maid. 


All downward to the banks of Till 


My spoils shall at your feet be laid. 


Was wreathed in sable smoke. 


When here we meet again." 


Volumed and fast, and rolling far, 


He waited not for answer there. 


The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 


And would not mark the maid's despair,' 


As down the hill they broke 


Nor heed the discontented look 


Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone. 


Vrom either squire ; but spurr'd amain, 


Announced their march; then- tread alone. 


And, dashing through the battle plain, 


At times one warning trumpet blown. 


His way to Surrey took. 


At times a stifled hum. 




Told J^ngland, from his mountain-throne 


■X7CIV. 


King James did rushing come. — 


" The good Lord Marmion, by my life ! 


Scarce could they hear, or see their foes. 


Welcome to danger's hour ! — 


Until at weapon-point they close. — ' 


Short greeting serves in time of strife : — 


They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, 


Thus have I ranged my power : 


With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ; 


Myself will rule this central host. 


And such a yell was there. 


Stout Stanley fronts then- right. 


Of sudden and portentous birth, 


My sons command the vaward post. 


As if men fought upon the earth. 


With Brian Tunstall, stauiless knight ;* 


And fiends in upper air ;' 


Lord Dacre, with his horsemen Ught, 


Ufe and death were in the shout, 


Shall be in rear-ward of the fight. 


Recoil and rally, charge and rout. 


And succor those that need it most. 


And triimiph and despair. 


Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, 


Long look'd the anxious squires ; their eye 


Would gladly to the vanguard go ! 


Could in the darkness naught descry. 


Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there. 




With thee their charge will bhthely share ; 


XXVI 


There fight thine own retainers too. 


At length the freshening western blast 


Beneath De Burg, thy steward true." — ' 


Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 


" Thanks, noble Surrey I" Marmion said. 


And, first, the ridge of mingled spears' 


Nor farther greeting there he paid ; 


Above the brightening cloud appears ; 


' See Appendix. Note 4 d. 


the days of Homer to those of Mr. Southey, there ia none, in 


» MS.—" Their lines were form'd, stretch'd east and west." 


oor opinion, at all comparable, for interest and animatioD,— 


5 MS. — " Nor inark'd the lady's aeep despair. 


for breadth of drawing and magnificence of eifect, — with thi 


Nor heeded discontented look." 


of Mr. Scott's." — Jeffrey. 


* See Appendix, Note 4 R. 


' This couplet is not in tlie MS. 


'MS.—" Bencith thy seneschal, Fitz-Hngh." 


« The next three lines are not in the MS. 


" Of all the poetical battles which have been fooght, from 


» MS.—" And first '.he broken ridge of soean " 



148 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi. 


And in the smoke the pennons flew, 


I g.allop to the host." 


As in the storm the wliitc sea-mew. 


And to the fray he rode amam, 


Then maik'd they, dashmg broad and far. 


Follow'd by all the archer train. 


Tlie broken billows of the war, 


The fiery youth, with desperate charge, 


And j)lmned crests of cliieftains brave, 


Made, for a space, an openmg large, — 


Floating like fftam upon the wave ; 


The rescued banner rose, — • 


But naught distinct they see : 


But darkly closed the war around. 


Wide raged tlie battle on the plain ; 


Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground,^ 


Spears shook, and iiilcliions flush'd amain ; 


It sunk among the foes. 


Fell England's arrow-flight like raui ; 


Then Eu.stace mounted too : — yet staid 


Crests rose, and stoop'd, and rose again. 


As loath to leave the helpless maid. 


Wdd and disorderly. 


When, fast as shaft can fly. 


Amid the scene of tumult, liigh 


Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread, 


They saw Lord M.armion's falcon fly : 


The loose rein danghng from liis head, 


And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 


Housing and saddle bloody red. 


And Edmmid Howard's lion bright, 


Lord Marmion's steed rush'd by ; 


Still bear them bravely m the fight : 


And Eustace, maddenmg at the sight, 


Although against them come. 


A look and sign to Clara cast 


Of gallant Gordons many a one. 


To mark he would return in haste,' 


And many a stubborn Badenoch-mau,' 


Then plunged into the fight. 


And many a rugged Border clan. 




With Huntly, and with Home. 


XXVIIL 




Ask me not what the maiden feels. 


XXVII. 


Left in that dreadful hour alone : 


Far on the left, imseen the wliile. 


Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; 


Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle ; 


Perchance a courage, not her own. 


Though there the western mountameer' 


Braces her mmd to desperate tone. — 


Rush'd with bare bosom on the spear. 


The scatter'd van of England wheels ; — ' 


And flung the feeble targe aside. 


She only said, as loud in an- 


And with both hands the broadsword plied. 


The tunmlt roar'd, " Is Wilton there ?"— 


'Twas vain : — But Fortune, on the riglit, 


They fly, or, madden'd by despair. 


With fickle smile, cheer'd Scotland's fight. 


Fight but to die,—" Is Wilton there i" 


Then fell that spotless banner white,' 


With that, straight up the hill there rode 


The Howard's Hon fell ; 


Two horsemen drench'd with gore, 


Yet still Lord Mai'miou s i'alcou flew 


And m their arms, a helpless load. 


With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 


A wounded knight they bore. 


Around the b.attle-yell. 


His hand still strain'd the broken brand ; 


The Border slogan rent the sky 1 


His arms were smear'd with blood and sand : 


A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 


Dr.igg'd from among the horses' feet, 


Loud were the clanging blows ; 


With ditited slueld, and helmet beat, 


Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high. 


Tlie falcon-crest and plumage gone. 


The pennon sunk and rose ; 


Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . .' 


As bends the bark's mast in the gale. 


• Young Blount his armor did unlace. 


When rent are rigging, slirouds, and sail. 


And, gazing on his ghastly face. 


It waver'd 'mid the foes. 


Said — " By Saint George, he's gone ! 


No longer Blount the view could bear : 


That spear -woimd has our master sped, 


" By Heaven, and all its saints 1 I swear 


And see the deep cut on his head ! 


I will not see it lost ! 


Good-night to Marmion." — 


Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare' 


" Unnurtur'd Bloimt ! thy brawhng cease : 


May bid your beads and patter prayer, — 


He opes liis eyes," said Eustace ; " peace !" 


1 111 all forraer editions, Hi^hlandman. Badenoch is the cor- 


6 MS. — '* Like pine np-rooted from the ground." 


leclion of tlie Author's interleaved cojiy of llie edition of 1830. 


* MS. — ** And cried he would return in haste.'* 


2 MS. — " Though there the dauntless mountaineer.'* 




s MS. — " Fell stainless Tunstall's banner white, 


' MS.-" Repulsed, the band ^ j. j.^„,^^,, ^^^^ „ 


Sir Edmund's lion fell." 


The scatter'd wing S ^"='^"" '^''^*- 


< MS. — " Fitz-Eustuce, you and Lady Clare 


6 MS.—" Can that be 5 T J Lord Marmion !" 


Mav for it5 safety join in prayer." 


t brave j 



CANTO VI. MARMION. 149 


XXIX. 


She stoop'd her by the runnel's side,* 


When, ddff'il liis oasfiue, he felt free air,' 


But in abhorrence backward drew ; 


Arouiul 'gan Marniion wildly stare : — 


For, oozing from the mountain's side. 


" Where's Harry Bloimt { Fitz- Eustace where ? 


Where riigcd the war, a dark-red tide 


Linger ve here, ye hearts of hare ! 


Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 


Redeem my penuoii, — charge again 1 


Where shall she turn ! — behold her mark 


Cry — ' Marmit>ii to the rescue I' — Vain ! 


A Uttle fountain cell. 


Last of my race, on battle-plain 


■Where water, clear as diamond-spark, 


That shout sliall ne'er be lieard again ! — 


In a stone basin fell. 


"Vet my last tliought is Engl;md's — fly,' 


Above, some half- worn letters say. 


To Dacre bear my signet-ring : 


J^rfnfe. tociirii. pilarim. Srfnft. anU. pran. 


Tell him his squadrons up to bring.— 


jfox. t\)c. ftiiitr. soul. of. Snb'I. CSrcn. 


Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey liie ; 


EKljo. built. His. cross, anti. tocU. 


Tunstall lies dead upon the field. 


She (ill'd the heltii, and back she hied, 


His hfe-bloiid stains the spotless sliield: 


And with surprise and joy espied 


Edmund is down ; — my life is reft ; 


A monk supporting Marmion's head: 


The Admiral .alone is left. 


A pious man, whom duty brought 


Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 


To dubious verge of battle fought. 


With Cliester charge, and Lancashire, 


To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 


Full upon Scothmd's central host,' 




Or victory and England's lost. — 


XXXL 


Must I bid twice ' — hence, varlets ! fly ! 


Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, 


Leave Marmion iiere alone — to die." 


And, as she stoop'd liis brow to lave- 


They parted, and alone he Lay : 


" Is it the hand of Cliire," he said. 


Clare drew her from the sight away, 


" Or injured Constance, bjithes my head !" 


Till pain wrung forth a lowly moim, 


Then, as remembrance rose, — • 


And half he inurniur'd, — " Is there none. 


" Speak not to me of slu*ift or prayer ! 


Of all my halls have nmst, 


I must redress her woes. 


Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 


Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 


Of blessed water from the spring. 


Forgive and Usten, gentle Clare !" — 


To slake my dying thirst !" 


" Alas !" she said, " the while, — 




0, think of your unmortal weal ! 


XXX. 


In vain for Constance is your zeal; 


0, Woman ! in our hours of ease, 


She died at Holy Isle."— 


Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 


Lord Marmion started from the groimd. 


And variable as the shade 


As light as if he felt no wound ; 


By the Ught quivering aspen made; 


Though in the action burst the tide. 


When pain anil anguish wring the brow. 


In torrents, from his wounded side. 


A ministering angel thou ! — 


" Then it was truth," — he said — " I knew 


Scarce were the piteous accents said, 


That the dark presage must be true. — 


When, with tlie Baron's casque, the maid 


I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 


To tile nigh streamlet ran: 


The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 


Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; 


Would spare me but a day ! 


The phiintive voice alone she hears. 


For, wastmg fire, and dying groan," 


Sees but the dymg man.' 


And priests slain on the altar stone. 


' MS. — "And when he felt the Treshcr air." 


from the discords by which they are sarroonded." — Ciitictu 


2 MS. — " Yet my last thought's for England— hie, 


Review. 


To Daere^iuc my siKnet-ririg. . , . 


6 MS.—" She stooj>'d her by the rannePs tide. 


Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey fly.** 


But in abhorrence soon withdrew. 


3 MS. — " Full ofi King James's central host.'* 


For, ooznig from the mountains wide 




Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 


"The hero of the piece. Marmion, who has been guilty of 


Was cordling in the streamlet blue. 


seducing a nun. and abandoning her to be buried alive, of 


Where shall she turn 1 behold, she marks 


t'orgpry to ruin a friend, and of perfidy in endeavoring to 


A liule vaulted cell, 


(wluiTe away from him the object of his tenilerest affections. 


Whose water, clear as diamond sparks, 


fights and dies gloriously, and is indebted to the injured Clara 


In a rude basin fell. 


for the Lvt dro[i of water to coo! his liytng thirst. This last 


Above, some half-worn letters say. 


act of disintcrej^ted attention extorts front the Author the 


Drink. [)assing pilgrim, drink and pray. * 


smoothest, sweetest, and tenderest lines in the whole poem. 


* MS. — " Fire, sacrilege, and dying groan. 


It is wiVii pleasure thai we extract numbers so harmooions 


And priests gorged on the altar stone, 



150 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be ! — tiiis dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon baf>e marauder's lance, 
And doubly cursed my failing brand 1 
A sinful heart makes feeble himd." 
Then, fainting, down on eartli he sunk, 
Supported by the treniblmg Monk. 

XXXII. 

With fruitless labor, Clara bound 

And strove to stanch tlie gusliing wound : 

The Monk, with unavailing cares. 

Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 

Ever, he said, that, close and near, 

A lady's voice was in his ear. 

And that the priest he could not liear ; 

For that she ever sung, 
" In the lost battle, borne down b;/ thefying, 
Where mingles u<ar's rattle with groans of tlie 
dying !" 

So the notes rmig ; — 
" Avoid thee. Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 
Shake not the dying sinner's sand 1 — 
O, look, my son, upon yon sign' 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

0, think on faith and bhss ! — 
By many a death-bed I have been, 
And many a sinner's partmg seen, 

But never aught like this." — 
The war, that for a space did fail. 
Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale. 

And — Stanlet ! was the cry ; 
A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye :'' 
With dying hand, above liis head. 
He shook the fragment of Ms blade, 

And shouted " Victory ! — 
Charge, Chester, ch;u-ge ! On, Stanley, on I " 
Were the last words of Marmion.' 

XXXIII. 
By this, though deep the evening fell, 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 

Might bribe him for delay, 
Jllid fill by lelitnii thi' deed was done, 
ShutLld wit/i mif.^c/f become /lis ovjn. 

It may not he" 

1 MS. — " O look, my son, iijion this cross, 
O, think upon the ^-ace divine. 

On saints and heavenly bliss ! — 
By many a sinner's bed I've been. 
And many a dismal parting seen. 
But never aught like this." 
s MS. — " And sparkleii in his eye." 

s The Lady of the Lake has nothing so good as the death of 
Marinion. — M.^rKtNTiisH. 

* M6. — " In vain the wish — for far they stray, 

And spoil and havoc mark'd thfir way. 
' O. Lady,' cried the Monk, ' away !' " 
' MS. — " But still npon the (t-irkening heath." 



For still the Scots, around their lung. 
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
Where's now their victor vaward wing. 

Where Huntly, and where Home ? — 
0, for a blast of that dread horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne. 

That to King Charles did come, 
When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer. 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blast might warn them, not in vain. 
To quit the plunder of tlie slain. 
And turn the doubtful day again, 

'While j'et on Flodden side, 
Afar, the Royal Standard flies. 
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, 

Otu- Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish — for far away, 
'While spoil and havoc mark their way. 
Near Sybil's Cro.ss the plunderers stray. — 
" 0, Lady," cried the Monk, " ,away 1"* 

And placed her on her steed. 
And led her to the chapel fair, 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the niglit they spent in prayer, 
And at the dawn of morning, there 
She met her kinsman. Lord Fitz-Clare. 

XXXIV. 

But as they left the dark'ning heath,' 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The Enghsh shafts ui volleys hail'd. 
In headlong charge their horse assail'd ; 
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep 
To break the Scottish circle deep. 

That fought around their King. 
But yet, though thick the shafts iis snow. 
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go. 
Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, 

Unbroken was the ring; 
The stubborn spear-men stiU made good" 
Theh dark unpenetrable wood, 
Each steppuig where his comrade stood, 

8 MS. — " Ever the stubborn spears made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood ; 
Each Scotstepp'd where his comrade stood, 

The instant that he fell. 
Till the last ray of parting light. 
Then ceased perforce the dreadful 6ght, 

And sunk the battle's yell. 
The skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Drew from the strife his shatter'd bands. 

Their loss his foetnan knew ; 
Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low. 
They melted troin the field as snow, 
When streams are swoln and south winds blow 

Melts from the moontain blue. 
By various march their scatler'il bands, 
Disorder'd. gain'd the Scottish lands. — 
Day dawns on Flodden's drearv side. 



CANTO VI. 



MARMION. 



161 



The instant that he fell. 
No thought Wiis there of dastard flight ; 
Link'd iu the serried plialaii.K tight, 
Oroom fought like noble, sqime like knight, 

As fearlessly and well ; 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their tliin host .ami wounded King 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Le<l back from strife his shatter'd bands; 
AikI from the charge they drew, 
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands. 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Tlien did their loss lus foeman know ; 
Tlieir King, their Lords, their miglitiest low, 
Tliey melted from the field as snow, 
■When streams are swoln and south winds blow. 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash. 

While many a broken b.and, 
Disorder'il, through her currents dash, 

To gain the Scottish land ; 
To town and tower, to town and dale. 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
And raise the universal wail.' 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song, 
Shall many an age that wail prolong : 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, 

Of Flodden's fatal field, 
■Where shiver'd was fau' Scotland's spear. 

And broken was her shield 1 

XXXV. 
Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — ' 
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride. 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one : 
The sad survivors all are gtme. — 
■View not that corpse mistrustfully. 
Defaced and mangled tlmugii it be ; 
Nor to yon Border castle high. 
Look northward with upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish hope in vain, 
Tliat, journeying far on foreign strand, 
Tlie Royal I'ilgrim to his land 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck his rashness wrought ; 

AnH bHow'iI tlie scene of'carnage wide ; 

There, Scolland, lay ihy bravest priiiel" 
' " The powerful poetry of these passages can receive no il- 
ostnitioii IVom any praises or observations of ours. It is supe- 
rior, in our apprelietisiori, to ail that tliis author has hitherto 
protluced ; anil, with a lew faults of liiction, equal to any 
thing thai has ever been written upon sinii'ar subjects. From 
the monn-nt the author gets in sight of FloiUlen Field, iudeeii, 
to the end of the [loem, there is no tame writing, and no inter- 
vention of ordinary passages. He does not once flag or grow 
tedious ; and neither stops to describe dres,ses and ceremonies, 
nor to commemorate the harsh names of feudal barons from the 
Border, There is a tli;^lit of five or six hundred lines, in sfiort, 
ID which he never stoops hia wing, nor wavers in his course ; 



Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Fltnldeii plain: 
And well in death his trusty brand. 
Firm clcnch'd within his manly hand, 

Beseera'il tlie itionarch slain." 
But, O ! how changed since yon bUthe 

night ! — 
Gladly I turn me from the sight. 

Unto my tale again. 

XXXVl. 

Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care 

A pierced and mangleil body bare 

To moated Lichfield's lofty pile; 

And there, benealh the southern aisle 

A tomb, witli Gothic scidpture fair. 

Did long Lord Marmion's image beai' 

(Now vaitdy for its sight you look ; 

'Twas levell'd when fanatic Brook 

The fair cathedral sttjrm'd and took ; 

But, thanks to Heaven and good Sauit Chad, 

A guerdon meet the spoiler had !)* 

There erst was martial Marmion found. 

His feet upon a couchtuit hound. 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tablet carved, anil fretted niche. 

His arms ami fejits were blazed. 
And yet, though all wtis carved so fair. 
And priest for Marmion breathed the piayer, 
Tlie last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods a peasant swtiin 
Follow'd Ills lord to Flidden plain, — 
One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 
In Scotland mourns as " wede away :" 
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied, 
And dragg'd him to its foot, and died. 
Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
Tlie spoilers stri])|>'d aiul gtish'd the slain. 
And thus their corpses were mi.sta'en; 
And thus, in the jirotiil Baron's tomb. 
The lowly woodsman took the room. 

XXXVIL 

Less easy task it were, to show 

Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low.' 

but carries the reader forwnni with a more rapid, sustained, 
and lofty movement, than any epic bard tliat we can at present 
remember." — JeffRKV. 

3 " Day glimmer* on the dying and the dead. 

The cloven cuirass, ami the helinless heail." Stc. 

Bvron's Lara, 

3 See Appendix, Note 4 S. « Ihid. Note 4 T. 

* " A corpse is afterwanis conveyed, as that of iM;irmion. to 
tJie Cathedral of Lichfield, where a niagniliccni luiub is erected 
to hLs memory, and mxssea are instituted for the repose of his 
foul ; but, by an admirably-imagined act of poetical, justice, we 
are informed that a peasant's body was placed benealh thai 
costly monument, while the haughty Raron htnncif was buried 
Ukea vulgarcorpse,ontheepotou which he die<i. — Mon. Hev 



152 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI, 



Tliey dug his grave e'en -where he lay,' 

But every mark is gone ; 
Time's wasting hand has done away 
The simple Cross of Sybil flrey, 

And broke her font of atone : 
But yet from out the little hill" 
Oozes the slender spriuglet still. 

Oft halts the stranger there, 
For thence may best his curious eye 
The memor.ible field descry ; 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush, 
And rest them by the hazel bush. 

And plait their garlands fair ; 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave. 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — 
When thou shalt find the Uttle hill,' 
With thy heart commune, and be stilL 
If ever, in temptation strong, 
Thou left'st the right path for the wrong ; 
If every devious step, thus trod, 
StiU led thee farther from the road; 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
But say, " He died a gallant knight. 
With sword in hand, for England's right." 

XXXVIII. 

I do not rhyme to that dull elf, 

Wlio cannot image to himself. 

That all tlirough Flodden's dismal night, 

Wilton was foremost in the fight ; 

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 

'Twas Wilton mounted liim again ; 

'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd,* 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 

Unnamed by HoUinshed or Hall, 

He was the living soul of all : 

niat, after fight, his faith made plain. 

He won his rank and lands again : 

And charged his old paternal shield 

' MS. — "Tliey dug Ills bed e'en where he lay.** 
a MS. — " Bill yet where swells the little hill.'* 
3 MS. — " ff tlioa shoiihisl fimi this little tomb, 

Beware to speak a ha.sly doom," 
* MS. — " He hardest pre^s'd tlie Scottish ring ; 

'Twas tlionght tliat he struck down the King." 
s Used generally for tale or discovrse. 

c " We liave dwell longer on the beauties and defects of 
'.his poem, than, we are alraiil, will be agreeable either to the 
pirlial or tlie indifferent ; not only because we look upon it as 
a misapplication, in some degree, of very extraordinary talents, 
but because we cannot help considering it as the foundation 
of a new school, which may bereaf'er occasion no little an- 
noyance both to us and to tlie public Mr. Scott has hitherto 
filled the whole stage himself; and the very splendor of his 
success has probably operated as yet rather to ileter than to 
encourage the iierd of rivals and imitalor^ ; but if, by the help 
of the good parts of his poem, he succeeds in suborinng the 
verdict of the public in favor of the bad parts also, and es- 
tablishea ar iadiscrimiuate taste for chivalrous legends and 



With bearings won on Flodden Field. 

Nor sing I to that simple maid. 

To wiioiu it must in terms be said, 

Tliat King antl kinsmen did agree, 

To bless fair Clara's constancy. 

Who cannot, unless I relate, 

Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; 

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke. 

More, Sands, anti Denny, pas.s'd the joke ; 

That blutt' King Hal the curtain drew. 

And Catherine's hand the stocking threw ; 

Anil afterwards for many a day, 

That it was held enougli to say. 

In blessing to a wedded pair, 

" Love they like Wilton and like Clare '" 



31 ' H n 1) 11 . 



TO THE READER. 



Why tlien a final note prolong. 

Or lengthen out a closing song. 

Unless to bid the gentles speed, 

Who long have listed to my rede ?* 

To Statesmen grave, if such may deign 

To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 

Sound head, cletm hand, and piercing wit, 

And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 

A garland for the hero's crest. 

And twined by her he loves the best ; 

To every lovely lady briglit, 

What can I wish but faithful knight? 

To every faitlifiil lover too. 

What c;in I wish but lady true ! 

And knowledge to the stuiUous sage ; 

And pillow to the head of age. 

To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play. 

Light task, and merry hoUday ! 

To all, to etich, a fair good-night, 

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light !' 

romances in irregular rhyme, he may depend upon having as 
raanv copyists as Mrs. Railcliffe or Schiller, and upon becoming 
the founder of a new schism in the catholic poetical church, 
for which, in spite of all our exertions, there will probably be 
no cure, but in the extravagance of the last and lowest of its 
followers. It is for tins reason that we conceive it to be o ir 
duty to make one strong eflbrt to bring back the great ai«stle 
of the heresy to the wholesome creed of his instructots. and to 
slop the insurrection before it becomes desperate and sense- 
less, by persuading the leader to return to his duty and alle- 
giance. We admire Mr. Scott's genius as much as any of 
those who may be misled by its perversion ; and, like the 
curate and the barber in Don Quixote, lament the day when a 
fenllcman of such endowments was eorrupteil by the wicked 
tales of ilnight-errantry and enchantment." — Jeffrly, 

" We do not flatter ourselves that Mr. Scott will pay to our 
advice that attention which he has refused to his acute friend 
Mr. Etskine ; but it is possible that his own goon sense may in 
time persuade him not to abandon his loved fairy ground (a 
province over which we wish him a long and prosperous nor 



MARMION. 



158 



rniiiMMil), bnt to combine the charms of Inirful jwetrt/ with 
(im-f of will! ami roiiiaiUic fiction. As the tiivt strp to this 
il'-Mrable end. we would beg bim to reHect that his (^otiiic 
riiotlels will not bear bim out in transferring tlie loose and 
sbulilin-j ballad metre to a [loem of cousidirahle length, and 
of iom|dicaiod interest like the prt'sont. It is a very rasy thing 
lo write five hundred ballad i^rrsrs, *"(a7(.« prite in utio ; but 
Mr. Scoil needs not to he told, that five hundred verses writ- 
U'li on one fool have a very poor chance for immortality." — 
.Monthly Heview. 



'■ The story," writes Mr. Soutliey, " is made of bptttir niate- 
riiils than the Lay, yet ihey are not so well fitted log>.tlKT. 
Av a whole, it has not pleased me so much, — in jiurls, it has 
plta^tnl me more. Tliere is nothing so finely conceived in 
yonr former poem as the death of .N.armion : there is notliing 
finer in its conception anywhere. The introductory epistles 
I di.l not wish away, because, as poems, they gave me great 
pleasure ; but I wished them at the end of the volume, or at 
the beginning, — anywhere except where they were. Aly taste 
is p.rhaps peculiar in disliking all interruptions in narrative 
poetry. When the poet lets his story sleep, and talks in his 
own person, it has to me the same sort of unpleasant eU'ect 
that is produced at the end of an act. You are alive to know 
what follows, and !o -down comes the curtain, and the fiddlers 
l)e;;iii with tiieir abominations. The general opinion, however, 
is with me, in this particular instance." — Life of Scott, vol. 
iii. p. 14. 

•'Thank vou," says Mr. Wordsworth, "for Marrnioii. I 
think your end has been attained.' That it is not the end 
wliiih I should wish you to propose to yourself, you will be 
well aware, from what you know of my notions of composi- 
tion, both as to matter and manner. In the circle of my ac- 
([uainiance, it seems as well liked as the Lay, though I have 
heard that in the world it is not so. Had the poem been 
much belter than the Lay, it could scarcely have satisfied the 
public, wliicb has too much of the monster, the moral monster, 
in its composition." — fbid. p. 45. 

" My own opinion," says Mr. George Ellis, "is, that both 
tlie productions are equally good in their different ways; 
yet. upon the whole, I had rather be the author of Marmion 
than ol the Lay. becau-ic I think its species of excellenee of 
mueh more dilfieult attainment. What degree of bulk iiny 
bi^' essentially necessary to the corporeal part of an Epic poem, 
I know not; but sure I am tliat the story of Marmion might 
have furnished twelve books as easily as six — that the mas- 
terly eharaeter of Constance would not have been less be- 
witebiag had it been muuh more minutely paitited — and ihat 
De Wilton might have been dilated with great ease, and even 
to eonsidt-rahle advantage; — in short, that had it been your 
intention merely to exhibit a spirited romantic story, instead 
.1 making that story subservient to the dGlinc'iiion of the 
.^ii[ier> which prevai'ed at a certain period of our history. 

1 rom^' '""' varii'ty of /our characters ^oai'' have suited 
20 



any scale of painting. On the whole, 1 can sincerely assure 
you, that had I seen Marmion without knowing the aiitlmr, 
I !»houId have ranked it with Theodore and Honoria, — that 
is to say, on the very toji siielf of English poetry." — Ibid. vol. 
iii. p. 40. 

" I shall not, after so much of and about criticism, sav any 
thing moie of Marmion in this place, than that I have always 
considered it as, on the whole, the greatest of Scott's poems. 
There is a certain light, easy, virgin charm about the Lay, 
wliicJi we look for in vain through the subsequent volumes of 
his verse ; but tlie superior strength, and breadtli, and bold- 
ness, both of conception and execution, in the Marmion, att- 
pear to me indisputable. The great blot, the combination of 
jnean fcto7iy with so many noble qualities in the character of 
the hero, was, as the poet says, severely commented on at the 
time by the most ardent of his early friends, Leyden ; but 
though he ailmitted the Justice of that criticism, he chose * to 
let the tree lie as it had fallen.' He was also sensible that 
many of the subordinate and connecting parts of the nami- 
tive are flat, harsh, and obscure— but would never make any 
serious attempt to do away with these imperfections; and 
perhaps they, after all, heighten by contrast the effect of the 
passages of high-wrouglit enthusiasm whicli alone he coQ- 
sidored, in after days, with satisfaction. As for the 'episto- 
lary dissertations,' it must, I take it, be allowed that they in- 
terfered with the flow of the story, when readers were turn- 
ing the leaves with the first ardor of curiosity ; and they 
were not, in fact, originally intended to be interwoven in any 
fashion with the romance of A]armion. Though the author 
himself does not allude to, and had perhaps forgotten tlie 
eircumstance, when writing the Introductory Essay ci' 1830 
— they were announced, by an advertisement early in 1807, as 
' Six Epistles from Eltriek Fore-t,' to be published in a sepu- 
rate volume, similar to that of the Ballads and Lyrical Pieces; 
and perliai)3 it might have been better thafc this first plan ha« 
been adhered to. But however that may be, are there any 
pages, among all he ever wrote, that one would be moreftorry 
he should not have written? They are among the most de- 
licious portraitures that genius ever painted of itself, — buoyant, 
virtuous, happy genius — exulting in its own energies, yet pos- 
sessed and mastered by a clear, calm, modest mind, and happy 
only in diffusing happiness around it. 

*' With what gratification those Epistles were read by the 
friends to whom they were addressed, it would be superfluous 
to show. He had, in fact, painted them almost as fully as 
himself; and who might not have been proud to find a place 
in such a gallery ? The tastes and habits of six of those men, 
in whose intereourse Scott found the greatest pleasure when his 
fame was approaching its meridian .splendor, are thus preserved 
for posterity ; and when I reflect with what avidity wc catch 
at the least hint which seems to afford us a glimpse of the in- 
timate circle of any great poet of former ages, I cannot but 
believe that posterity would have held this record precious, 
even had the individuals been in themselves far less remark 
able than a Rose, an Ellis, a Heber, a Skene, a Mnrrintl. »p» 
an Erskine."— LocKHART, vol. iii. p. 55. 



Ui 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



N"OTE A. 

jSs iphen the Champion of the Lake 

Entfs Mo rgana^s fated house, 

Or in the Chapel Periioiis, 

iJcsp. fing- spells and demons' force, 

Holds converse with the unburied cnrse. — P. 80. 

Thp; romance of ilie Morte Arthur contains a sort of abnilg- 
meiit of the most celebrated ailveiitiires of the Round Table ; 
and, being writlrn in comparatively modern language, gives 
the general reader an excellent idea of what romuuces of 
chivalry actually were, I» has also the merit of being wriltcu 
in pure old English ; and many of the wild uii ventures wJnch 
it contains are told with a simplicity bordering upon the?uhlitiie. 
Several of these are referred to in the text ; and I would luue 
illustrated tliem by more full extracts, but as this curious work 
is about to be rei)ubli5hed, I confine myself to il:e tale of the 
Chapel Perilous, and of the quest of Sir Lauiicelot after ihc 
Sang real. 

"Right so Sir Launcelot departed, and when hi- came to 
the Chapell Perilous, he aligiited downe, and lit-ri his hor.-e to 
a little gate. And as soon ar* he w;is within the church-yard, 
he saw, on the front of the chapell, many faire rich shields 
turned upside downe ; and many of the shields Sir Launcelot 
had scene knights have before ; with tiiat he saw stand by him 
thirtie great knights, more, by a yard, than iny man that ever 
he had seene, and all those grinned and gnisiied af Sir Laun- 
celot ; and when he saw their countenance, lice dread them 
sore, and so put his shield afore him, and tooke bis sword in his 
hand, ready to doe batt.iile ; and they were all armed in black 
hameis, ready, with their shields and swords drawn. And 
when Sir Launcelot would have gone through thorn, they scat- 
tered on every side of him, and gave him the v.ay ; and tlicr*:^- 
with he waxed all bold, and entered into thi! chapell, and then 
hee saw no light but a dimme lanipe burning, and then wa<j he 
ware of a corps covered with a cioath of silke ; then t^ir Laun- 
celot stooped downe, and cut a piei^e of that cloth away, and 
then it fared under him as the e;irtli bad quakeii a little, whereof 
he was afeard, and then hee '^aw a faire sword lye by lhe<iead 
knight, and that he gat in his band, and hied him out of tlie 
chappell. As soon :is he was in (he chappell-ycrd, all tlie 
knights spoke to him with a grindy voice, and said, ' Knight, 
Sir Launcelot, lay tliat sword from thee, or else thou sJrilt die.' 
— ' Whether I live or die.' said Sir Launcelot, ' with no great 
words get yee it again, thrrefore light for it and yee list.' 
Therii-with he passed througli ihcni ; and, beyond the chajipell- 
yerd, there met bim a faire ilai;io-ell, and said, ' Sir Launcelot, 
leave that sworil behind thee, <ir thou wilt die for it.* — ' I will 
not leave it,' said Sir Luunclot, 'for no threats.' — 'No?' 
said ribe, ' anil ye did leave tiKti sworii. Q,uecn Guenevcr should 
re never see.' — ' Then were I a fool and I would leave this 
Bword,' said Sir Launcelot. * Now, gentle knight,' said the 
damo-'cll, ' 1 require thee to ki.-^ me once.' — 'Nay,' said Sir 
Launcelot, 'that God forbid!' — ' Woll, sir,' said she, 'and 
thou haddest kissed me thy life day-^i had been done, bat now, 
ala.-* !' said she, ' I have lost all my laboor ; for I ordeined this 
ch.ippell for thy sake, and for SirGawaine: and once I had 
Sir (Jawaine within it ; and at that time he fought with that 
knight whit:h there lielh flean in yonder ciiappell. Sir Gilbert 
the bastard, and at that time hee smote olf Sir Gilbert the 
halliard's left liand. And so. Sir Launcelot, now I leU tlice, 



that I have loved thee this seaven yeare ; but there may no \" »■ 
man have tliy love but (dueeiie Guenever ; but sitlien I nny 
not rejoyice thee to have thy body alive, I had kept no niurt 
joy in this world but to have liad thy dead body ; and I wonln 
have balmed it and served, and so have kept it in my hfe daiiH, 
and daily I should have elipjied lliee, and kissed thee, in the 
despite of Queen Guenever.' — ' Ye say well,' said Sir Launci.- 
lot ; 'Jesus preserve me from your suhtill craft.' And there- 
with he took his horse, and departed from her." 



KOTE B. 



Ji sinful man, and unconfei^^df 

He took the SaniTTcal'' $ koly juesty 

And, slumbering, saw the vision high, 

He might not victo with waking njc. — P. 87. 

One day, when Arthur was holding a high feast with hi3 
Knights of the Round Table, the Sangreal, or ves.'^cl out of 
winch the last passover was eaten (a precious relic, which had 
long remained concealed from human eyes, beeau-'se of the sins 
of the land), suddenly appeai'ed to him and all his cliivalry. 
The consequence of this vision was, that all the knights took 
on them a solemn vow to seek the Sangreal. But. alas ! :: 
could only be revealed to a knight at once accompliihed in 
earthly chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil convcTtiaiioii. 
All Sir Launcelot's noble accomplishments were thiT^fore rtn- 
dered vain by his guilty intrigue with Queen Guenevcr, or 
Ganore ; and in his holy quest he encountered only such dis- 
graceful disasters as that which follows : — 

" Cut f-ir Launcelot roile overthwart and endlong in a wild 
forest, and held no path but as wild adveiuuie led him ; and 
at the last, he came unto a stone cro«e, which departed two 
wayes, in wast land ; and, by the crosse, was a stone that was 
of marble ; but it was so dark, that Sir Launcelot might not 
well know what it was. Then !^ir Launcelot looktd by him. 
and saw an old clia|)pell. and there he wend to have found 
people. And so ^ir Launcelot tied bis horse to a tree, and 
ther^ he put off his shield, and hung it Ujioii a tree, and then 
hee went unto the chappell iloore, and found it wasted and 
bmken. And within he found a laire altar, full richly arrayed 
with cloth of silk, and there stood a faire candlestick, wldi-f 
bn:ire six great candies, and the candieslicke was of silv-r 
And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, bee had a great wj!! 
for to enter into the chappell, but he could find no place wIk-ix.* 
hee might enter. Then was he passing heavio and dismaicu. 
Then he returned, and came agairie to his boi-ss, and looke oil 
liis sad lie and bis briiile, and let him pasture*, anil unlaced his 
helme, ind ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleejie 
Dpon his shield, before the crosse. 

"And so hee fell on sleepe ; and, halfc waking a:id halie 
sleeping, he saw come by bim two palfreys, both faire and 
white, the which beare a litter, therein lying a sicke knight. 
And when he was nigh the crosse, he there abode still. AH 
this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for hee slept not vonly, and 
hee heard him say, 'O sweete Lord, when shall this sorrow 
leave me, and when shall tlie holy vessell come by me. where 
through I shall be blessed, for I have endured thu« long for lit- 
tin lrC5])asse !' And thus a great while complaini'd tlie knigl-:, 
and allwaies Sir Launcelot he:ml it. Willi that Sir Launcdui 
hAW tlie caiidlesticke, with the fire tapers, come b^'brc 'hr 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



155 



frowe; but he could see nobody tliat brought it. Also there 
came a table ofsilver, and the Jioly vessel! ot the Sancgn-all, the 
which i^ir Laiineelot had seen before that time in King I'et- 
chour'fi house. Ami therewithall the sicke kiiiyht set him up- 
riglil. and hold up both liis hands, and said, ' Faire sweele 
Lord, whicli is here within the holy vessell, take heede to niee, 
that I may bee hole of this {jrcal malady !' And therewith 
ujion his hands, and upon his knees, he went so niph, that he 
touehed the holy vesstll, and kissed it : And anon he was hole, 
and then he said, ' Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed of 
this malady.* Soo when the holy vessell had been there a 
great while, it went into the clia|ipelle againe, with tlie ean- 
dlestiike and the light, so that .-^ir Launeelot wist not where it 
became, for he vVas overtaken with sinne, that liee had no 
power to arise against the huly vessell, wherefore afterward 
many men saiil of him shame. But he tooke repentanre at"tt'P- 
ward. Then the sicke knight iln-ssed liim upright, and kissed 
the erosse. Then anon his squire brought him his amies, and 
asked his lord how he did. 'Certainly.' said liee, ' I thauke 
God right heartily, for through the holy vessell I am healed : 
But I have right great mervaile of this sleeping knight, which 
hath had neither grace nor power to awake during the time 
that this holy vessell hath beene here pi^sent.' — ' I dare it right 
well say,* said the sqnire, 'that this same knight is defouled 
with some manner of deadly sinne. whereof he has never con- 
fessed.' — ' By my'faiih,' said the kuight, ' whatsoever he be, 
he is nnhappie ; for. as I deeme, bee is uf the fellowsbiji of the 
Rovind Tabic, tlie which is enteretl into the ijuest of the t*anc- 
greall.' — ' Sir,' said the squire, 'here I have brouglit you all 
your amies, save your helme and your sword ; and, therefore, 
by mine assent, now may ye take this knight's helme and liis 
sword ;' ^mi so he did. And when he was cleaiie armed, he 
took J^ir Launcelot's liorse, for he was better than his owne, 
and so they departed from the crosse. 

'■Then anon ^"ir Lanucelot awaked, and set bimselfe uj)- 
right, and iie ihouglit him what bee had there seene, and 
wJietber it were dreames or not ; right so he heard a voice that 
I , ' Sir Launcelot, more hardy than is the stone, and more 
wr than is the wood, and more naked and bare than is the 
(':-■ of the fig-tree, therefore go tliou from hence, and with- 
draw thee from this holy place;' and when t-'ir Launcelot 
beard this, he was p;issing heavy, and wist not what to doe. 
And so be departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that lie 
way borne ; lor then he deemed never to have had more wor- 
ship ; for the words went unto bis heart, till tiiat he knew 
wlR-refore that bee vas so called." 



Note C. 



^ivd JJrifdev, in immortal strat'yi. 

Had raisal the Table Round again.—?. 87. 

Drv'len's melaneholy account of his projected Epic Poem, 
bla-ited hy the selfish and sordid parsimony of bis patrons, is 
contained in an " Essay on Satire." addressed to the Earl of 
Dorset, and prefixed to the Translation of Juvenal. After 
mentioning a plan of supplying machinery from the guardian 
mgels of kingdoms, mentioned in the Book of Daniel, he 
ad<h:-- 

"Thus, m/ lord, I have, as briefly as I conld, given your 
lordship, and by yon the world, a rude draught of what I have 
been long laboring in my imagination, and what I had intended 
to have put in practice (though far unable for the attempt of 
euch a poem) ; and to have left the stage, to which my genius 
never mu(di inclined me. for a work which would have taken 
up my life in the performance of it. This, too. I had intended 
chiefly for the honor of my native country, to which a poet is 
particularly oiilig'Kl. Of two subjects, both relating to it. I 
Has doubtful whether I should choose that of King Arthur 
contjupring the Paxous. which, being farther distant in lime, 
gives \*;e greater scope to my invention ; or that of Edwanl the 



Black Prince, in subduing Spain, and restoring it to the law 
ful prince, though a great tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel ; which, 
for the compass of time, including only the expedition of one 
year, for the greatness of the action, and its answerable eveiil. 
for the magnanimity of the English hero, opposed to the i[i- 
gratitude of the person whom lie restored, and for the many 
beautiful episodes which I had interwoven with the jifincipa! 
design, together with the characters of the chiefest English pt-i- 
8ons (wherein, after Virgil and Spenser, I would have taken 
occasion to represent my living friends and natrons oi the r.f> 
blest families, and also shadowed the events of future ages u. 
the succession of our imperial line), — with these helps, zw\ 
those of the machines which I have mentioned, I might per- 
haps have done as well as some of my predecessors, or at lea.^1 
chalked out a way for others to amend my errors in a like di'- 
sign ; but being encouraged only with fair words by Kin^ 
Charles H., my little salary ill paid, and no prospect of a future 
subsistence, I was then discouraged in the beginning of my 
attempt; and now age has overtaken me, and want, a more 
insufferable evil, through the change of the times, has wholly 
disabled me." 



Note D. 



Their theme the nierrtj minstrels made. 
Of .^scapart. and Bcvis bold. — P. 87. 

The " History of Bevis of Hampton" ffeabridgeci by my fricnO 
Mr. George Ellis, with that liveliness which extracts amuse- 
ment even out of the most rude and unpromising of our old 
tales of chivalry. Ascapart, a most important personage in the 
romance, is thus described in an extract : — 

" This geaunt was mighty and strong 
And full thirty foot was long, 
He was bristled like a sow ; 
A foot he had between each brow ; 
His lips were great, and bung a^ide ; 
His eyen were hollow, his moutli was wide; 
Lothly he was to look on than, 
And liker a devil than a man. 
His staff was a young oak, 
Hard and heavy was his stroke." 
Sjjccimcns of Metrical Rojnanccs, vol. ii. p. 136 

I am happy to say. that the memory of Sir Bevis is still fra 
grant in his town of Southamjiton ; the gate of which is senti 
nellcd by the effigies of that doughty knight-errant and his gi 
gantic associate. 



Note E. 



Day set on JiTorham' s castled steep, 

Jhid Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, S-c. — P. 87. 

The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubbanfonl) 
is situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about six mile* 
above Berwick, and where tiiat river is still the boundary be- 
tween England and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, a.s well 
as its historical importance, shows it to have been a jdaf* of 
magnificence, as well as strength. Edward I. resided then; 
when he was created umpire of the dispute concerning the 
Scottish succession. It was repeatedly taken and retaken du- 
ring the wars between England and Scotland ; and, indeed, 
scarce any happened, in which it had not a principal share. 
Norham Castle is situated on a sleep bank, which overhangs 
the river. The repeated sieges which the castle had su-^tarned, 
rendered frequent repairs necessary. In Il(>4, it was almost 
rebuilt by Hugh I'udsey, Bishop of Durliam, who added a hu?i» 
keep, or donjon : notwithstanding which. King Hen:y II., i ■ 
1174, took the castle from the bishop, and committed the kc.-:.- 
ing of it to William de Neville. After llii^ period it seems la 



150 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



have been chiefly garrisoned liy the King, and considered as a 
royal fortress. The Greys of Cliillingham Castle were fre- 
quently the castellans, or ca|)lains of the garrison : yet, as the 
cabtle was situated in the patrimony of St. Cuthbert. the prop- 
erty was in the see of Durham til! llie Refornialioii. After 
thai period, it passed through various hands. Atllit union of 
the crcfwiis. it was in the possession of Sir Robert C.ir..-y (after- 
wards Earl of Monmouth), for his own life, and that of two 
oi' hi-^ sons. After King James's acces.sion, Carey .=old Nor- 
hani Castle lo George Home, Earl of Dunbar, for XGOUO. See 
tiis i-nrious Memoirs, published by Mr. Constable of Edinburgh, 

AiTuriliiig lu Ml'- Pinkerton, there is, in the British Must-um, 
C.tl. It. 6, 'JIG, a curious memoir of the Dacres on the state of 
Norhani Castle in 1522, not long after the batlliy of Floilden. 
The inner ward, or keep, is represented as impregnable: — 
" Tlie provisjons are three great vats of salt eels, forty-four kine, 
three hog^lieads of salted salmon, forty quartern of grain, be- 
eiiles many cows, and four hundred sheep, lying under the cas- 
tle-wall nightly ; but a number of the arrows wanted feathers, 
ami a good Fi'ctc/ier [('. e. maker of arrows] was rei|uired." — 
Htslory of Scatlnnil. vol. ii. p. 201, iiolA 

The ruins of the castle are at present considerable, as well 
as picturesque. They consist of a large shattered tower, with 
many vaults, and fragments of other edifices, enclosed within 
an outward wall of great circuit. 



Note F. 



The battled towers, the donjon keep. — P. 87. 

It is [lerbaps unnecessary ro remind my readers, tbat tlie 
donjov, in its proper signification, means the strongest pari of 
a feudal castle; n high square tower, with walls of Iremcii- 
dons tliickness, situated in the centre of the other buildings, 
from wliicli, however, it was usually detached. Here, in case 
of the outward defences being gained, the garrison retreated 
to make I In-ir last stand. The donjon contained the great hall, 
flfid ininc'ipat rooms of state for solemn occasions, ami also the 
|irison of the fortress ; from whieli last circumstance we derive 
the modern and restricted use of the word dung-con. Ducange 
(^oocc I)i'N.M>) conjectures plaasil)ly. that the name is derived 
from these k<'eps being usually buill upon a hill, which in Cel- 
tic is cnlU'ii Di'N. Borlase supposes the word came from the 
darkness of the apartmeuLs in tbese towers, which were thence 
fignralivelv called Dungeons ; thus deriving the ancient word 
from the nioderi) application of it. 



Note G. 



IVrlf 1D1S he. nrm' d from hcid to keel. 
In mail mid plate of jMilan stccL- — P. 88. 

Tne artists of Milan were famou-i in the middle agesforlheir 
• !-i'! in armory, as appears from tlie following pa.ssage, in 
■» '.i -ii Froi'-art gives an account of the preparations made by 
11 ;:Lry. E.irl of Hercforl, afterwar.ls Henry IV., ami Thomas, 
l>iik'' of Xoriolk. Earl !\'arisclial, for their proposed combat in 
ill:- li^ts at Covi-iirry : — '"These two lords made ample provi- 

(Ki of all things necessary for the combat; and the Karl of 
hTbv* scut off messengers to humbardy, to have armor from 
^ ir G.ilcas. Duke of Milan. The Duke complied with joy, and 
gave the knight, called ."-ir Francis, who had brought the mes- 
sage, til-- choice of all his armor for the Earl of Derby. When 
he had selected what he wished for in plated and mail armor, 
the Lord of >'ilan, out of his abundant love for the Earl, or- 
dered four of tlie best aimorprs in Milan, to accompany the 
knight to E:iglaiid, that the Earl of Derby might be more com- 
pletely armed.*'— JoUNKs' Froissart, vol. iv. p. 597. 



Note H. 

JVko checks at me, to death is dight. — P. 88. 

The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed from the fo. 
lowing story : — Sir David de Lindsay, first Earl of Crauford 
was, among other gentlemen of quality, attended, during a 
visit to London, in 1390, by l?ir William Dalzell, who was, ac- 
cording to my authority, Bower, not only excelling in wisdom 
hut also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the court, he there 
saw ^^i^ Pier.'? Courtenay, an English knight, famous for skill it! 
tilting, and for the beauty of his person, parading the palace, 
arrayed in a new mantle, bearing for device an embroidered 
falcon, with this rhyme, — 

" I bear a falcon, fairest of flight, 
Whoso |)inches at her, his death is dight,i 
In graith."3 

The Scottish knight, being a wag, appeared next day in a 
dress exactly similar to that of Courtenay, but bearing a mag- 
pie instead of the falcon, with a motto ingeniously contrived 
to rhvme to the vaunting inscription of Sir Piers ; — 

" I bear a pie picking at a piece, 
Whoso picks at her, I shall pick at his nese,3 
In faith." 

This affront cooid only be expiated by a just with sharp 
lances. In the course, Dalzell left his helmet unlaced, so that 
it gave way at the touch of his antagonist's lance, and he thus 
avoided the shock of the encounter. This happened twice ; — 
in the third encounter, the handsome Courtenay lost two of his 
front teeth. As the Englishman complained bitteriy of Dal- 
zeil's fraud in not fastening his helmet, the pcottishnlan agreed 
to run six courses more, each champion staking in the hand of 
the King two hundred pounds, to be forfeited, if, on entering 
the lists, any unequal advantage should be detected. This be- 
ing agreed to, the wily Scot ilemanded that Sir Piers, in addi- 
tion to the loss of his teeth, should consent to the extinction ot 
one of his eyes, he himself having lost an eye in the fight ol 
Ottcrburn. As Courtenay demurred to this equalization of op 
tical powers, Dalzell demanded the forfeit ; which, after much 
altercation, the King appointed to be paid to him, saying, be 
surpassed the English both in wit and valor. This must ap- 
pear to the reader a singular specimen of the humor of that 
time. I suspect the Jockey Club would have given a different 
decision from Henry IV. 



Note I. 



They kaiVd I..ord Marmion ; 
They haiVd him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of I.uttcrward, and Scrivclbaye, 

Of Tamtcortk tower and town. — P. 89. 

Lord Marmion, the principal character of the present ro- 
mance, is entirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, in 
deed, the family of Marmion, Lordsof Fontenay, in Normandy 
was highly distinguished. Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fon 
tenay, a distinguished follower of the Conqueror, obtained a 
grant of the castle and town of Tamworth, and also of the 
manor of Scrivelby. in Lincolnshire. One. or both, of these 
noble possessions, was held by the honorable service of being 
the royal champion, as the ancestors of Marmion had formerly 
been to the Dukes of Normandy. But after the castle and 
demesne of Tamworth had passed through four successive 
barons from Robert, the family became extinct in the |»erson 
of Philip de Marmion, who died in 20th Edward I. without 
issue male. He was succeeded in his castle of Tamwurih by 
Alexander de Freville, who married Mazera, his grand-d.iugh- 
ter. Baldwin de Freville, Alexander's descendant, in tho reign 



1 Prepared. 



SNcwe. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



161 



of Richard I., by the Bupposed tenure of his castle of Tam- 
worlh, claimed the otiice of royal champion, and to ilo the 
service ripiK-rtairung ; nameli', on the day of covoiiatioii. to 
lide, completely armed, upon a harlied hon^e, into VVcslmiii- 
■ter Halt, and there to challenge the combat against any who 
would gainsay the King's title. BiU this offifc was adjudged 
to Sir John UymokL", to whom the manor of Scrivelby had do 
seiMided by anotlier of the co-heiresses of Robert de Marniion ; 
dnd it remains in that family, whose i-epresentative is Ilereili- 
itarv Cbainj)ion of Englaiui at the [irusfnl day. The family 
and possessions of Freville have merged in the Earls of Fer- 
rurs. I have not, tliLTefore, created a new family, but only 
revived the titles of an old one in an imaginary personage. 

It was one of the .Marmion family, who, in the reign of Ed- 
ward II., performed thai cliivalrous feat before the very castle 
of Norhani, wldcli Bishop Percy has woven into his beautiful 
ballad, " The Hermit of Warkworth." — The story is thus told 
by Leland ; — 

"Thy Scoltes cam yn to the marches of England, and de- 
stroyed the castles of Werk and Herbotel, and overran much 
of Northumberland marches. 

" At lliis tyme, Thomas Gray and his friendes defended 
Norham from the Seottes. 

" It were a wonderful processe to declare, what mi^chefes 
cam by liungre and asseges by the space of xi yeres in 'Sot- 
thumberland ; for the Scottes became so pronde, after they had 
got Berwick, that they nothing esteemed the Englishmen. 

'■ About this tyme there wa^a greate feste made yn Lincoln- 
fhir, to which came many gentlemen and ladies; and amonge 
them one lady brought a heaulme for a man of were, with a 
very rich creste of gold, to William Marmion, knight, witli a 
letter of commandement of her lady, that he should go into 
the daungerest place in England, and ther to let tlie hcaulme 
be seene and known as famous. So he went to Norham ; 
whither, within 4 days of cnmming, cam Philip Moubray, 
guardian of Gerwicke, having yn liis bande 40 men of armes, 
the very flour of men of the Scottish marches. 

" Thomas Gray, capitayne of Norham, seynge this, brought 
his garison afore the barriers of the castel, behind whom cam 
William, richly arrayed, as al glittering in gold, and wearing 
the heaulme, his lady's present. 

*' Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ' Sir Knight, ye be 
cum hitherto fame your helmet: mount up on yowr horse, 
and ride lyke a valiant man to yowr foes even here at hand, 
and I forsake God if I rescue not thy body deade or atyve, or 
i myself wyl dye for it.' 

'• Whereupon he toke his cursere, and rode among the throng 
of ennemyes ; the which layed sore stripes on him, and pulled 
him at tlie last out of his sadtl to the grounde. 

'■ Then Tliomas Gray, with al the hole garrison, lette prick 
yn among the Scottes. and so wondid them and their horses, 
that they were overthrowan ; and Marmion, sore beten, was 
liorsid agayn, and, wfth Gray, pei-sewed the Scottes yn chase. 
There were taken 50 horse of price ; and tlie women of Nor- 
ham brought them to the foote men to follow the chase." 



Note K. 



— Largesse, largesse. — P. 89. 

Ihts was the cry with which heralds and pursuivants were 
wont to acknowledge the bounty received from the knights. 
Stewart of Lorn distinguishes a ballad, in which he satirizes 
tlie i.arrowness of James V. and hb courtiers, by the ironical 
burden — 

" Ltrges, lerges. Urges, hay, 
Lerges of this new-yeir day. 
First lerges of the King, my chief, 
Quhilk come als rjuiet as a theif, 

: Two. 1 Proof. 



Ami in my hand slid schillingis tway.i 
To put his lergnes to tlie prief,3 
For lerges of this new-yeir day." 

f 

The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed lo have 

great claims upon the liberality of the knights, of who»c feats 

they kept a record, and proclaimed them aloud, as in the (txt, 

U[)on Huitable occasions. 

At Berwick, Norham, and other Border fortresses of innKir- 
tance, pursuivants usually resided, whose inviolable cliaraclur 
rendered them the only persons that could, witli perfect assu- 
rance of safety, be sent on necessary embassies into Scotland. 
This is alluded to in stanza xxi. p. 91. 



Note L. 



Sir Hugh the Heron bold. 
Baron of Twisetl, and of Ford, 
Jind Captain of the Hold.—V. 90. 

Were accuracy of any consequence in a lictitious narraiivt*. 
this castellan's name ought to have been William ; for Wil- 
liam Heron oT Ford was husband to the famous Lady Find, 
whose sirL-n charms are said loliave cost our James IV. so dear. 
Moreover, the saiil William Heron, was, at the time sU|i]ioseil. 
a prisoner in Scotland, being surrendered by Henry VIIT., on 
account of his share in the slaughter of Sir Robert Kcv ol 
Cessforii, His wife, represented in the text as residing ai llii* 
Court of Scotland, was, in fact, living in her own Cast l.- at 
Ford.— See Sir Richard Heron's curious Genealogy of the 
Heron Family. 



Note M. 

7V/e whiles a J^Torthern harper ruds 

Chanted a rhyme of deadly fend, — 

'* How the fierce Thirtcalls, and Ridteys all" S,-c, — P. 90, 

This old Northumbrian ballad was taken down from tiie 
recitation of a woman eighty years of age, mother of one of tiie 
miners of Alston-moor, by an agent for the lead mines there, 
who communicateil it to my friend and correspondent. R. Siir- 
tces, Esciuire, of Mainsforth. She had not, she said, lieard il 
for many years ; but. when she was a girl, it u^ed to be su:i^' 
at the merry-makings *' till thereof rung again." To pi-eservi' 
this curious, though rude rhyme, it is here inserted. The ludi- 
crous turn given to the slaughter marks that wihl and disorderly 
stale of society, in which a murder was not merely a casual cii-- 
cumstance. but, in some cases, an exceedingly guud jest. Tim 
structure of the ballad resembles the " Fray ol Suport,"^ hav- 
ing the same irregular stanzas and wild chorus. 

I. 

IIoul awa*, lads, hoot awa'. 

Ha' ye heard how the Ridleys, and Tiiirwalls, and a' 

Ha' set upon AlbanyJ Featherstonhaugh, 

And taken ills life at the Deadmanshaugh ? 

There was Wiilimoteswick. 

And Hardriding Dick, 
And Hugliie of Hawden, and Will of the Wa' 

I canno' tell a', I eanno' tell a'. 
And mony a mair that the deil may knaw. 

n. 

The auld man went down, but Nicol, his son. 
Ran away afore the tight wa,-* begun ; 

And he run, ami he run, 

And afore they were done, 

3 See MitutreUy of the '^mUiak Bordtr^ vol. ii. p. 194* 
> Pronoantred Awhonj, 



158 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



There was many a Fealherston gat sic a ston. 
As never was seen since the world begun. 

V III. 

t canno' tell a', I canno' tell a' ; 

riome gat a skelp.i and some gat a claw ; 

But tliey garrt tlie Feathenstons baud their jaw, — 2 

Nicol, and Alick, and a". 
Some gat a hurt, and some gat nane ; 
Some had liarness, and some gat sta'en.^ 

IV. 

Ane gat a twist o' the craig ;* 
Ane gat a bunch* o' the wame ;e 
Syniy Haw gat lamed of a leg, 
And syne ran wallowing' hame. 

V. 

.■loot, hoot, the old man's slain outright ! 

Lay him now wi' his face down : — he's a sorrowful siglit. 

Janet, tliou donot,* 

I'll lay my best bonnet. 
Thou gets a new gude-inan afore it be night. 

VI. 

Hoo away lads, boo away, 
We's a' be hangid if we stay. 

Tak up the dead man, and lay liim ahint the biggin. 
Here's the Bailey o' Hultwhistle,^ 
Wi' his great bull's [lizzIe, 

That sup'd up tlie broo', — and syne in '.lie piggin-iiJ 

I In exjilanation of this ancient ditty, Mr. Surrees has fur- 

I nished me with the following local memorandum : — WilU- 
moteswick, the chief seat of the ancient family of Ridley, is 
Bitoateil two miles above the confluence of tlie Allun and 
Tyne. It was a house of strength, as appears from one ob- 
long tower, still in tolerable jireservation.'J It has been long 
in possession of the Blacket family. Hardriding Dick is not 
an epithet referring to iiorsemanship, but means Richard Rid- 
ley of Hardriding, J- the seat of another family of tJiat name, 
which, in the time of Charles I., was sold on account of ex- 
penses incurred by the loyalty of the proprietor, the imme- 
diate ancestor of Sir Matthew Ridley. Will of the Wa' seems 
to he William Ridley of Walltown, so called iVoui its situa- 
tion oil the great Roman wall. Tliirlwall CjLsile, whence 
the clan of Thirlwalls derived their name, is tiiuated on the 
email river of Tippel, near the western boundary of Northum- 
berland. It is near the wall, and takes its name from the 
rampart liaving been thirled, i, e. pierced, or breached, in its 
vicinity. Fealherston Castle lies south of the Tyne, towards 
Alhlon-moor. Albany Featherstonhaugh, the chief of that 
ancient family, matle a figure in the reign of Edward VI. A 
feud did certainly exist between the RiJleys and Feather- 
stons, productive of such consequences as the ballait narrates. 
24 Oct. 22ilo HevriciSoi. huiuisUio copt. npitd Hautwhis- 
tle, sup insnm corpus .^Icxandri Fcatkcrstuu. Ocn. npud 
QrcnsiUtaugk fe/onice interfecti, 2'.i Oct. per J^icolaum 
Uidlcy de Vnthanke, Oat. Hugun RiiUe, J^icolaum Ridlc, 
I \-t alios ejusdem uominis. Nor were tlie Featherstons without 
their revenge ; for 3Gto Henrir.i 8vi, we have — Utla>ratio J^ico- 
iai hctherstim, nc Tkoiae JVyxson, <W. <S-c. pro homicidio 
IVilL Ridie de Morale. 

I Ski ';j tiif^niSes slap, or rather U the same word which iviis originally 
upelled ' ' Ian. 

i Hiild tkeirjau), n \-iiIgar espreasion ctill in use, 

3 liot utolen, or, were plundered ; a very likely loniiiiiation of thi> 
IrAjr. 

i N«ck. r. "thicI). r. Belly. 7 Bellowing. 

e Siit'i»liit. The border bard calls birao, because she wns weeping 
for hor elfiin iMieband; a Iobs which he 'eems to think miglit bo soon 
re. aired. 

J The Baililf of Haltwhiatle seems to luive arrived when the fray was 



Note N. 

James backed the cause of that mock prince, 
IVarbeck, that Flemish counterfeit^ 
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
Then, did I march with Stirreifs power, 
What time we razed old Jlyton tower. — P. 91. 

The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Richard, Duke of York, 
is well known. lu 1496, he was received honorably in Scot- 
land ; and James IV., after conferring ujmn liim in marriage 
his own relation, the Lady Catharine Gordon, made war on 
England in behalf of his pretensions. To retaliate an inva- 
sion of England, Surrey advanced into Berwickshire at the 
head of considerable forces, but retreated, after taking the in- 
considerable fortress of Ayton. Ford, in his Dramatic Chroni- 
cle of Perkin Warbeck, makes the most of this inroad : 
" Surrey. 
" Are all onr braving enemies shrunk back. 
Hid in the fogges of their distemper'd climate, 
Not daring to behold our colors wave 
In spiglit of tliis infected ayre 1 Can they 
Looke on the strength of Cundrestine defac't; 
The glorie of Heydonhall devasted ; that 
Of Erlington cast downe ; the pile of Fuklen 
Orethrovvne : And this, the strongest of their forts, 
Old Aylon Castle, yeeided and demolished, 
And yet not jjeepe abroad ? The Scots are bold, 
Hanlie in battayle, but it seems the cause 
They undertake considered, appeares 
Unjoynted in the frame on't." 



Note 0. 



- / troujj 



JVnrkam can find you guides enow ; 

For here be some have prick'd as far. 

On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 

Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, 

And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 

Harried the icives of Grccnlaw^s goods. 

And given them light to set their hoods. — P. 91. 

The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, Norhara, and 
Berwick, were, as may be easily supposed, very troublesome 
neighboi-s to Scotland. Sir Richard Mailland of Ledlngton 
wrote a poem, called "The Blind Baron's Comfort, " when 
his barony of Blythe, in Lauderdale, was harried by Rowland 
Foster, the English captain of W^ark, with his company, to the 
number of 3U0 men. They spoiled the poetical knight of 5000 
sheep. '.JOU noil, 30 hoi-ses and mai-es ; the whole furniture of 
his house of Blythe. worth 100 pounds Scots {£E 6s. 8d.), and 
every thing else that was portable. " This spoil was committed 
the 16th day of May, 1570 (and the said i?ir Richard was three- 
score and fourleen years of age, and grown blind;, in time ol 
peace ; when nane of tiiat country iippened [expected] such a 
lJ,j„(T," — '• The Blinil Baron's Comfort'' consists in a string ol 
puns on the word Blythe. the name of the lands thus despoiled. 
Like John Littlewit, he .^ad " A conceit left in his misery — a 
miserable conceit." 

The last line of the text contains a phrase, by which the 
Borderers jocularly intimated the burning a house. When 

over. This supporter of social order is treated with characteristic inever 
ence by the moBS-trooping poet. 

10 An irou pot with two ears. 

1 1 Willimoteswick was, in prior editions, c nfounded with Riilley Hall, 
situHted two miles lower, en the same side of the Tjtio, the hereditary 
seat of William C. Lowes, Ksq. 

13 Ridley, the bishop and martjT, was, according to some authorities, 
bom at Hardriding, where a chair was preserved, called ihe Itishop's 
Chair. Othfrrs, and particularly his biographer and namesake. Dr. Gloce* 
ler Ridley, assign iho honor of the mortjT's birth to Willimoteswick. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



159 



ihe Maxwells, in IG85, burneJ the Cxstle of Lochwood, Ihey 
^;ii(I lliey (iUl so to {•ive the Lady Johnstone " light to set her 
hood." Nor was llie phrn.su inapplicable ; for, in a letter, to 
which I have mislaid the reference, llie I'jarl of Northurnbdr- 
anil writes to the King and Connuil, thai he dressed himself 
11 midnight, at Warkwortli, liy the blaze of the neigliboring 
villages burned by tlie Scottitth marauders. 



Note P. 
The priest of Shorcswood — he could rein 
The wildest war-horse in your train. — P. 91. 
This churchman seems to have been akin to Welsh, the 
ticar of St. Thomas of Exeter, a leader among the Cornish 
ni>nrgenLs in lO-l'J. "This man," says Ilollinshed, "had 
many good things in him. Ho was of no great stature, but 
well set, and mighlilie comp.ict: He was a very good wrest- 
ler; shot Well, both in the long bow and also in the cross- 
Dow ; he handled liis band-gun and peece very well ; he was 
a very good woodman, and a bardie, and such a one as would 
not give bis head for the polling, or his beard for the wa.Nhing. 
He was a companion in any exercise of aetivitie, and of a 
courteous and gentle beliaviour. He descended of a good honest 
parentage, being borne at Penevenn in Cornwall ; and yet. in 
this rebellion, an arch-captain and a principal doer." — Vol.iv. 
p. 958, 4to. edition. This model of clerical talents had llie 
misfortune to be hanged upon tlie steeple of his own ehurcli.' 



Note Q. 
- that jrrot where OUveg nod, 



IVhcre, darling of each heart and eye. 
From all the youth of Sici<^y, 

Saint Rosalie retired to Ood. — P. 92. 
" Sante Rosalia was of Palermo, and born of a very noble 
family, and, when very young, abhorred so much the vanities 
of this world, and avoided llie converse of mankind, resolving 
to dedicate herself wholly to God Almighty, that she, by 
divine inspiration, forsook her fatiier's house, and never was 
more heard of til! her body w:is found ^n that cleft of a rock, 
on that almoi«t inaccessible mountain, where now the chapel 
is built ; and they atfirni she was carried up tliere by the 
hands of angels ; for that place was not formerly so accessible 
(aa now it is) in the days of the Saint ; and even now it is a 
very bad, and tteepy, and breakneck way. In this frightful 
place, this holy woman lived a great many years, feeding oidy 
on what she found growing on that barren mountain, and 
creeping into a narrow and dreadful cleft in a rock, which 
(vas always dropping wet, and was her place of retir-.-ment as 
Well as prayer ; having worn out even the rock with her knees 
in a certain place, winch is now open'd on purpose to show it 
to those who come here. This chapel is very richly adorn'd ; 
and on the spot where the Saint's dead body was discover'd, 
which is ju-t beneath the hole in the rock, which is open'd 
on purpose, as I said, there is a very fine statue of marble, 
representing her in a lying posture, railed in all about with 
fine iron and brass work ; and the altar, on which they say 
ma^s, is built just over it." — Voyage to Sicily and Malta, 
by Mr. John Dryden (son to the poet), p. 107. 



Note R. 



Friar John - 



Himself still sleeps before his beads 
Have marked ten aves and two creeds. — P. 92. 
Friar Jolm understood the eoporiiic virtue of his beads and 
•i eviary, as well as his namesake in Rabelais. "But Gar- 

1 The reader needs liardly to be lemindeH nf Ivanhoe. 



gantua could not sleep by any means, on which sidesoevei 
he turned himself. Whereupon the monk said to him, ' I 
never sleep soundly but when I am at sermon or prayeix : 
Let us theretore begin, you and I, the seven penitential psalms, 
to try whetiier you shall not quickly fall asleep.' The conceit 
pleased Gargantua very well ; and beginning the first of llics<; 
psalms, as soon as they came to Bcati qaoruvi, they fell asleep 
both the one and the other." 



Note S. 



The summoned Palmer came in place.— V. 92. 

A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it his 
sole business to visit ditTerent holy shrines ; travelling incessant- 
ly, and subsisting by charity ; whereas the Pilgrim retired to his 
usual home and occupations, when he had paid Ida devotions 
at the particular spot which was the object of his pilgrimage. 
The Palmers seem to have been the Qucstionarii of the an- 
cient Scottisii canons 1242 and 1296. There is in the Banna- 
tyne MS. a burlesque account of two such persons, entitled, 
" Shimmy and his brother." Their accoutrements are thus ludi- 
crously described (I discard the ancient spelling) — 
'* Syne shaped them up, to loop on leas, 
Two tabards of the tartan ; 
They counted naught what then" clouts were 

When sew'd them on, in certain. 
Syneclampit up St. Peter's keys, 

Made of an old red gartane ; 
St. James's shells, on t'other s'de, shows 
As pretty aa a partane 

Toe, 
On Symmye and his brother.*' 



Note T. 



To fair St. Andrews bound, 
JVithin the ocean-cave to pray. 
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day. 
Sung to the billows^ sound. — P. 93. 
St. Regulus {Scottici, St. Rule), a monk of Patrae, in Aeha- 
ia, warned by a vision, is said, A.D. 370, to have sailed v/tsi- 
ward, until he landed at St. Andrews in Scotland, where he 
fonnited a chapel and tower. The latter is still standing ; and, 
though we may doubt the precise date of its foundation, is cer- 
tainly one of the most ancient edifices in Scotland. A cave, 
nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the Archbishops of St. .■\,n- 
drew«, bears tlie name of this religious person. Ii is difficult of 
access; and the rock in vrhicli it is hewed is washed by the 
German Ocean. It is nearly round, about ten feet in diainetei-, 
and the same in height. On one side is a sort of stone altar; 
on tiie other an aperture into an inner den, where the miserable 
ascetic, who inhabited this dwelling, probably slept. At full 
tide, egress and regress are hardly practicable. As Regulus firj^t 
colonized the metropolitan see of Scotland, and convel■t^d the 
inhabitants in the vicinity, he has some reason to comphiin, 
that the ancient name of Killrule (Cclla Reguii) should ha\c 
been superseded, even in favor of the tutelar saint of Scotland. 
The reason of the change? was, that St. Rule is said to Jiave 
brought to Scotland the relics of Saint Andrew. 



Note 17. 



~Saint Fillan^s blessed well, 



tVhosp spring can phrensicd dreams dispel, 
And the crazed brain restore, — P. 93. 

St. FiUan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. Although 



160 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I*opery is, with us, matter of altoiniiiation, yet tlie conimoii 
people still retain some ol the sujiei-slitions connected with it. 
There are in Perliishire several wells and ^iniiig;! dedicated to 
St. Fillan, which are still places of pilgrimage and offerings, 
even among the Protestants. They are held powerful in cases 
of madness ; and, in some of very late occurrence, lunatics have 
been left all night bound to the holy stone, in confidence that 
the saint would cure and unloose them before morning. — [See 
various notes to the JMinstrclsy of the Hcotlish Border.'] 



Note V. 
The scenes arc desert noic, and hnrcy 
Where flourish' d once a forest fair. — P. 94. 

Ettrick Forest now a range of mountainous siieep-walks, 
was anciently reserved for the pleasure of the royal ciiase. 
Siuce it was disparked, the wood has been, by degrees, almost 
totally destroyed, although, wherever protected IVoin the siicep, 
copses soon arise without any planting. Wiien the King hunt- 
ed there, he often summoned the array of tlie country to meet 
and assist his sport. Thus, in 1528, James V. '• made procla- 
mation to all lords, barons, gentlemen, landward-mcn, and 
freeholders, thai they should compear at Etlitilnn-gh, with a 
month's victuals, to pass witli the King wliere he pleased, to 
danton the thieves of Tiviotdate, Annaudale, Liddisdale, ami 
other parts of that country ; and also warned all gputlcmen thai 
had good dogs to bring them, that he might hum in the said 
country as he pleased ; The wliilk the Earl of Argyle, the Earl 
of Huntley, the Earl of Atliole, ami so all the rest of the gen- 
tlemen of the Highland, did, ami brought their liounds with 
them in like manner, to hunt with the King, as he pleased. 

"The second day of June the King jiast out of Edinburgh 
to the hunting, with many of the nobles and gentlemen of 
Scotland with him, to the number of twelve thousand men; 
and then past to Meggitland, and hounded and hawked all the 
country and bounds ; that is to say. Cramir.at, Papjiertlaw, St. 
Mary-laws, Carlavrick, Chapel, Ewindoores. and *^-.>iigIiope. 
I heard say, he slew, in these bounds, eigliteen score of halts. "i 

These huntings had, of course, a military character, and at- 
tendance upon them was a part of tlie duty of a vassal. The 
act for abolishing ward or military tenures in Scotland, enu- 
merates the services of hunting, hosting, watching, and ward- 
ing, as those which were in future to be illegal. 

Taylor, the water-poet, has given an account of the mode in 
which these huntings were conducted in the Highlands of Scot- 
land, in the seventeentii century, having been present at Br^- 
mar npon such an occasion : — 

"There did I find tlie truly noble and right honourable 
lords, John Erskine, Earlof M:tr; James tftuart, Eail ofMiU'- 
my ; George Gordon, Earl of Engye, son and heir to the Mar- 
quis of Huntley ; James Erskine, Earl of liuchau ; and John, 
Lord Erskine, son and heir to the Earl of Mar, and their Count- 
esses, with my much honoured, and my last assured ami aj)- 
proved friend, Sir William MuiTay, knight of Ahcrcariiey, and 
hundreds of others, knights, esquires, and their ibllowci-s ; all 
and every man, in general, in one habit, a.s if Lyirurgus harl 
been there, and made laws of equality ; for once in the year, 
which is the whole month of August, and sometimes j)art of 
September, many of the nobility and gentry of the kingdom 
(for their pleasure) do come into these Highland countries to 
hunt; where they do conform themselves to the habit o( the 
Highlandmen, who, forthe most pari, speak nothing but Irish ; 
and, in former time, were those people w -ich were called ihe 
Rcd-skanhs. Their habit is — shoes, with but one sole a-piece ; 
Blockings (which they call short hose), made of a warm stuft' 
of diverse colours, which they call tartan ; as for breeches, 
many of them, nor their forefathers, never wore any, but a jer- 
kin of the same stuff that their hose is of; tlu-ir garters being 
bands or wreatlis of hay or straw ; with a plaid about their 

1 Pitscottie's Hhilonf of Scotland, Mio edition, j>. 142. 



shoulders ; which is a mantle of diverse colours, much finer anil 
lighter stuff than their hose ; with blue flat caps on their heails ; 
a handkerchief, knit with two knots, about their necks : an>l 
thus are they attired. Now their wea|tons are — long bowea 
and tbrked arrows, swords and targets, harquebu-"i-s, muskets, 
durks, and Lochaber axes. Willi these arms I found many of 
them armed for the hunting. As for their attire, any uiati, of 
what degree soever, that comes amongst them, must not dis- 
dain to wear it ; for, if they do. then they will disdain lu hunt, 
or willingly to bring in their dogs; bui if men be kind nnto 
them, and be in their habit, then are they conquered wi*. ii kijul- 
ness, and the sport will be plentiful. This was the reaMiii that 
I found so many noblemen and gentlemen in those shajics 
But to proceed to the hunting : — 

" My good Lord of Marr having put me into Uiat shape, I 
rode with him from his house, where I saw the niins of rvi o'll 
castle, called the Castle of Kindroghit. It was built b_v Kij.:; 
Malcolm Canmore (for a hunting-house), who reigned in Scot- 
land when Edward the Confessor. Harold, and Norman Wil- 
liam, reigned in England. 1 speak of it, becau.se it wa^ the 
last house I saw in those parts ; for I was the space of twelvf 
days after, before 1 saw either house, corn-field, or habita;iLiii 
for any creature, but deer, wild horses, wolves, and such !iiio 
creatures, — which made me doubt that I should never lia\e 
seen a house again. 

"Thus, the first day, we travelled eight miles, where there 
were small cottages, built on purpose to lodge in, which thy 
call Lonquhards. I thank my good Lord Erskine, he com- 
manded that I should always be lodged in his lodging: il^e 
kitchen being always on the side of a bank : many kelll.-s and 
pots boiling, and many spits turning and winding, willi :;rc:it 
vai-iety of cheer, — as venison baked ; sodden, rost, and vt->.vd 
beef; mutton, goats,- kid, hares, fresh salmon, pigeon>-. hens, 
capons, chickens, partridges, muii^cools, heath-cocks, caper' 
kellies, and termagants ; good ale, sacke. white and cliuvt, 
tent (or allegant), with most potent aquavitip. 

" All these, and more than these, we had continually in -^u 
perfinous abundance, caught by falconers, fowlers, fislivrs, ant 
brought by my lord's tenants and purveyors to victual our 
camp, whicli consisteth of fourteen or fifteen hundred m-.-n ;uid 
horses. The manner of the hunting is this : Five or six Inr.i- 
dreil men do rise early in the morning, and they do disperse lii; in- 
selves divers ways, ana seven, eight, or ten miles comjia-s, uK*y 
do bring, or chase in, the deer in many herds (two, three, or 
four hundred in a herd), to such or such a place, as the ncbA- 
men shall ai»i)oint them; then, when day is come, the lor,b 
and gentlemen of their companies do ride or go to liie ;;iid 
places, sometimes wading up to the middlos, through bu/us 
and rivers ; and then, they being come to the place, do lie down 
on the ground, till those foresaid scouts, which are called '■■.e 
Tinkhell, do bring down the deer ; but. as the proverb sav? ut 
the bad cook, so these tinkhell men do lick their own fiiii;- :.• ; 
for, besides their bows and arrows, which they carry with tin ;;i, 
we can hear, now and then, a han|uebuss or a muskel go oil", 
which they do seldom discharge in vain. Then, after we \>:n\ 
staid there three hours, or thereabouts, we might per.'ci\f iS.e 
deer appear on the hills round about us (their heads uKikit,:; a 
show like a wood), which, being followed clo-'-e by the tinl.ikU, 
are chased down into the valley where we lay ; then ali liie 
valley, on each side, being way-laid with a hundred coupic ol 
strong Irish greyhounds, they are all let loose, as occ;i-i(;ii 
serves, npon the herd of deer, that witli ilogs, guns, arrow ^. 
dorks, and daggers, in the space of two hours, foursco.-r l*:il 
deer were slain ; whicii alter are disposcil of, some one \\:.y, 
and some another, twenty and thirty miles, and more tl.;in 
enough left for us, to make merry withall. at our rendezvous." 



Note "W. 
By lone Saint Jt/nry's silent lahe. — P. 95 
Tliis beautiful sheet of water forms th.e reservoir from wliich 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



161 



.lie Varrow takes its eource. It is connected with a siiiaDer 
lake, callL'd the hoch of llio Lowes, anil surrounded by nioun- 
tiiiiis III tliL' winter, it is still Crfiiuented by flights of wild 
Bwans ; hence my friemJ Mr. Wordsworth's lines ; — 

*' The swan on sweet St. Mary's lake 
Floats double, swan and shadow." 

y -ar the lower extreniily ol' llie lake, are the ruins of Dry- 
liiFjiL- luwer, the birth-|ilaco ol' iVIaiy Scott, daughli» of I'liiliji 
SjuII. of Drvho|it', ami famous by the traditional name ol" tlie 
Flower of Yarrow. She was married to Walter Scott of liar- 
lien, no le^ renowned for his depredations, than his bride for 
her beauty. Her romantic appellation was, in later days, with 
eiiual justice, conferred on Miss Mary Lilias Seoit. the last of 
the elder branch of the Harden taniily. The author well re- 
members the talent and spirit of the latter Flower of Varrow, 
though age had then injured the charms which procured her 
the name. The words usually sung to the airof " Tweedside," 
beginning, " What beauties does Flora disclose," were com- 
posed in her honor. 



Note X, 

in feudal strife, a foe. 

Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low. — P. 96. 

The chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes (ilc lacitous) wa.s situ- 
ated on the eastern side of the lake, to which it gives name. 
It was injured by the clan of Scolt, in a feud with the Cran- 
stuuns; but continued to be a place of worship during the 
seventeenth century. The vestiges of the building can now 
scarcely be traced ; but the burial-ground is stiil used as a cem- 
etery. A funeral, in a «*pot so very retired, lias an uncommon- 
ly striking eftect. The vestiges of the chajdain's iiouse arc yet 
visible. Being in a. high situation, it commanded a full view 
of the lake, witli the opposite mountain of Bourlioiie, belong- 
ing, witli the lake itself, to Lord Napier. On the left liund is 
rhe tower of Dryhope, meutioned in a preceding note. 



Note Y. 



the Wizard's grave ; 

That fVizard Priest's, whose bones arc thrust 
From company of holy dust. — P. 96. 

At one corner of the burial-ground of the demolished chapel, 
but witlionl its precincts, is a ^mall mound, called Binram's 
Cori!c, wlicre tradition deposits the remains of a necromantic 
priest, the former tenant of the chaplainry. His story much 
resembles that of Ambrosio in "The Monk," and has been 
made the ilieme of a ballad, by ray frienti Mr. James Hogg, 
more poetically designed the Etirick Shepherd. To his vol- 
ume, entitled "The Mountain Bard," which contains this, 
and many other legendary stories and ballads of great merit, I 
refer the curious reader. 



Note Z. 



Some ruder and more savage scene, 

L.ike that ichich frowns round dark Loch-skene. — P. 96. 

Loch-skene h a mountain lake, of considerable size, at the 
head of tlie MolVat-water. The character of the scenery is 
uncommonly savage ; and the earn, or Scottish eagle, has, for 
many ages, built its nest yearly upon an islet in the lake. 
Loch-skene discharges itself into a brook, which, after a short 
and precipitate course, falls from a cataractof immense height, 
md gloomy grandeur, called, from its appearance, the " Gray 
2i 



Mare's Tail." Tlie " Giant's Grave," afterwards meniiuned. 
is a sort of trench, which bears that name, a little way fruni 
the foot of the cataract. U lias the appearance of a batten , 
designed to command the [tass. 



Note 2 A. 
high IVhitby's cloistered pile. — P. 97. 

The Abbey of Whitby, in the Archdeaconry of Cleavehi 
on the coast of Yorkshire, was fonnried A. D. 657, in fo 
quence of a vow of Oswy, King of Northumberland. U i' 
tained both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order : li 
contrary to what was usual in such estahlishment.'i, the alil 
was superior to the abbot. The monastery was afterw:i 
ruined by the Danes, and rebuilt by William Percy, in 
reign of tlie Conqueror. There were no nuns there in Hl- 
the Eighth's time, nor long before it. The ruins of Wl 
Abbey are very magnificent. 



■my 
;thv 



Note 2 B. 



St. CuthberVs Holy Isle.—V. 97. 

Lindisfarne. an isle on the coast of Northumberland, wa-s 
called Holy Island, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery, 
and from its having been the episcopal seat of the see of I3ur- 
ham during the early ages of British Cliristianity. A succes- 
sion of holy men held that office ; but their merits were swat- 
lowed up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was si\lli 
Bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his " p;iti')- 
raony" upon the e.vtensive property of the see. The ruin:- ul 
the monastery upon Holy Island betoken great antiquity. The 
arches are, in general, strictly Saxon ; and the pillars which 
support them, short, strong, and massy In some places, 
however, there are pointcil windows, which indicate that tlie 
building has been repaired at a period long subsecjuent to the 
original foundation. The exterior ornaments of the building, 
being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted, a^ described 
in the text. Lmdisfarne is not properly an island, but rather, 
as the venerable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle ; for, although 
surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the .sands tiry 
between it and the opposite coast of Northumberiand, from 
which it is about three miles distant. 



Note 2 C. 



Then fVhitby's nuns ezulting told 
How to their house three Barons bold 
Jilust menial service do. — P. 99. 

Tiie po|mlar account of this carious service, which wan 
probably considerably exaggerated, is thus given in '* A True 
Account," printed and circulated at Whitby : "In the filth 
year of the reign of Henry II., after the conquest of England 
by William, Duke of Normandy, the Lord of Uglebariihy, 
then called William de Bruce ; the Lord of Smeaton, called 
Ralph de Percy ; witli a gentleman and freeholder callcl AI- 
latson, did, on tlie 16th of Oeiober, 1159, appoint to niet-t am" 
hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood, or desert place, belong' 
ing to the Abbot of Whitby ; the place's name was Esk.lale- 
side; and the abbot's name wjls Seilman. Then, these young 
gentlemen being met. with their hounds and boar-slaves, in the 
place before mentioned, and there having found a great wild- 
boar, the hounds ran him well near about the chapel and hei 
mitage of Eskdale-side. where was a monk of Whitby, who 
was an hermit. The boar, being very sorely pursued, ami 
dead-run, took in at the chapel door, there laid him down, and 
presently died. The hermit shut the hounds out of the chapel. 



162 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



and kept hiiiiself wiiliiii at liis meHiCitions ami pravers, the 
hounds standing at btiy witliout. The yenllcinen, in ihe thick 
of the wood, being jut.t beliind their game, followed ilie cry of 
their hounds, and so came to the hennit;ige, t-alling on the her- 
mit, who opened llie door and Lame forth ; :tiid wltiiin they 
(blind the hoar lying dead : forwhich, the gentlemen, in a very 
great fury, because ihe hounds were put from iheirgume, did 
most viulentlv and cruelly run at the hermit with their boai-- 
fitaves, whereby he soon after died. Therenjion the gentle- 
men, perceiving and knowing tlial they were in peril of death, 
look siinctnary at Scarborough : But at tliat time the abbot 
being in very great favor with the King, removed lliem out of 
the sanctuary ; whereby they came in danger of the law, and 
not to be [)rivileged, but likely to have the severity of the law, 
which was death for death. But the hermit, being a holy and 
devout man, and at tiie point of death, sent for the abbot, and 
desired him to send for tlie gentlemen who had wounded him. 
The abliot so doing, the gentlemen came ; and the hermit, 
being very sick and weak, said unto them, ' I am sure to tfie 
of those wounds you have given me.' — Tiie abbot answered, 
'They shall as surely die for the same.' — But the lierniit an- 
swered, ' Not so, for 1 will freely Ibrgive tiiem my death, if 
they will be content to be enjoined the penance I shall lay on 
them for the safeguard of their souls.' The gentlemen being 
present, bade him save their lives. Then said the hermit, 
' You and yours shall hold your lands of the Abbot of Wliitby, 
and his successors, in this manner : That, upon Ascensioii-day, 
you, or some of you, shall come to the wood of the Stray- 
heads, which is in Eskdale-side, the same day at sun-rising, 
and there shall the abbot's officer blow liis horn, to the intent 
that jou may know wliere to find him ; and he sliall deliver 
nnto you. William de Bruce, ten stakes, eleven slrout stowere, 
and eleven yethers, to be cut by you, or some of you, with a 
knife of one penny price: and you, Ralpli de Percy, shall take 
twenty-one of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and 
yon, Allatson, shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as afore- 
said, and to be taken on your backs and carried to the town of 
Wliilby, and to be there before nine of the clock the same day 
before mentioned. At the same hour of nine of the clock, if 
it be full sea, your labor and service shall cease ; and if low 
water, each of yo*u shall set your stakes to the brim, each 
stake one yard from the other, ami so yelher them on eacli side 
with your yethers ; and so stake on each side with your stront 
fitowers, that they may stand three tides without removing by 
the force thereof. Each of you shall do, make, and execute 
the said service, at that very hour, every year, except it be full 
Bea at that hour: but when it shall so fall out, this service 
shall cease. You shall faithfully do this, in remembrance 
that you did most cruelly slay me ; and that you may the bet- 
ter call to God for mercy, repent unfeignedly of your sins, and 
do good works. The officer of Eskdale-side shall blow. Out on 
you! Out on you! Out on you! for this Iieinous crime. If 
you, or your successors, shall refuse tliis service, so long as it 
ehall not be full sea at the aforesaid hour, you or yours shall 
forfeit your lands to the Abbot of Whitby, or his successors. 
This I entreat, and earnestly beg, that you may have lives and 
goods preserved for this service : and I request of you to prom- 
ise, by your parts in Heaven, that ii shall be done by you and 
your successors, as is aforesaid reiini";ted : and I wHl confirm 
it by the faith of an honest man.' — Then the In-vniil said, ' My 
soul longeth for the Lord : and I do as freely lorgiic thetie 
men my death as Christ forgave the thieves on the cra-^s".' And, 
in the presence of the abbot and the rest, he said moreover 
these words; * In manus tuos, Dominr, commcndo spiritum 
meum, a vinculis enim mortis redemisti mc, Uomine vcrita- 
tis. Jlmen.' — So he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of 
December, anno Domini 1159, whose soul God have mercy 
upon. Amen. 

" This service," it is added, "still continues to be jierformed 
with the prescribed ceremonies, though not by the proprietors 
in person. Part of the lands charged therewith are now held 
Dy a gentleman of the name of Herbert." 



Note 2 D. 



- ill their convent cell 



A Saxon priticess once did dwell. 
The lovely Edeljled.—V. 99. 
She was he daughter of King Oswy, who, in gratitude to 
Heaven for the great victory which he won in 055, against 
Penda. the Pagan King ol Mercia, dedicated Edelfleda. then 
but a year old, to the service of God, in the monastery ot 
Whitby, of whicli St. Hilda was then abbess. She afterwards 
adorned the place of her education with great magniticence. 



Note 2 E 



of thousand snakes, each one 

Was changed into a coil of stone, 

When holy Hilda pray'' d ; 
They told, how sea-fowls^ pinions fail, 
As over H'hitby's towers they sail. — P. 99. 
These two miracles are much insisted upon by all ancient 
writers who have occasion to mention either Whitby or St. 
Hilda. The relics of the snakes which infested the precincts 
of tlie convent, and were, at the abbess's prayer, not only be- 
Iieaded, but petrified, are still found about the rocks, and are 
tennetl by Protestant fossilists, JimmonittB. 

The other miracle is thus mentioned by Camden: "It is 
also ascribed to the power of her sanctity, that these wild 
geese, which, in the winter, tly in great flocks to tlie lakes and 
rivers unfrozen in the southern parts, to the great amazement 
of every one, fall down suditenly upon the ground, when 
they are in their flight over certain neighboring fields here- 
abouts: a relation I should not have made, if I had not re- 
ceived it from some credible men. But those who are less in- 
clined to heed superstition, attribute it to some occult quality 
in the ground, and to somewhat of antipathy between it and 
the geese, such as they say is betwixt wolves and scyllaroots : 
For that such hidden tendencies and aversions, as we call 
sympathies and antipatliies, are implanted in many things by 
provident Nature for the preservation of them, is a thing so 
evident that everybody grants it." Mr. Charlton, in liis His- 
tory of Whitby, points out the true origin of the fable, from 
the number of sea-gulls that, when flying from a storm, often 
alight near Whitby ; and from the woodcocks, and other birds 
of passage, who do tiie same upon their arrival on shore, after 
a long flight. 



Note 2 F. 



His body's resting-place, of old, 

How oft their Patron changed, they told. — P. 99. 

St. Cnthbert was, in ihe choice of his sepulchre, one of the 
most mutable and unreasonable saints in the Calendar. He 
died A D. 688, in a hermitage upon the Fame Islands, having 
resigned the bishopric of Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, about 
two years before.! His body was brought to Lindisfarne, 
where it remained until a descent of the Danes, about 793, 
when the monastery was neai-ly destroyed. The monks fled 
to Scotland wiLh what they deemed their chief treasure, the 
relics of t^r. Cnthbert. The Saint was, however, a most capri- 
cious fellow-traveller ; which was the more intolerable, as, 
like Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea, he journeyed upon the 
shoulders of his com]ianions. They paraded him throngh 
Scotland for several years, and came as far west as Whithern, 
in Galloway, whence they attempted to sail for Ireland, bnt 
were driven back by tempests. He at length made a halt at 
Norham ; from thence he went to Melrose, where he remained 

1 He remiQUd tte bisTir>iiric of Liniiisfanie, which, owing to bad health, 
be a^in relinquUbed wilhin less tlian three mootba before his dcBth.— 
Ratve's St. Culhbert. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



las 



Btationary for a short time, and then caused himself to be 
[auiiched upon the Tweed in a stone coffin, which landed him 
at 'rihnoiilh, in Northumberland. This boat is finely shaped, 
ten feel long, three t'cet and a half in diameter, and only four 
inches thick ; so that, with very httle assistance, it might cei^ 
tainly hsvL-swam : It still lies, or at lca?t did so a few years 
ago, in iwo pieces, beside the ruined chapel of Tiltnouth. 
From Tilinouth. Cnthbert wandered into V'orkshire ; and at 
len^'tli made a long stay at Chestei^le-street, to which tlio 
bishop's set was transferred. At length, the Danes, continu- 
ing to infest the country, the monks removed to Rijipon for a 
season ; and 't was in return from thence to CliesteMe-strcet, 
that, passing through a forest called Dunholme, the Saint and 
his carriage became immovable at a place named Wardlaw, 
orWardilaw. Here the Saint chose his place of residence ; 
and all who have seen Durham most admit, that, if difficult 
in his choice, he evinced taste in at length lixing it. It is said 
that the Northumbrian Catholics still keep secret the precise 
spot of the Saint's sepulture, which is only intrusted to three 
penons at a tirae. When one dies, the survivors associate to 
them, in his room, a person judged fit to be the depository of 
EO valuable a secret. 

[The Ffsring-place of the remains of this saint is not now 
matter of uncertainty. So recently as 17th May, 18-27, 1139 
years after his death, their discovery and disintornicnt were 
etfected. Under a blue stone, in the middle of the slinne of 
St. Cuthbert. at the ea,stern extremity of the choir of Durham 
Cathedral, there was then found a walled grave, containing 
tlie cotfins of the Saint. The first, or outer one, was ascei^ 
tained to be thai of 154], the second of 1041 ; the third, or in- 
ner one, answering in every particular to the description of 
tlial of G98, was found to contain, not indeed, as had been 
averred tlien. and even until 1539. the incorruptible body, but 
the entire skeleton of the Saint ; the bottom of the grave being 
perfectly dry, free from offensive smell, and without the slight- 
est symptom that a human body had ever undergone decom- 
po>iition within its walls. The skeleton was found swathed in 
five silk robes of emblematical embroidery, the ornamental 
parts laid with gold leaf, and these again covered with a robe 
of linen. Beside the skeleton were also deposited several gold 
and silver insignia, and other relics of the Saint. 

The Roman Catholics now allow that the coffin was that of 
St. Cuthbert. 

The bones of the Saint were again restored to the grave in 
a new coifin, amid the fragments of the former ones. Those 
portions of the inner coffin which could be preserved, inclu- 
ding one of its rings, with tlie silver altar, golden cross, stole, 
comb, two maniples, bracelets, girdle, gold wire of the skele- 
ton, and fragments of the five silk robes, and some of the rings 
of the outer colBn made in 1541, were deposited in the library 
of the Dean and Chapter, where they are now preserved. 

For ample details of the life of St. Cuthbert, — his coffin- 
journeys, — an account of llie opening of his tomb, and a de- 
scription of the silk robes and other relics found in it, the reader 
interested in such matters is referred to a work entitled " Saint 
Cuthbert, by James Raine, M. A." (4to, Durham, 1828), 
where he will find much of antiquarian history, ceremonies, 
and superstitions, to gratify his curiosity.] — Ed. 



Note 2 G. 



Even Seotland*s dauntless king and heir, <5"e. 
Before his standard fled.— ? . 100. 

Every one has heard, that when David I., with his son 
Henry, invaded Northumberland in 1136, the English host 
marched against them under the holy banner of St. Cuthbert ; 
to the efficacy of which was imputed the great victory which 
iH-y obtained in the bloody battle of Northallerton, or Coton- 
moor The conquerors were at least as much indebted to the 



jealousy and intractability of the different tnlies who comfiose*! 
David's army ; among whom, as mentioned in the text, were 
the Galwegians, the Britoits of Strath-Clyde, the men of Te- 
viotdale and Lotliian, witii many Norman a ^d German war* 
riors, who asserted the cause of the Empress Maud. See 
CiiALMKRs' Caledonia^ vol. i. p. 632; a most laborious, en 
rious, and interesting publication, from which cousidLrablf 
defects of style and manner ought not to turn aside the Scot 
tisii antiquary. 



Note 2 H. 



*Tu)as he, to vindicate his reign. 

Edged .Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 

^nd turned the Conqueror back again.^P. 100. 

Cuthbert, we have seen, had no great reason to spare the 
Danes, when opportunity offered. Accordingly, I find, in 
Simeon of Durham, that the Saint appeared in a vision to 
Alfred, when lurking in the marshes of Glastonbury, and 
promised him assistance and victory over his heathen enemies j 
a consolation, which, as was reasonable, Alfred, after the vic- 
tory of Ashendown, rewarded, by a royal ortering at the shrme 
of ifie Saint. As to William the Conqueror, the terror spread 
before his army, when he marched to punish the revolt of the 
Northumbrians, in 1096, had forced the monks to fly once 
more to Holy Island with the body of the Saint. It was. how- 
ever, replaced before William left the north ; and, to balance 
accounts, the Conqueror having intimated an indiscreet curios- 
ity to view the Saint's body, he was, while in the act of com- 
maiuiing the shrine to be opened, seized with heat and sickness, 
accompanied with such a panic terror, that, notwithstanding 
there was a sumptuous dinner prepared for him, he fled with- 
out eating a morsel (which the monkish historian seems to have 
thouglit no small part both of the miracle and the penance), 
and never drew his bridle till he got to the river Tees. 



Note 2 L 

Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 

The sea-born beads that bear his name. — P. 100. 

Although we do not learn that Cnthbert was, during his Hfe, 
such an artificer as Dunstan, his brother in sanctity, yet, sinco 
his death, he has acquired the reputation of forging those £n- 
trochi which are found among the rocks of Holy Island, and 
pass there by the name of St. Cuthbert's Beads. While at 
this task, he is supposed to sit during the night upon a certain 
rock, and use another as his anvil. This story was perhaps 
credited in former days ; at least the Saint's legend contains 
some not more probable. 



Note 2 K. 

Old Colwulf.—V. 100. 

Ceolwulf, or Colwulf, King of Northumberland, flourished 
in the eighth century. He was a man of some learning ; for 
the venerable Bede dedicates to him his '* Ecclesiastical His- 
tory." He abdicated the throne aboQt 738, and retired to 
Holy Island, where he died in the odot of sanctity. Saint aa 
Colwulf was, however, I fear the foundation of the penance 
vault does not correspond with his character ; for it is recorded 
among bis memorabilia, tJial, finding the air of the island raw 
and cold, he indulged the monks, whose rule had hitherto con- 
fined them to milk or water, with the comfortable privilege of 
using wine or ale. If any rigid antiquary insists on this objecs- 
tion, he is welcome to suppose the penance-vault was intended, 
by the founder, for the more genial porposes of a cellar 



164 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



These penitential vaults were the Qeisscl-gcwutbe of Geiv 
man convents. In the earlier and more rigid times of monastic 
discipline, they were sometimes used as a cemetery lor the lay 
benefactors of the convent, whose unsanctitied corpses were 
then seldom permitted to pollute the choir. They also served 
as places of meeting for the chapter, when measures of uacom- 
mon severity were to be adopted. But tlieir most frL-quent 
cse, as implied by the name, was as places for performing pen- 
ances, or undergoing punishment. 



Note 2 L. 



Tijnemo\tOi''s haughty Prioress. — P. 100. 

That there was an ancient priory at Tynemouth is certain. 
Its ruins are situated on a high rocky point; and, doubtless, 
many a vow was made to the shrine by the distressed mariners 
who drove towards the iron-bound coast of Northumberland 
in stormy weather. It was anciently a nunnery ; for Virca, 
abbess of Tynemouth, presented St. Cuthbert (yet alive) with 
a rare winding-sheet, in emulation of a holy lady called Tuda, 
who had sent him a coffin : But, as in tlie case of Whithy, and 
of Holy Island, the introduction of nuns at Tynemouth, in 
the reign of Henry VIII. is an anachronism. The nunnery at 
Holy Island is altogether fictitious. Indeed, St. Cuthbert was 
unlikely to permit such an establishment ; for, notwithstand- 
ing Iiis accepting the mortuary gifts above mentioned, and his 
carrying on a visiting acquaintance with the Abbess of Col- 
dingham, he certainly hated the whole female sex ; and, in 
revenge of a slippery trick played to him by an Irish princess, 
he, after death, inflicted severe penances on such as presumed 
to approach within a certain distance of his shrine. 



Note 2 M. 

On those the wall was to enclose, 
Mive, within the tomb.—V. 102. 

It is well known, that the religious, who broke their vows 
of chastity, were subjected to the same penalty as the Roman 
vestals in a similar case. A small niclie, sufficient to enclose 
their bodies, was made in the inas-sive wall of the convent; h 
slender pittance of food and water was deposited in it, ami the 
awful words, Vade in Pace, were the signal for immuring 
the criminal. It is not likely that, in latter times, this punish- 
ment was often resorted to ; but among the ruins of tlie Abbey 
of Coldingham, were some years ago discovered the remains 
of a female skeleton, which, from the shape of the niche, and 
position of the figure, seemed to be that of an immured nun. 

[The Edinburgh Reviewer, on st. xx.\ii. post, suggests that 
the proper reading of the sentence is vade in pacem — nol part 
in peace, but go into peace, or into eternal rest, a pretty intel- 
ligible mittimus to another world.] 



Note 2 N. 

The village inn. — P. 107. 

The accommodations of a Scottish hostelrie, or inn. in the 
lOlh century, may be collected from Dunbar's admirable tale 
of "Tlie Friars of Berwick." Simon Lawder, "the gay 
ostlier," seems to have lived very comfortably ; and his wife 
decorated her person with a scarlet kirtle, and a belt of silk 
and ai'ver, and rings upon heffingei-s; and feasted her para- 
mour with rabbits, capons, partridges, and Bordeaux wine. 
At least, if the Scotliish inns were not good, it wn-«! not for 
want of encouragement from the legislature ; who, so early as 
the reign of James I., not only enacted, that in all boroughs 
•ud fairs there be hostel lanes, Jiaving stablai ami chambers, 



and provision for man and h<uBe, but by another statute, or 
dained that no man, travelling on Iiorse or foot, should pre- 
sume to lodge anywhere except in these hostellaries ; and thai 
no peKon, have innkeepers, should receive such travellers, un- 
der the ])enalty of forty shillings, for exercising such liosj)ital- 
ity.i But. in spite of these provident enactments, the Scoltisn 
hostels ate but indifi'erent. and strangers continue to find re- 
ception in the houses of individuals. 



Note 2 0. 



The death of a dear friend.—?. 109. 

Among other omens to which faithful credit is given among 
the Scottish peasantry, is what is called the "dead-bell." ex- 
plained by my friend James Hogg, to be that tinkling m tlie 
eare which the country people regarrl as the secret intelligence 
of some friend's decease. He tells a story to the purpose in 
the "Mountain Bard." p. 26. 

[" O lady, 'tis dark, an' I heard the dead-bell ! 
An' I darena gae yonder for gowd nor fee." 

" By the dead-bell is meant a tinkling in the ears, which our 
peasantry in the country regard as the secret intelligence ol 
some friend's decease. Thus this natural occurrence strike-i 
many with a superstitious awe. This reminds me of a trifling 
anecdote, which I will here relate as an instance : — Our two 
servant-girls agreed to go on an errand of their own. one nigiit 
after supper, to a considerable distance, from which I slrovi? 
to persuade them, but could not prevail. So, after going to 
the apartment where I slept. I took a drinking-glass, and, 
coming close to the back of the door, made two or three sweeps 
round the hps of the glass with my finger, which caused a loud 
shrill sound. I then overheard the following dialogue: — 
' li. Ah, mercy ! the dead-bell went through my head just 
now with such a knell as I never heard.' — * /. I heard it too.' 
— ■ B. Did you indeed ? That is remarkable. I never knew 
of two hearing it at the same time before.' — ' /. We will not 
go to Midgehope to-night.' — ' B. I would not go for all the 
world ! I shall warrant it is my poor brother Wat ; who 
knows what these wild Irishes may have done to him V " — 
Hogg's Mountain Bard, 3d Edit. pp. 31-2.] 



Note 2 P. 



The Qoblin-Hall.—V. UD. 

A vaulted hall under the ancient castle of Giffbrd or Ve>ter 
(for it bears either name indifterently), the construction of 
whicli has from a very remote i)eriod been ascribed to magic. 
The Statistical Account of the Parish of Garvald and Baro 
gives the following account of the present state of thi'i tii.stle 
and apartment : " Upon a peninsula, formed by the water ol 
Hopes on the east, and a large rivulet on tlie west, stanifs the 
ancient castle of Yester. Sir David Dalrymple, in his Annals, 
relates, that ' Hugh Giflbrd de Yester died in 1207 ; that in 
his castle there was a capacious cavern, formed by ni;igiral 
art. and called in the country Bo-Hall, i. e. Hobgoblin Hall ' 
A stair oftwenty-four steps led down to this apartment, wliich 
is a lar^e and spacious hall, witli an arched roof; and thou^'h 
it hath stood for so many centuries, and been exposed to the 
external air for a period of fif\y or sixty years, it is still as firm 
and entire as if it had only stood a few years. From the floor 
of this hall, another stair of thirty-six steps leads down to a 
pit which hath a communication with Hopes-water. A great 
part of the walls of this large ami ancient castle are still stand- 
in". There is a tradition, that the castle of Yester was thn 
last fortification, in this country, tliat surrendered to Genera' 

I Janjes I. Par' Anient I. clip. 24 ; PnrliBmenl III. cap. 56. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



165 



firay, sent into Scoilantl by Protector Somerset.** Statisti- 
till .iccoHHt. vol. xiii. — I luivi- only to add, that, in 17J7. the 
Oolilin Hall w.-is iL-iianteil by the >;ari|uis of Tweeddale's i';il- 
L-oiuT, JUS I learn Irorn ii i>oc*m, by Boy si*, i-alilled " Retiri> 
nii'iil," writtci- upon visilin;,' Yester. It is now rtnden'ii Jti- 
aci'i'ssible by th.» fall of the stair. 

Sir Daviil Daliymple's iiuthority for the anet^doti? i-f in For- 
dun. whose words are.—" A. D. mcglxvii. Jlu^ro Gigard 
Ue YestcT moritur ; cujiis cn,struvi, vet saltan cavcain, vt 
dumnoncm, arte danwnicd antiques rdationes fiTunt fnbri- 
faftns .' nam ibidem hnbetur mirabilis spfcus subterrancus, 
oprrc mirijico cunstructus, mngno tcrrarum spatio prote- 
ialit.t, ijui communitrr BSO^'^all appeliatus est.'^ Lib. 
X. .'Sp. -Jl.— Sir David conjectures that Hugh deGitVord must 
either have been a very wise man, or a great oppressor. 



Note 2 Q. 

There fioatrd Haco's banner trim 
Above ,\'orweyan warriors grim. — 110. 

In i26:t. Haro, King of Norway, came into the Frith of 
Clyde with a powf^rtui armament, and made a descent at 
Largs, in Ayr^liin*. Here he was encounteretl and defeated, 
on the 2d Oelober. by Alexander III. Haco retreated to Ork- 
nev. whepr he died soon after this disgrace to liLs arms. There 
are still C'.\i-ting. near the place of battle, many barrows, some 
of which, having Iieen opened, were found, as usual, to con- 
t.iiti bones and urns. 



Note 2 R. 



The toiz/ird habit strange. — P. 111. 

"Magicians, a-s is well known, were very curious in the 
choice and form of their ve^-tments. Their caps are oval, or 
like py^amid^. with iappets on each side, and fur within. 
Their gowns are long, and furred with fox-skins, under which 
ihey have a linen garment reaching to the knee. Their girdlt-s 
are three inches broad, and have many eabalistical names, 
with crosses*, trincji, and circles inscribed on them. Their 
shoes should he of new russet leather, with a cross cut upon 
ihi-iji, Tiieir knives are dagger-fashion ; and their swords 
have neither guard nor scabbard," — See these, and many other 
particulars, in the Diseouree concerning Devils and Spirits, an- 
nexed to Reginald Scott's Disconenj of IVitehcraft, edi- 
tion IGGo. 



Note 2 S. 



Upon his breast a pentacie. — P. 111. 

"A pentacie is a piece of fine linen, folded with five comers, 
acconliiig to the five senses, and suitably inscribed with chai^ 
ftclep*. This the magician extend? towards the sjunw which 
he invokes, when they are stubborn and rebellious, and refuse 
lo be conformable unio the ceremonies and riles of iriijic," — ■ 
See the Discourses, &lc. above meutio" si, p. GG. 



Note 2 T. 



As born upon that btfsscd night, 

IVhrn yitcning graves and dying groan 

Prodaivi'd HcWs empire overthrown.— V. 111. 

It is a pojinlar article of faith, that those who are born on 
CbrUtmas, or Good Friday, have the |>ower of tfceing spirits, 



and even of commanding them. The Spaniards imputed the 
haggard anil downca.st looks of their Philip II. to the Jlsagrefr 
able visions to which this privilege subjected him. 



Note 2 \J. 

Yet still the. knightly spear and shield 
The F.ljin warrior doth wield 

Upon the brown hiWs breast. — P. 112. 

The following extract! from the Essay upon the Fairy Super- 
stitions, in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. ii., 
will show whence many of the particulars of the combat be- 
tween Alexander III. and the Goblin Knight are derived : — 

Gerva=cof Tilhnry Otia Imperial ap. Script, rer. Brunsvie 
(vol. i. p. 797), relates the following popular story concerning a 
fairy knight: " Osbert. a bold and powerful baron, visited a 
noble family in the vicinity of Wandlebury, in the bishopric of 
£jly. Among other stories related In the social circle of his 
friends, who, according to custom, amused each other by re- 
peating ancient tale» and traditions, he was informed, that if 
any knight, unattended, entered an adjacent plain by moon- 
light, and challenged an adversary to apjiear, he would be inu 
mediately encountered by a spirit in the form of a knight. O^ 
bert resolved to make the experiment, and set out, attended by 
a single squire, whom he ordered to remain without the limits 
of the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient entrench* 
ment. On repeating the challenge, he was instantly assailed 
by an adversary, whom he quickly unhorsed, and seized the 
reins of his steed. During this Ojieration. his ghostly opponent 
sprung up, and darting his spear, like a javelin, at Oshert. 
wounded him in the tliigli. Osbert returned in triumph with 
the iiorse, which he committed to the care of his servants. The 
hor^e was of a sable color, as well a-'^ his whole accoutrements, 
and apparently of grtat beauty and vigor. He remained with 
his keeper till cock-erowiiig. wlien. with eyes flashing fire, he 
reareii, spurned the ground, and vanished. Ou disarming him- 
self, Osbert perceived tliat he was wounded, and that one of 
his steel boots was full of blood." Gervase adds, that, " as 
long as he lived, the sear of bin wound opened afresh on the 
anniversary of the eve on which he encountered the spirit." 
Le>s fortunate was tlie gallant Bohemian knight, who, tr.ivel- 
ling by night with a single companion, "came in sight of a 
fairy host, arrayed under displayed banners. Despising the re- 
monstrances of his friend, the knight pricked forward to break 
a lance with a champion, who advanced from the ranks ap|ia- 
rentlv in defiance. liw companion beheld the Bohemian over- 
thrown, horse and man, by Ins aerial adversary ; and returning 
to the sjtot next morning, he found the mangled corpses of the 
knight and steed.*' — //(■ t nrdiy of Blessed Angels, p. 5.^4. 

Besides the-e inslanceji of Elfin chivalry above ijuoted. many 
others might be alleged in support of em|doying fairy machine- 
ry in this manner. The forest of Glenmore, in the North High- 
lands, is believed to be haunted by a spirit called fJtam-dtarg, 
in the array of an ancient warrior, having a bloody baud, from 
which he takes his name. He insist* upon those with whom 
he meets doing battle with him ; and the clergyman, who 
makes up an account of tlie dislriel, extant in the Muclarlune 
MS. in the Advocates' Library, gravely assures us. that, in his 
time, Ithavi-dctrg fought with three brothers whom he met in 
his walk, none of whom long survived the ghostly coiiHict. 
Barclay, in his " Euphonnion," gives a singular account of an 
officer who ha I venlur-d. with his servant, rather to irilrude 
upon a haunted house in a town in t landers, than to put up 
with worse quarters eWwhere. At"ter taking the usual precau- 
tions of providing fire<<, light-", and arms, they watched till mid- 
night, when behold ! the severed arm of a man droppei! from 
the ceiling ; this was followed by the legs, the other arm. llui 
trunk, and the liead of liie body, all separately. The members 
rolled together, united themselves in the presence of the aston- 
bhed sotdieis, and formed a gigantic wanior, who defied tJieui 



both to combat. Their blows, although they penetrated the 
body and amputated tiie limbs of their strange antagonist, had, 
as the reader may easily believe, little efleirt on an enemy who 
possesse*^ such powei^ of self-union ; nor did Ids eflbrls make 
more effectual impression upon Ihpm. How the combat tei^ 
minated I do not exactly remember, and have not the book by 
me ; but I think the spirit made to the intruders on his mansion 
the usual proposal, that they should renounee their redemption ; 
which being declined, he was ohligi^d to retract. 

Tne most singular tale of ihe kind is contained in an extract 
communicated to me by my frieni! Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth, 
in tlie Bishopric, who coj)ie(l it from a MS, note in a copy of 
Burtiiogge, "On the Nature of S))int,s. 8vo. 1G94," which 
had been the property of the late Mr. Gill, attorney-general to 
Egerlon, Bishop of Durham. " It was not," says my obliging 
correspondent, "in Mr. Gill's own band, but probably an 
hundred years older, and was said to be, K lihro Convent. 
Ditndm. per T. C. extract., whom I believe to have been 
Thomas Cradocke, Esq. barrister, who held several offices un- 
der the See of Durham a hundred years ago. Mr. Gill wjis 
possessed of most of his manuscripts." The extract, which, in 
fact, suggested the introduction of the tale into the present 
poem, runs thus : — 

" Rem miram hujusmodi quts nostris ttmporibiis evcnit., 
teste viro nobili ac fide dignissimo, enarrare hand pigcbit. 
Radulphus Bulmer, cum c ca^-tris, quir tuvc temporis propc 
JVorham posita erant, oblectatiunis cauan^ cxiisset, ac in 
ulteriore TucdtE ripd pradam cum ciivibus lepornriis inse- 
queretur, forte cum Scoto qiiodom nobili, sibt. antchac, ut 
videbatur, fa miliar iter cognito, congrcssus est ; ac, ut fas 
erat inter inimicos, Jtagrante bello, brcoissimd interroga- 
tionts mord interpositd, alter utros invicem incitato ciirsii 
infestis animis petiere. J^ost.cr, prima occitrsa, ci/ao pviea- 
cerrimo hostts impetu lahante, in tcrram cvcrsas pcctore et 
eapite /irso, sanguiiiem, viortao similii\ evomebat. Qiicm 
ut se (Tgre habentem cumiter allociUus cgt alter, pollicitus- 
gue, juodo auziliam non abvrgarct, munitisi/iic obtempcrans 
ab omni rerum sacrarum cvgitntinne abftinvrct, vcc Deo, 
'DeipnriE Virgini, Sanctove alio, precis nut vota efftrret vcl 
•nter sesc conciperet, sc brevi cum saniim vnlidumquc resti- 
tutiirum esse. Pra angore oblata conditio acccpta est ; ac 
veterator ille nescio quid obscaini vinrmiiris insusurravs, 
prehensa manii, dtcto citius in pide.^ snnnm vt antea sublc- 
vavit. Jfostcr autcm, vinitinii pri£ rui inaaditd novitate 
^ormidinc pcrculsus. Mi Jesu ! cJLciamat, eel quid simile ; 
ac subito respiciens nee hosltm nic uUam aliuni conspicit, 
eguum ;ioium gravissimu nupcr casu n^lictum, per suinmam 
paeem in rivojluvit pasccntem. Jid ca.^tra itaqae viirabun- 
dus rcvcrtcns , fidei dubius, nm prima occattnvit, dcin, con' 
^ccto brllo, Cunfessori suo tutam assiruit. Delnsoria pro. 
cut dubio res tola, ac mala ovteratoris illius apcritur fraus, 
qua hominem Christiajtum ad vetitum talc auxiuum pcllicc- 
ret. JVomcn utcungue ilHus (nubilis alias ac clar/) reticcn- 
duvi duco, cum kaud dabium sit gain Dinbolus, Dcopermit- 
tcntc, formam quam libuerit, imnio nngc/i lucis, sacro oculo 
Dei teste, posse assumere.^'' The MS, clironicle, from 
which Mr. Cradocke took this curious extract, cannot now 
be round in the Chapter Libr:iry of Durham, or, at le:ist, 
has hitherto escaped the researches of my friendly correspon- 
dent. 

Lindesay is made to allude to this ailventnre of Ralph Bnl- 
mer, as a well-known story, iv the 4th Canto, Stanza xxii. p. 
121. 

The northern charapioni of old were accustomed peculiarly 
to searcli lor, and delight in, encounters with such military 



1 I b*'^* leave to qiiole a single inaliiii.-e frftn n very intorcslin^ passage. 
I5IT Dnvid. recf>unting hie attention to King Jainea V, in but iafuncy, is 
made, by Uit leiirned editor's punctuation, loauy, — 



■ Tie first eilUblB, tliitt iIi'mi did mute, 
Wui |ia, dA, lyn, ugxtn the tute : 



spectres. See a whole chapter on the subject, in Bartholi 
NUs, Do Causis contimptd! Mortis a Danis, p. 253. 



Note 2 V, 



Close to the kut, no more his own. 
Close *o the aid he sought in vain, 
The morn may find the stiffened swain.— V. 114. 
I cannot help here mentioinng, that, on the night in which 
tiiese lines were written, suggested, as they were, by a sudden 
fall of snow, beginning after sunset, an unforlunale man per- 
ished exactly in the manner here described, and his bo^iy wm 
next morning found close to his own house. The accident 
happened within five miles of the farm of Asliestiel. 



Note 2 W. 

Forbes.— Y. 115. 

Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet; unequalled, per- 
haps, in the degree of individual affection entertained for him 
by his friends, as well as in the general respect and esteem ot 
Seotlandat large. His " Lifeof Beattie," whom he befrieinleil 
and patronized in life, as well as celebrated after Ids decease, 
was not long published, before the benet olcnt and affectionate 
biogra))her was called to follow the subject of his narrative. 
This melancholy event very shortly succeeded tlie marriage ot 
the friend, to whom this introduction is addressed, with one ol 
Sir William's daughters. 



Note 2 X. 

Friar Hush.— P. 116. 
Alias, "Will o' the Wisp." This personage is a mrolling 
demon, or esprit follet, who. once upon a time, got admitt;ince 
into a. monastery as a scullion, and played the inonKs many 
pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Goodfellow, and Jack o' 
Lanthern. tt is iji allusion to this mischievous demon that 
Milton's clown speaks, — 

" She was pinched, and pulled, she said, 
And he by Friar's lanthern led." 

"The history of Friar Rush" is of extreme rarity, and, for 
some time, even the existence of such a book w;is doubted,, 
although it is ex|ires.sly alluded to by Reginald Scott, in hia 
" Disrovery of Witidieraft." I have perused a cojiy in the 
valuable library of my tVieinl Mr. Heber ; and I observe, from 
Mr. Beloe's ■' Anecdotes of Literature," th:tt there is one in 
the excellent collection of the Manjnis of Stafford. 



Note 2 Y. 

Sir Davie* Koidcsay of the Mount. 

Lord JAan Ktng-at-nrvis.—V. 117. 

The late elaborate edirion of g'r Di-vid Lindtvay- WoflU, 

by Mr. George Chalmers, has prohaii'y iiitroducil l.ini ic in:io/ 

of my reader ■). It is perliaps to be regn-tted, tiiat the karned 

Editor had not bestowed more pains in elucidating his autl.or, 

even although he should have omitted, or at lea-' rc.'siTved. iii« 

disquisitions on the origin of tlie language used by the |-wi .i 



Then played I twenty BprineiBitertpi. ir. 
Qi^tiiik was great pleaour for to li>;.[." 

V..'. i.p.7,e-.:. 

Mr. ChfllmerB i''"* not in^'-rn! ua, tvnnte or gloesHxy, wIihI is mennl W 
the Kit-a '■ wiuftntfo, (/c, 4,Ti,uponiAe/(. • ," tut nny oid nnumn in 



APPENDX TO MARMION. 



167 



But. with all liis faults, his work is an act;epl;il)le present to 
Si-oiiisli aiui<iuaries. Sir David l_,iiulesay was well known for 
Ills L'iirly eflbrt3 in favor of tliu Rcformcil (iot-lriiifs ; ami. in- 
(U'i-(l. Ills jilay. coarse as il now seems, must have hu<l a pow- 
erful effect upon the people of his age. I am uncertain if I 
abuse j)0P[ical hcense. hy introdiu'iny Sir David Jjiiuiesay in 
the eharaiaer of Lion-Heralil. sixteen years before he obtained 
that office. At any rate, I am not the tirst who has been 
piiilty of this anachronism ; for the author of " Flodden Field" 
di-'patehes Da^ I amount, wliicli can mean nobody but Sir Da- 
viil de la Mont, to France, on the messagi' of defiance from 
James IV. to HL-riry VIII. It was often an ofhee imposed on 
the Lion Kinjj-at-arms, to receive foreign ambassadors ; and 
Liiid^-say himself did this Iionorlo Sir Ralph Sadler in 1539-40. 
Iiiiit'i'd, tile oath of the Lion, in it- lir^I article, bt^ars reference 
to his frequent employmi-nt upon royal messages and embas- 

Tlie olliee of heralds, in feudal times, beirifr held of the ut- 
mtisi importance, the inaugoration ol' the Kings-at-arms, wlio 
pr-'^ided over their colleges, was pro]iortioiially solemn. In 
faut, il was the mimicry of a royal coronation, except that the 
unction was made with wine instead of oil. In Scotland, a 
nnriiesake and kinsman of Sir David Lindesay, inaugurated in 
159J, •' was crowned by King James with the ancient crown 
of Scotland, whicli was used before the Scottish kings assumed 
a close crown ; and. on occasion of the same solenmity. dined 
at the King's table, wearing the crown, ft is probable that 
the coronation of his predecessor was not less solemn. So 
sacrt-il was the herald's office, that, in 1.315, Lord Drummond 
wa-" by Parliament declared guilty of treason, and his lands 
fortVited, because he had struck with his list the Lion King- 
»t-;irms, when he reproved iiim lor his follies.' Nor was he 
•v^;c^el. bui at tlie Lion's earnest so ti citation. 



Note 2 Z. 

CrtcMouyi Castle.—?. 118. 

A large ruinois castle on the banks of the Tyne, about ten 
niilt's from Eiiinburgh As ii.dict.ted in the text, il was built 
at dilVeFL-nt limes, and '^ith a very dilfuriiig regard to splendor 
and accommodation. Tlie oUiesl part of the building is a nai^ 
row keep, or tower, such as formetl the rcaTision of a lesser 
S'Ottish baron ; but so many addiiions have b?en made to it, 
that there is now a large court-yard, surrounded by buildings 
of '(irtVront ages. The easiern front of the rourl is raised above 
a purtii'Q, anil decorated with entablaiiir.-'s, bearing anchors. 
All the stones of this front are cnl into iliamond facets, the 
angular projections of which have an uncommonly rich appear- 
ance. The inside of this part of the building appears to have 
contained a gallery of great length and uncommon eleganoc. 



Sf.tlftnd will bear n-itneEs, thut pa, rfa, lyn, nro the flrst efforta nt n child 
!•• My, " IVkare's D-ivid Liitdtsayf"^ »nd tlmt the EubseqiieDt wvrds 

ti'-iii aiiothtr seutt-Dui: — 



~" Upon tht* Imo 



Then played I twtnty s;jringis i>orqii«ir," 4c. 

Iti .■mother plare, " jnatinp him-a," (. e, loiinis. or implements of UUincr, 
w fui'dti'xisly inl(-V|>retf d " pliiyftil limbs." Miuiy siieh iiiiiiiite errors i>inild 
bi- imtnii'd -wx ; but iheao nro only nicntivnwl inciilcntJilly, nnd not M di- 
minish iiij: the real merit of the eilitton. 

1 The rci-ord expresses, or rntlier ia .snrd to have tuxprefiSfd, tlie i-aiiao of 
f rfiitiim In b<*,— " Eo ^uori Leotieni, armorum Hfgem pugno violassel 
d'tm cum df. inepliis suw admonet.'>—Si-i' N'lsiiKt*^ //(.-ro/dry, I'nrt iv. 
rhap. x\\. ; anil Lk.sl£I Hiatoria ad Annum 1515. 

2 [■' In Scutland, f"rmerly, stn still iir giirrio ^nrls nf Orcoc«, the prn^nt 
-111. I'lai-ia rHqiirt'd, us an iicknowled^iwiil ..f du-ir Hiilliortty, that those 
wUi. l':>ss«d throiigrli Ihvir lands should rej'tdr !i> tlieir rH»tU, ro eipluin the 
^r(i<«u of their joumuv, and receive the huspilnli y uiited to their rank. 

y It 11 rtiiffxcBled by an inepnions c- rr. s;"->tid. nt, thut ^a, dn, hjn, onght 
»»'i <T lo iM iut«r)>rtted, p ay, IJacy l.ind-tiy. 



Access was given to it by a magnificent stairca.«ie, now quit* 
destroyed. The sort'its are ornamented with twining cordage 
and rosettes ; and the whole seems to have been far more 
splendid than was usual in Scottish castles. The castle 
belonged originally to the Clianccllor, Sir William Crichton, 
and probably owed to him \is first enlargement, as well a.s ils 
being taken by the Earl of Douglas, who imputed loCricblon's 
counsels the death of his predecessor. Earl William, beheaded 
in Edinburgh Castle, with his brother, in 1440. It is said to 
have been totally demolislied on that occasion ; but the pn-sr-nt 
ttate of the ruin shows the contrary. In 1483, it was garrisoned 
by Lord Crichton, then its proprietor, against King James III., 
whose displeasure he had incurred by seducing his sister jMarga- 
ret, in revenge, it is said, for the Monarch having dislionoreil hia 
bed. From the Crichton family the castle passed to that of the 
Hepburns, Earls Bothwell ; and when the forfeitures of Stew- 
art, the last Earl of Bothwell, were divided, tlie barony and 
castle of Crichton fell lo the share of the Earl of Bucclcuch. 
They were afterwards the property of the Fringles of Clifton, 
and are now that of Sir John Callender, Baronet. It were to 
be wi>hed the projirielor would take a lillle pains to preserve 
these splendid remains of antiquity, which are at jiresent used 
as a fold for sheep, and wintering cattle ; although, perhajw, 
there are very few ruins in Scotland which display so well 
the style and beauty of ancient castle-architecture. The cas- 
tle of Crichton has a dungeon vault, callc^d the J\lTssy .More. 
The epithet, wliich is not uncommonly applied to the prisons 
of other old castles in Scotland, is of Saracenic origin. Il oc- 
curs twice in the " EpistoliB Itinerariis''' of Tollius. " Car^ 
cer sitbtcrrannis, sive, ut Mauri appellant, Mazmorr ,'* 
p. 147 ; and again, " Cog-untur ovinca Cnptivi sub iwUcm in 
ergastiUa subtcrravea, i/utu Tarc<E Mgezcrani iwcruit Maz- 
MORRAS," p. 243. The same word applies to the dunjreonsof 
the ancient Moorish castles in Spain, and serves to show fj-ort. 
what nation the Gothic style of castle- building was originally 
derived.3 



• Note 3 A. 

FmvI JJdiiin Hepburn.—?. 118. ^ 

He w.is the second Earl of Bothwell, and fell in the field of 
Flodden, where, according to an ancient English jmet, he dis- 
tinguished liiraself by a furious attempt to retrieve the day : — 

"Then on the Scottish part, right proud. 
The E:\rl ol" Bothwell then out brast, 

And slejiping t'orlli. with siomach good, 
Into llie enemies' ihrong he thrasi ; 

And liofhwcli ! H otitic ell ! cried bold, 
To cause his houtdieni to ensue, 



To neglect this wna held diei-oiirtesy in the great, and iuaoli-nce in th* 
infL'rinr Inuvller; and ao atrn-tly waa the eliqiietle iiisisied ou by so*ue 
feudid lords, (hat the I^rd OlipliMnl rs siitd to bave planted v»n* nt bia 
<-j(8tle ol" Nowtylo in An^ia, sn »» lo coniinnnd the high nua, nnd compel 
all rcslive ]uiaB<.'n;;era lo do thie lo'i nf hiitna:;c. 

" It rhanoed when anch nli'ftH were prcdomin.tnt, tlinl the Lord of CrieU- 
li-n Ciistle received nilcl1i;;eiii'f ihai a Soulheni chiellMin of hi::h riiiik, 
some any Scolt of Biicclvm-h, wac lo piisa his dwelling on his retnni from 
court. The Lord <if Cnclitim ii>itdf j^reat preparation tu baiiuii*!! ma 
Bxiwieled pieet, who nuverllielfss rode past the casttf witlioni pnyiiif; tbu 
expL'cled visit, hi his tirsl burst of indi[piaiion, thi* Baron punned the 
dispoiirtfoiia traveller willi a body of horse, made him prisoner, and rontjned 
liim in the dunireoo, while he himyelfand hia vassals feasted npmi tlie goou 
chtfi-r which had been provided. With the morning, hoviever. raini 
rtflePtion, and anxiety for the de3|ienite feud which impntded, us the 
neci-ssary conaequence of his ninsh pnioeedin;;. It is said, linn, by way ol 
amende honomble^ the Banm, upon the se<:ond day, phii-ed hia nutipelled 
^K'st in his seat of honor in the hall, while be himself retinid into his own 
dungeon, and thus did ut onee penance for his mshness, n itivtied the honoi 
■ if thi- slruiiger chief, and put a stop tc the fund whicli innst otlitTwiae 
have liikun place between ih-'in." — Sir WalUr ScoiCa Miacellantoiu 
I Prvat Works, vol. vii. pp. 19'2-3.1— En. 



Ills 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But there he caught a wellcome cold, 

The Englishmen straight down him threw. 
Tiius Ilabuni tiirough his Iiardy heart 
His fatal fine in conflict lounil," &c. 

Floddcn Field, a Poem ; edited by 
H. Weber. Edin. 1808. 



Adam was grandfather to James, Earl of Bothw 
known in the history of <iueen Mary. 



;11, too well 



Note 3 B. 



For that a messenger from heaven, 
In vain to James had counsel given, 
Against the English war. — P. 119. 

This story is told by Pitscottie with characteristic simpli- 
city : — *' The King, seeing that France could get no support of 
hira for that time, made a proclamation, full hastily, tiirough 
all the realm of Scotland, both east and west, south and north, 
as well in the isles as in the firm land, to all manner of men 
between sixty and sixteen years, that tliey should be ready, 
within twenty days, to pass with him, with forty days victual, 
and to meet at the Burrow-moir of Edinburgh, and there to 
pass forward where he pleased. His proclamations were iiastily 
obeyed, contrary to the Council of Scotland's will ; but every 
man loved his prince so well that they would on no ways 
disobey him ; but every man caused make his proclamation so 
hastily, conform to the charge of the King's proclamation. 

" The King came to Lithgow, wlieri^ he haintciied to be 
for the time at the Council, very sad and dolorous, making his 
devotion to God, to send liim good chance and fortune in his 
voyage. In this mean time there came a man, clad in a blue 
gown, in at the kirk door, and belted about him in a roll of 
linen clotli ; a pair of brotikings' on his feet, to the great of 
his legs ; with all other hose and clothes conform thereto : but 
he had nothing on bis head, but sydeS red yellow hair behind, 
and on his haffets,3 which wan down to Ids shoulders ; but 
his forehead was bald and bare. He seemej to be a man of 
two-and-fifty years, witli a great pike-statF in his hand, and 
came first forward among the lords, crying and speiring* for the 
King, saying, he desired to speak with him. While, at the 
last, he came where the king was sitting in the desk at his 
prayers; but when he saw the King, he made him little 
reverence or salutation, but leaned down grolBing on the desk 
before him, and said to him in this manner, as after follows: 

Sir King, my mother hath sent me to you, desiring you not to 
pass, at ibis time, where thou art purposed ; for if thou does, 
thou wilt not fare well in thy journey, nor none that passeth 
with thee. Further, she bade thee mell^ with no woman, nor 
use their counsel, nor let them touch thy boily, nor thou 
theirs ; for, if thou do it, thou wilt be confounded and brought 
to shame.' 

" By this man had spoken thir words unto the King's grace, 
the evening-song was near done, and the King paused on thir 
words, studying to give him an answer ; but, in the meantime, 
before the King's eyes, and in the presence of all the lords that 
were about him for the time, this man vanished away, and 
eould no ways be seen or comprehended, but variislied away 
!Ls he had been a blink of the sun, or a whip of llje whirlwind, 
and could ho more be seen. I heard say, Sir David Lindcsay 
Lyon-lierauld. and John Inglis the manihal, who were, at that 
time, young men, and special servants to the King's grace, 
were standing presently beside the King, who thought to have 
laid hanas on this man, that they might have speired further 
tidings at him : But all for naught ; they could not touch 
iiim ; for he vanished away betwixt them, and was no more 
peen." 

Bncbanat), in more elegant, thougli not more impressive 



language, tells the same story, and quotes the personal mforma- 
tion of our Sir David Lindesay : " In iis (i. e. qui propius 
osiiterant), fuit David Liyidesius, Alontanus, homo spectatiB 
Jidei et probttatis, nee a Utcrarum studiis alienus, el cujiis 
totias vita tenor logissime a mcntiendo aberrat ; a quo iiisi 
ego kt£c uti traUidi, pro ccrtis accepissem, ut vulgntam ra- 
nis rumoriViis fabnliim, omissurus cram.^* — Lib. .\iii. The 
King's throne, m St. Catherine's aisle, which he had con 
strutted for himself, with twelve stalls for the Knights Com 
panions of the Order of the Thistle, is still shown as llie place 
where the apparition was seen. [ know not by what nieiins 
St. Andrew got the credit of having been the celebrated moid 
tor of James IV. ; for the expression in Lindesay's narrative, 
" My motlier has sent me," could only be usi^d by St. John, 
the adopted son of the Virgin Marj\ The whole slory ia so 
well attested, that we have only the choice between a miracle 
or an imposture. Mr. Pinkerton plausibly argues, from the 
caution against incontinence, that the <iueen was privy lo the 
scheme of those who had recourse to this expedient to dct^i 
King James from his impolitic war. 



Note 3 C. 



The wild-buck bells.— F. 119. 

I am glad of an opportunity to describe the cry of tlie ileer 
by another word than braying, although the latter has been 
sanctified by the use of the Scottish metrical translation ol 
the Psalms. Bell seems to he an abbreviation of btlluw. 
This sylvan sound conveyed great delight to our auceslors, 
chiefly, I suppose, from association. A gentle knight in the 
reign of Henry VIII., Sir Thomas Wortley, built VVanilcy 
Lodge, in Wunelitfe Forest, for the pleasure (as an ancient 
inscription testifies) of" listening to the hart's bell " 



Note 3 D. 



June saw his father's overthrow. — P. 119. 

The rebellion against James III. was signalized by the 
cruel circumstance of his son's presence in the hostile army. 
Wl'.eu the King saw his own banner displayed against bini, 
and his son in the faction of his enemies, he lost the liltie 
courage he had ever possessed, ded out of the field, fell from 
his horse as it started at a woman and walcr-pilcher. and 
was slain, it is not well understood by whom. James IV , 
after the battle, passed to Stirling, and hearing the monks ol 
the chapel-royal deploring the death of his father, their founder, 
he was seized with deep remorse, which manifested itself in 
severe penances. See a following note on stanza ix. of canto 
V. The battle of Sauchie-burn, in which James III. fell, was 
fought 18th June, 1488. 



\ Buakini 



S Loag. 



Note 3 E. 

The Borough-moor.— P. 15S. 

The Borough, or Common Moor of Edinburgh, was of very 
great extent, reaching' from the southern walls of the city lu 
the bottom of Braid Hills. It was anciently a forest ; and, jn 
that state, was so great a nuisance, that tiie intiabitant* of 
Edinburgh had permission granted to them of building wooden 
galleries, projecting over the street, m order to encour.ige 
them to consume the timber, which they seem to have done 
very effectually. When Jamas IV. mustered tlie arrav of the 
kingdom there, in 1313, the Borough-moor was, according to 
Hawthornden, " a field sitacious, and delightful by the shade 
of many stately and aged oaks." Upon that, and simda 

4 Asking. ^ AlKtldl^. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



160 



^■cnsiong, the royal atandard 19 traditionally said to have been 
liisplayt'd tVoin the Hare-Stane, a high stone, now built into 
the wall, on ilic left hand of tlie highway leading towards 
Hraiti, not I'ar from tlie head of Burntstifid Links. The Hare* 
Staiie probably derives its name from the British word Har^ 
signifying an army. 



Note 3 F. 

Pavilions.— V. 122. 

I do not exactly know the Scottish mode of encampment in 
l."ii:J, bill Patten gives a curious description of that wliich he 
;aw after tlie battle of Pinkey, in 1547 : — " Here, now, to say 
somewhat of the manner of their camp. As they had no [la vil- 
lous, or round houses, of any commendable compass, so wear 
tliere few otiier tenles with posts, as the used manner of mak- 
ing is ; and of thfse few also, none of above twenty foot length ; 
but most far under ; for the most pari all very sumptuously be- 
set (after their fashion), for the love of France, with fleur-de- 
lys, some of blue buckeram, some of black, and some of some 
olhfr colours. Tliese white ridges, as I call tliem, that, as we 
stood on Fauxsyde Bray, did make so great muster toward us, 
wliicli I did take then to be a number of tentes, when we came, 
we found it a linen drapery, of the coarser cambrvk in dede, 
for it was all of canvas sheets, and wear the tenlicles, or rather 
eabyns and couches of their soldiers ; the which (much after 
the common building of their country beside) had they framed 
of four sticks, about an ell long a piece, whearof two fastened 
together at one end aloft, and tlie two endes beneath stuck in 
t!ie ground, an ell asunder, standing in fashion like the bowes 
of a sowes yoke; over two such bowes (one, as it were, at 
their head, the other at their feet), they stretched a sht^et down 
on botli sides, whereby their cabin became roofed like a ridge, 
but skant shut at both ends, and not very close beneath on the 
sides, unless their sticks were the shorter, or their wives the 
more liberal to lend tliem larger napery ; howbeit, when they 
had lined them, and stuff 'd them so thick witli straw, with the 
weather as it was not very cold, when they wear ones co'iched, 
fh<=y were as warm as they had been wrapt in horses dung." — 
PiTTKN's Account of SomerseVs Expedition. 



Note 3 G. 



in proud Scotland's royal skidd. 

The ruddy (ion ramped in gold. — P. 122. 

The well-known arms of Scotland. If you will believe Boe- 
thius and Buchanan, the double tressure round the sliichl, men- 
tioned, counter Jieur'de-hjscd or lingucd and armed azure. 
was Iirst assumed by Echaius, King of Scotland, contemiwrary 
of Charlemagne, and founder of the celebrated League with 
France ; but later antiquaries make poor Eochy. or Achy, lit- 
tle better than a sort of King of Brentford, whom old Grig 
(who has also swelled into Gregorius Magnus) associated with 
himself in the important duty of governing some part of the 
tioriheastcrn coast of Scotland. 



Notes H. 



Caledonians Queen is changed. — P. 134. 

The Old Town of Edinburgh was secured on the north side 
by a lake, now drained, and on the south by a wall, whicli 
Oiere was some attempt to make defensible even so late as 1745. 
The gates, and the greater part of the wall, have been pulled 
down, in the course of the late extensive and beautiful enlarge- 
ment of the city. My ingenious and valued friend, Mr. Tho- 
mas Ctinipbell, proposed to celebrate Edinburgh nnder the epi- 



thet here borrowed. But the "Queen of the North" has not 
been so fortunate as to receive from so eminent a jien the iit>- 
posed distinction 



Note 3 I. 



Since first, when conquering York arose, 
To Henry meek she gave repose. — P. 125. 

Henry VI., with his Q,ueen, his heir, and the chiefs of his 
family, fled to Scotland after the fatal battle of Towton. In 
this note a doubt was formerly expressed, whether Henry VI 
came to Edinburgh, though his Uueen certainly did ; Mr. Pin- 
kerton inclining to believe that he remained at Kirkcudbright. 
But my noble friend. Lord Napier, has pointed out to uie a 
grant by Henry, of an aimoity of forty marks to his Lordship's 
ancestor, John Napier, subscribed by the King himself, at 
Edinburgh, the 28tli day of August, in the thirty-ninth year of 
his reign, which corresponds to the year of God, 14(H. This 
grant, Douglas, with his usual neglect of accuracy, dates in 
1368. But this error being corrected troin the copy in Macfar- 
lane's MSS., p. 1111, 2U, removes all skepticism on the subject 
of Henry VI. being really at Edinburgli. John Napier was 
son and heir of Sir Alexander Napier, and about this time waa 
Provost of Edinburgh. The hospitable reception of the dis- 
tressed monarch and )iis family, called forth on Scotland the 
encomium of Molinet, a contemporary poet. The English 
people, he says, — 

" Ung noiivcau roy crecrent. 

Par despiteux vauloir, 

Lc viel en deboutiirent, 

Et sun Itgittme koir. 

Qui fuyti/f alia prendre, 

D' Escossi le garand, 

De tous siectcs te vicndrej 

Et le pius tollcrant.^n 

Recollection des Avantares. 



Note 3 K. 



the romantic strain. 

Whose .^nglo-JVarman tones whilcrc 
Could win the royal Henry's ear. — P. 125. 

Mr. Ellis, in his valuable Introduction to the "Specimens 
of Romance, has proved, by the concurring testimony of La 
Ravaillere, Tressan. but especially the Abbe de la Rue, that 
the courts of our Anglo-Norman Kings, rather than those of the 
French monarch, produced the birth of Romance literilnre. 
Marie, soon after mentioned, compiled from Arniorican origi- 
nals, and translated into Norman-French, or romance language, 
the twelve curious Lays, of which Mr. Ellis hxs given us a 
precis in the Appendix to his Inlroducticn. The story of Blon- 
del. the famous and faithful minstrel of Richard I., needs no 
commentary. 



NfVTE 3 L. 



The cfoth-yard arrows. — P. 126. 

This is no poetical exaggeration. In some of the countiea of 
England, distinguished for archery, shafts of this extraordinary 
length were actually used. Thus, at the battle of Blackheath, 
between the troops of Henry VII., and the Cornish insurgents, 
in 1496, the bridge tif Dartford was defended by a picked band 
of archers from the rebel army, " whose arrows," says Hollin- 
shed. " were in length a full cloth yard." The Scottish, ao 
cording to Ascham, had a proverb, that every English archei 



170 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



carried under his belt twenty-four Scots, in allusion to his bun- 
dle of unerring shafts. 



Note 3 M. 



To pass, to wheel, the croupe tc gain, 
And high curvett, that not in vain 
The sword sway might descend amain 
Onfoemaii's tasque below. — P. 126. 

" The most useful air, as the Frenchmen term it, is tcrri- 
tcrr ; the rourbettes, cabrioles, or «/( pas et un sautt, being 
titter i'oT horses of parade and triumph than for soldiers : yet 1 
tannot deny bat a demivoUc with courbcttes, so ihal they be 
not too high, may be useful in a fight or meslce ; for, as La- 
broue hath it, in his Book of Horsemanship, Monsieur de 
Montmorency having a horse that was excellent in performing 
the dcmivoltc, did, with his sword, strike down two adversaries 
from their horses in a tourney, where divers of the prime gal- 
lants of France did meet ; for, taking his time, when the Iioi-se 
was in the height of his courbette, and discharging a blow 
then, liis sword iell witli .such weiglit and force upon the two 
cavaliers, one after another, that he struck them from their 
horses to tlie ground." — Z.ord Herbert of Cherbury's Life, 
p. 48. 



Note 3 N. 



He saw the Hardy burghers there 

March arni'd on foot with faces bare. — P. 126. 

The Scottish burgessess were, like yeomen, appointed to be 
armed with bows and sheaves, sword, buckler, knife, spear, or 
a good axe instead of a bow, if worth XlOO ; their armor to be 
of wliite or bright harness. They wore white hats, i. e. bright 
steel caps, vsnthout crest or visor. By an act of James IV. 
their weapoJi-schawings are a|)pointed to be held four times a 
year, under the alderman or bailiJ^. 



Note 3 O. 



On foot the yeoman too 

Each at his back (rt slender store) 

His forty days' provision bore, 

His arms were halbert, axe, vr spear. — P. 126. 

Bows and quivers were in vain recommended to the pea- 
santry of Scotland, by repeated statutes; spears and axes seem 
universally to have been used instead of them. Their defen- 
sive armor was the plate-jack, hauberk, or brigantine ; and 
their missile weapons crossbows and culverins. All wore 
Bwords of excellent temper, according to Patten ; and a volu- 
minous handkerchief round tlieir neck, " not for cold, but for 
cutting." Tlie mace also was much u=:ed in the f^cotlish 
army : The old poem on the buttle of Fiodden mentions a 
band— 

" Who manfully did meet their foes, 
With leaden maules, and lances long." 

When the feudal array of the kingdom was called forth, 
mch man was obliged to apjiear with forty days' provision. 
When this was expended, which took place before the battle 
of Fiodden, the army melted away of course. Almost all the 
Scottish forces, except a few knights, men-at-arms, and the 
Border- prickers, who formed excellent light cavalry, acted 
upon fool. 



Note 3 P. 

Ji banquet rich, and costly wines. — P. 128. 

In all transactions of great or petty importance, and among 
whomsoever taking place, it would seem that a present of -.vine 
was a uniform and indispensable preliminary. It was DOi to 
Sir John Falstaft" alone that such an introductory preface was 
necessary, however well judged and acceptable on the TJ^rt ot 
Mr. Brook; for Sir Ralph Sadler, while on an embassy to 
Scotland in 1539-40, mentions, with complacency, " the same 
night came Rothesay (the herald so called) to me again, and 
brought me wine from the King, both white and red." — Cli/ 
ford's Edition, p. 39. 



Note 3 Q. 

his iron-belt. 

That bound his breast in penance pain. 
In nteviory of his father slain. — P. 129. 

Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, to the weight 
of which James added certain ounces every year that he lived. 
Pitscoltie founds his belief, that James was not slain in the bat- 
tle of Fiodden, because the English never had this token of the 
iron-belt to show to any Kcotlishman. Tlie person and char- 
acter of James are delineated according to our best historians. 
His romantic disposition, which led him highly to relish gayety, 
approaching to license, was, at the same time, tinged with en- 
thusiastic devotion. These propensities sometimes formed a 
strange contrast. He was wont, during his fits of devotion, to 
assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of the order of Fran- 
ciscans ; and when he had thus done penance for some lime in 
Stirling, to plunge again into the tide o*" pleasure. Probably, 
too, with no unusual inconsistency, he sometimes laughed at 
the superstitious observances to which he at other times sub- 
jected himself. There is a very singular poem by Dunbar, 
seemingly addressed to James IV., on one of these occasions of 
monastic seclusion. It is a most daring and profane jiarody on 
the services of the Church of Rome, entitled, — 

" Dunbar* s Dirige to the S'ing, 
Byding ower lang in Striviling. 

We that are here, in heaven's glory, 
To you that are in Purgatory, 
Commend us on our hearty wise; 
I mean we folks in Paradise, 
In Edinburgh, with all nierriness. 
To you in Stirling, with distress. 
Where neither pleasure nor delight is, 
For pity this epistle writis," &,c. 

See the whole in Sibbald's Collection, vol. i. p. 234. 



Note 3 R. 

Sir Hugh the Heron's wife.—?. 129. 

It has been already noticed [see note to stanza xiii. of canto 
i.], that King James's acquaintance with Lady Ht-ron of FonI 
did not commence until he marched into England. Our hi,*»- 
tonans impute to the King's infatuated passion the di-layy 
which led 10 the fatal defeat ot Fiodden. Tiie author of 
" The Genealogy of the Heron Family" endeavors ^vjth laud- 
able anxiety, to clear the Lady Ford trom this scaiiuid : that 
she came and went, how^-ver, between the armies of James and 
Surrey, is certain. See Pinkkrton's H/sturi/, and the au- 
thorities he refer-" to. vol. ii. ii- 99. Heron of FonI lia<! been, 
in l.'Jl 1. in some sor.l accessory to the slaughter of Sir Koli'-rt 
Kerr of Cesslbrd. Warder of the Middle Marcliea. it w;l» 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



171 



comniitted by liia brotlier the bastard, Lilburn, and Ptarked, 
itif j4? Borderi'rs. Ltlburri and Heron ol" Ford were delivered 
up by Wfiiry to James, ami were imprisoned in tbe Ibrtress of 
Fastcasile, wliere tbe former died. Purt of tbe pretence of 
Lady Ford's negotiation witli James was the Hberly of lier hus- 
band 



Note 3 S. 



The fair Queen of France 
Sent him a turquois ring and glovCy 
Mnd charged him, as her knight and love. 

Fur her to break a lance. — P. 129. 

" Also tbe Queen of France wrote a love-letter to tbe King 
of Scotland, calling bim her love, showing bim that slie had 
suflTt-red mach rebuke in France for tbe defending of iiis honor. 
She believed sorely that he would recompense ber again with 
some of bis kingly support in ber necessity ; that is to say, that 
he would raise ber an nrmy, and come tbn?e foot ol» ground on 
English ground, for Iier sake. To that elfeet she sent liim a 
ring off her finger, with fourteen thousand French crowns to 
pay his expenses." PiTSCOTTtE, p. 110. — A turquois ring; 
probably this fatal gift is, with James's sword and dagger, pre- 
served in tbe College of Heralds, London. 



Note 3 T. 
.Archibald Bell-the-Cat.—?. 130. 

Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, a man remarkable for 
Btrenglb of body and mind, acquired the popular iiame of 
Bdl-the-Cat, upon tbe following remarkable occasion : — James 
Oie Third, of whom Pitscotlie complains, that he delighted 
more in music, and " policies of building," than in bunting, 
hawking, and other noble exercises, was so ill advised, as to 
make favorites of bis architects and mut^icians, whom tbe same 
historian irreverently terms masons and fiddlers. His nobility, 
who did not sympathize in the King's respect for tbe fine arts, 
were extremely incensed at tbe honors conferred on those per^ 
eons, paniculavly on Cochrane, a mason, who Iiad been created 
Earl of Mar; and, seizing the opi)orlunily, when, in 1482. 
the King had convoked the whole array of tbe country to 
march against the Engli^b. they held a midnight council in the 
church of Lauder, for the purpose of forcibly removing these 
minions from the King's person. When all bad agreed on the 
propriety of this measure. Lord Gray told the assembly tbe 
apologue of the Mice, who had formed a re^^olution that it 
woaid 'je highly advantageous to their community to tie a bell 
roun''. the cat's neck, that they might hear her approach at a 
distance; bot which public -neasnre unfortunately miscarried, 
from no mouse being willing to undertake the task of fastening 
the bell. " I understand the moral," said Angus, " and, that 
what we propose may not lack execution, I will bell-the-cat.^' 
The rest of the strange scene is thus told by PitscotlJe : — 

"By this was advi'^ed and spoken by thir lords foresaid, 
Coelinm. the Earl of Mar, came from the King to the council 
(wbii-b council was holden in the kirk of Lauder for the time), 
who was well accompanied with a band of men of war, to the 
number of tliree hundred light axes, all clad in white livery, 
and black bends thereon, that tliey might be known for 
Cochran the Earl of Mar's men. Himself was clad in a 
fidii)g-pie of black velvet, with a great chain of gold about bis 
neck, to the value of five hundred crowns, and four blowing 
oorijs, with both the ends of gold and silk, set with a precious 
Btone, called a berryl hanging in the niiilst. ThU Cochran 
had his benmont borne before bim, overgilt with gold, and so 
Were all the n-st of his horns, and all his pallions were of fine 
canvas of eilk, and the cnrds thereof fine twined silk, and the 
chains upon his pallions were double overgilt with gold. 



" This Cochran was so proud in his conceit, that be counted 
no lords lu be marrows to him, therefore he ruHhcd rudely at 
tbe kirk-door. Tlie cnuncil inquired who it was that perturbed 
tbem at that lime. Sir Robert Dou^Ms, Laird of Loclileven, 
was keeper of the kirk-door at that time, who in(|uired who 
that waa that knocked so rudely 1 and Cochran answun^d, 
' This k I, tlic Earl of Mar.' The wbicb news pleased well 
tbe lords, l)ecause they were ready boun to cause take bim, as 
is before rehearsed. Then the Earl of Angus passed hastily to 
the door, and with bim Sir Robert Douglas of Locbleven, 
there to receive in the Earl of Mar, and so many of his com- 
plices who were there, as they thought good. And the Earl 
of Angus met with the Earl of Mar, as be came in at tbe door, 
and pulled the golden chain from bis craig, and said to him, a 
towi would set bim better. Sir Robert Douglas syne pulled 
tbe blowing horn from bim in like m.-inntfr, and said, * He had 
been tbe hunter of mischief over long,' This Cochran asked. 
'My lords, is it mo\vs,2 or earnest?' They answered, and 
said, ' It is good earnest, and so thou shalt find ; for thou nn4 
thy complices have abused our prince this long time ; of whom 
thou shall have no more credence, but shalt have thy reward 
according to thy good service, as thou bast deserved in limes 
bypasl ; right so tlie re-t of thy followers.' 

" Notwithstanding, tlie lords held them quiet till they caused 
certain armed men lo pass into the King's pallion, and two or 
three wise men to pass with tbem, and give the King fair 
pleasant words, till they laid hands on all tlie King's servants, 
and took tbem and banged them before his eyes over the bridge 
of LawdiT. Incontinent they hrougiit forth Cochran, and his 
bands bound with a tow, who desired them to take one of bis 
own pallion tows and bind Iiis hands, for he thought sh.-<.mc to 
have his hands bound with such tow of hemp, like a thief. 
The lords answered, he was a traitor, he deserved no better; 
and, for despight, they took a hair telher,^ and hanged him 
over the bridge of Lawder, above tbe rest of his complices." — 
PiTscoTTiE, p. 78, folio edit. 



Note 3 U. 



^^gainst the war had Angus stood, 
Mnd chafed his royal Lord. — P. 130. 

Angus was an old man when the war against England waa 
resolved upon. He earnestly spoke against tliat measure from 
its commencement ; and. on tbe eve of the battle of Flodden, 
remonstrated so freely upon tbe impolicy of (igliting, thnt the 
King said to him, with scorn and indignation, "if he was 
afraid be might go home." The Earl burst into tears at this 
insupportable insult, and retired accordingly, leaving Ids sons 
George, M.ister of Angus, and Sir William of Glenbervie, lo 
command Ins followers. They were botli slain in tbe battle, 
with two hundred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. The 
aged Earl, broken-hearted at the calamities of his house and 
his country, retired into a religious house, where be died about 
a year after the field of Flodden. 



Note 3 V. 

Tantallon hold.—V. 131. 

The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting 
into the German Ocean, about two miles east of North Ber- 
wick. The building is not seen till a close approacli, as there 
is rising ground betwixt it and tbe land. The circuit is of 
large extent, fenced npon three sides by tbe precipice which 
overhangs the sea, and on the fourth by a double ditch .ind 
very strong outworks. Tantallon was a [irincipal CTSlle o( 
the Douglas family, and when the Earl of Angus was banished, 
t Rope. 1 Jeat. 3 HolUsr. 



172 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



] in 1527, it continoed to hold out against James V. The King 
I went in person against it, and for lis reduction, borrowed from 
the Castle of Durtbar, then belonging to the Duke of Albany, 
two great cannons, whose names, as Pitscottie informs us with 
laudable minuteness, were " Thiawn-moutb'd Meg and her 
Marrow;" also, "two great bolL-ards, and two moyan, two 
double falcons, and fourquarter falcons ;" for the safe guiding 
and re-delivery of which, three lords were laid in pawn at 
Dunbar. Yet, notwithstanding all this apparatus, James was 
^brced to raise the siege, and only afterwards obtained [los- 
depsioii of Tantallon by treaty with the governor, Simon Pa- 
naiigo. When the Earl of Angus returned from banishment, 
upon the death of James, lie again obtained possession of Tan- 
tallon. and it actually afionled refuge to an English ambassa- 
dor, under circumstances similar to those described in the 
text. This was no other tlian the celebrated Sir Ralph Sadler, 
who resided there for some time uo'ler Angus's protection, 
after the failure of his negotiation for matching the infant 
Mary with Edward VI. He says, tiiat. though this place was 
poorly furnisheii, it was of such strength as might warrant 
him against the malice of his enemies, and that he now thought 
hims-lf out of danger.' 

Th..re is a military tradition, that the old Scottish March 
was meant to express the words, 

Ding down Tantallon, 
Mak a brig to the Bass. 

Tantallon was at length "dung down" and ruined by the 
CovenaTitei-s ; its lord, the Marrjuis of Douglas, liting a favorer 
of the royal cause. The castle and barony were sold in the 
beginning of the eighteenth century to Prt;sidenl Dalrymple of 
North Berwick, by the then Marquis of Dougla-s. 



Note 3 W. 



Their viotto on his bbvlr.—V. 131. 

A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, bears, 
among a great deal of flourishing, two hands pointing to a 
heart, which is placed betwixt them, and the date 13"29, being 
the year in which Bruce charged tlie Good Lord Donglas to 
carry bis heart to the Holy Land. The following hues (the 
first eou|ilet of which is (juoted by Godscroft as a popular 
saying in his tlmel are i.-isL-ribed around the emblem : 

" So mony guid as of ye Dovglas beinge 
Of ane surname was ne'er in Scotland seine. 

1 will ye charge, efter yal I depart. 

To holy grawe, and thair bury my hart ; 

Let il remane ever bothe tyme and uowr, 

To ye last day I sie my Saviour. 

I do protest in tyme of al my ringe, 

Ve lyk subject had never ony keing." 

This (!urious and valuable relic was nearly lost during the 
civil war of 1745-6, being curried away Irom Douglas-Castle 
by some of those m arms for Prince Charles. Uut great inter- 
eyt having been made by the DukeofDougla.s among the chief 
partisans of the Stuart, it was at length restonid. It resembles 
a Highland claymore, of the usual size, is of an excellent tem- 
per, onr* admirably poised. 



Note 3 X. 

Martin Swart.— V. tSil. 

A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by 
me Duchess of Burgundy with Lambert Simncl. He was de- 

\ Tbe vory curious Stiite Pipiers of tliia nlilo iii'polialo:' were, in 18t0, 
rubliihed by Mr. Cliffoni, witli s-^t-f n-jtts by lli^ Author of MHrmion. 



feated and killed at Stokefield. The name of this German 
general is preserved by that of the field of battle, wliich is 
called, after him. Swart-moor.— There were songs about liim 
long current in England.— See Dissertation prefixed to RiT 
son's Ancient Songs, 1792, p. Ixi. 



Note 3 Y. 



Perchance some form was uvohaerved ; 

Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved. — P. 132. 

It was early necessary for those who felt themselves obliged 
to believe in the divine judgment being enunciated in the trial 
by duel, to find salvos for the strange and obviously ])recariuus 
chances of the combat. Various curious evasive shifts, used 
by those who took up an unrighteous quarrel, were supposed 
sufficient to convert it into a just one. Thus, in the romance 
of " Amys and Amelion," the one brothcMn-arms fighting 
for the other, disguised in his armor, swears that ke did not 
commit the crime of which the Steward, his antagonist, truly, 
though maliciously, accused him whom he represented. Bran- 
tome tells a story of an Italian, who entered the lists upon an 
unjust quarrel, but, to make his cause good, fled from his ene- 
my at the finit onset. "Turn, co%viird !" exclaimed Ins an- 
tagonist. " Thon liest." said the Italian, " coward am I none ; 
and in this quarrel will I fight to the death, but my first cause 
of combat was unjust, and I abaniton it." " */f vuits taisse 
n pcjiscr,*^ adds Brantome, "sUln^y a pas dc I'abus la.^' 
Elsewhere he says, very sensibly, upon the confidence which 
those who had a righteous cause entertained of victory : " Un 
autre abus y avoit-il, que ceux qui nvoicnt un juste snbjct 
de quercltc, et qu*on Ics faisoit jurer avant entrer au camp, 
pensoient estre aussitosl oainquenrs, voire s'en assuroirnt' 
t-its dii tout, mesmes que leurs confesscurs, parroins et con- 
fidants leurs en respondoicnt tout-a-fait, comme si Dieu 
leur en eust donne une patente ; et nc regardant point d 
d'autresfautes passees, et que Dieu en garde la punition a 
cc coup la pour plus grandc, dcspitcusr. et excmplaire.*'— 
Discoui-s sur les Duels. 



Note 3 Z. 
The Cross.— P. 134. 

The Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and curious struc- 
ture. The lower part w:is un octagonal tower, sixteen feel in 
diameteV, and about fifteen feet high. At. each angle there 
was a pillar, and between tliem an arch, of the Grecian slijipe. 
Above these w;is a projecting battlement, with a turret ai 
eacli corner, and medallions, of rude but curious workman- 
ship, between them. Above this rose the pro|>er Cross, a 
column of one stone, upwards of twenty feet higli, surmount- 
ed witii a nnicorn. This pillar is prcicrveil in the grouiidj* of 
the property of Drum, near Edinburgh. The Magistr;iti.'.s ol 
Edinburgh, in 1756, with consent ol the Lords of f=ession (proh 
pndor !) destroyed this curious monument, under a wanton 
pretext that it encumbered the street ; while, on the one hand, 
they left an ugly mass callcil ihe Luckenbootlis, and, on the 
other, an awkward, long, ami low guard-house, wiiich were 
fifty times more encumbrance than the venerable ami inolTcn- 
sive Cross. 

From the tower of the Cross, so long as it remained, ihe her- 
alds published tlie acts of Parliament ; and its eite, marked by 
radii, diverging from a stone centre, in the High Street, U still 
the place where uroclamations are made. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



173 



Note 4 A. 
This awful sumnums came. — I*. 134. 

This suppmaliiral citation is mentioned by all our St-ottisli 
historians. It was, probably, like the apparilional Linlithgow, 
an attempt, by lliose avei-se to the war. to impose upon the 
superstitious temper of James IV. Tlie Ibllowing account Prom 
Pitscottio is characteristii'ally minute, and furnishes, besides, 
some curious particulars of the equipment of the army of James 
IV. I need only add to it. that Plolcock, or Plutock, is no 
other than Pluto. The Cliristians of the middle ages by no 
means misbeheved in the existence of the heatlien deities ; lliey 
only considered them as devils;' and Flotcock, su far from 
implying any thing fabulous, was a synonyme of the grand 
enemy of mankind. " Yet all thir warnings, and uncouth 
tiding*, nor no good counsel, miglit stop tiie King, at this pres- 
ent, from his vain purpose, and wicked enterprize, hut hasted 
him fast to Edinburgli, and there to make his provision and 
furnishing, in having fortli his army against the day appointed, 
that they should meet in the Burrow-muir of Edinburgh ; 
Thjt is to say, seven cannons that he had forth of the Castle 
of Edinburgh, which weru called the Seven Sisters, casten by 
Robert Borthwick. the masler-gunuer, with other small artille- 
ry, bullet, powder, and all manner of order, as the mustet^guu- 
ner could lievise. 

" In this meantime, when they were taking forth their artil- 
lery, and the King being in the Abbey for the time, there was 
a cry heard at the Market-cross of Edinburgh, at the hour of 
midnight, proclaiming as it had been a summons, which was 
named and called by the proclaimer thereof, The Summons 
of Plotcock ; which desired all men to compear, both Earl, and 
Lord, and Baron, and all honest gentlemen within the town 
(every man specilied by his own namej, to compear, within 
tlie space of forty days, before his master, where it should hap- 
pen him to appoint, and be for the time, under the pain of dis- 
obedience. But whether this summons was proclaimed by 
vain persons, night-walkers, or drunken men, for their pastime, 
or if it was a spirit, I cannot tell truly ; but it was shewn to 
me, that an indweller of tlic town, Mr. Richard Lawaon, being 
evil-disposed, ganging in his gallery-stair foreanent the Cross, 
hearing thia voice proclaiming this summons, thought marvel 
what it should be, cried on his servant to bring him his purse ; 
and when he had brought Iiim it, he took out a crown, and 
cast over the stair, saying, 'I appeal from that summons, 
judgment, and sentence thereof, and takes me ail wliole in the 
mercy of God, and Christ Jesus his son.' Verily, the author 
of this, that caused me write the manner of this summon*, was 
a landed gentleman, who was at that lime twenty yeai-s of age, 
and was in tiie town the time of the said summons ; and tliere- 
afler, when the field was stricken, he swore to me, there was no 
man that escaped that was called in this summons, but that one 
man alone which made his protestation, and appealed from the 
said summons ; but all the lave were jierished in tlie field with 
the king." 



Note 4 B. 



One of his oicn ancestry, 

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry. — P. 136. 

This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Marmion 
in the reign of King Stephen, whom William of Newbury de- 
scribes with some attributes of my fictitious iiero : ^*Homo bd- 
licosus. fcrocia, et astncia, fere nulla sua tempore tmpar." 
This Baron, having expelled the Monks from the church of 
Coventry, was not long of experiencing the divine judgment, 



1 S^'-f, on this curious Bubjact, the Essay on Fairiea, m the " Border Min- 
•trelsy," vol. ii. undrr the fourth htfiid ; alao Jackson on Unbelief, p. 175. 
Chaucer calls Pluto the " King ofFa^rie ;" and Dunbar nnmes hini, " Pluto, 
that elhch incubus." If he was not actually ihe devil, he must be consld- 



as the same monks, no doubt, termed his disaster. Having 
waged a feudal war with the Earl of Chester. Marmion's horsu 
fell, as he charged in the van of his troop, against a body of 
the Earl's followers: tlie rider's thigh being broken by llie f;ill, 
his head was cut oil' by a common foot-soldier, ere he could 
receive any succor. The whole story is told by William of 
Newbury. 



Note 4 C. 



-P. 137 



the savage Dane 

Jit lol more deep the mead did drain.- 

The lol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Christ- 
mas in Scotland) was solemnized with great festivity. The 
liumor of the Danes at table displayed itself in pelting each 
other with bones ; and Torfa;us tells a long and curious story, 
in the History of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Holtus, an inmate ol 
the Court of Denmark, who was so generally assailed with 
these missiles, that he constrncted, out of the bones with wlii.:h 
he was overwhelmed, a very respectable inlrenchment, agai:i.-t 
those who continued the raillery. The dances of the nortiK-ri 
warriors round the great fires of pine-trees, are commemoratt;d 
by Olaus Magnus, wlio says, they danced with such fury 
holding each other by the hands, that, if the grasp of any f.iil- 
ed, he was pitched into tJie fire with the velocity of a sling. 
The sufferer, on such occasions, was instantly plucked onl, 
and obliged to quaifolTa certain measure of ale, as a penalty 
for " spoiling tlft king's fire." 



Note 4 D. 
On Christmas eve.—V. 137. 

In Roman Catholic countries, mass Is never said at night, 
except on Christmas eve. Each of the I'rolics witli whicli that 
holiday used to be celebrated, might admit of a long and cu- 
rious note ; but 1 shall content myself with the following de- 
scription of Christmas, and his attributes, as personified in one 
of Ben Jonson's Masques for tlie Court. 

" Enter Christmas with two or three of the Quard. He ' 
is attired in round liose, long stockings, a close doublet, a high- 
crowned hat, with a brooch, a long thin beard, a truncheon, 
little ruffs, white shoes, his scarfs and garters tied cross, and his 
drum beaten before him. — The names of his children, with 
their attires : jVtss-Rulc, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a short 
cloak, great yellow ruff, like a reveller ; his torch-bearer, bear- 
ing a rope, a cheese, and a basket ; — CaroU, a long tawny coat, 
with a reil cap, and a liute at liis girdle ; his torch-bearer cai^ 
rying a tioiig-book, open ; — jMincUl'pic, like a fine cook's wife, 
drest neat, her man carrying a pie, dish, and spoons; — Oam- 
boll, like a tumbler, with a hoop and bells; his torch-bearer 
arm'd with cole-staff, and blinding cloth; — Post and Pair, 
with a paii^royal of aces in his hat, his garment all done over 
with pairs and purs; his squire carrying a box, cards, and 
counters ; — JSTcw-ijcar' s-Qift, in a blue-coat, serving-man like 
with an orange, and a sprig of rosemary gilt on his head, his 
hat full of brooches, with a collar of gingerbread ; hi^ torch- 
bearer carrying a march-i)ain, with a bottle of wine on either 
arm ; — Mumming, in a masquing pied suit, with a visor; his 
torch-bearer carrying the box, and rmging it ; — IVassal, like a 
neat sempster and songster ; her page bearing a brown bowl, 
drest witli ribbands, and rosemary, before her ; — Offering, iw 
a short gown, with a porter's stafi'in his hand ; a wytli borne . 
before him, and a biison, by his torch-bearer; — Baby Cocki., 



ered as the " prince of the power of the air." The moat remarkable in- 
eianco of these auri-iviiig classicul superstitions, is that of llie GerniiiDs, cou- 
ctiniiDg the I-Iill of Venus, int« which ate attempts to entice all gaUnnt 
knigbiB, and detains them there in a sort of Fool's Paradise. 



174 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



drest like a boy, in a fine long coat, biggin, bib, nitickender, 
»nd a lif.le dagger ; Iiis usher bearing a great cake, with a bean 
and a pease." 



No"^4E. 



JVko lists may in their Taumming see 
Traces of ancient mystery. — P. 138. 

It seems certain, that the Mummers of England, who (in 
Nortliuniberland at least) used to go about in disguise to the 
neighboring houses, bearing the then useless ploughshare ; and 
the Oiiisards of Scotland, not yet in total disuse, present, in 
some indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, wliich 
Wf^re the origin of the English drama. In Scotland (mc ipso 
teste), we were wont, during my boyhood," to take the cliarac- 
ters of the apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, and Juflas Iscariot ; 
the first had the keys, the second carried a sword, and the last 
the bag, in which the dole of our neighbors' plumb-cake was 
deposited. One played a champion, and recited some tradi- 
tional rhymes; another was 

" Alexander. King of Maceiloii, 
Who conquered all the world but Scotland alone : 
When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold, 
To see a little nation courageous and bold." 

These, and many such verses, were repeated, but by rote, and 
unconnectedly. There was also, occasionally, 1 believe, a 
Saint George. In all, there was a confused resemblance of the 
ancient mysteries, in which the characters (Jf Scripture, the 
Nine Worthies, and other popular personages, were usually 
exhibited. It were much to be wished that the Cliester Mys- 
teries were published from the MS. in the Museum, with the 
annotations which a diligent investigator of popular antiquities 
might still supply. The late acute and valuable antiquary, 
Mr. Ribbon, showed me several memoranda towards such a 
task, which are probably now disi)ersed or tost. See, however, 
his Rcinarfis on Shak.'^jirnTc, 1783, p. 38. 

Since the first edition of Marmion appeared, this subject has 
received much elucidation from the learned and extensive la- 
bors of Mr. Douce ; and the Chester Mysteries [edited by J. 
H. Markland, Esq.] have been printed in a style of great ele- 
gance and accuracy (in 1818), by Bensley and Sons, London, 
for the Roxburghe Club. 1830. 



Note 4 F. 

JVkcre viy great-grandsire came of old. 
IVith amber beard and flaxen hair. — P. 138. 

Mr. Scott of Harden,' my kind and affectionate friend, and 
distant relation, has the original of a poetical invitation, ad- 
dressed from his grandfather to my relative, from which a few 
lines in the text are imitated. They are dated, as the epistle 
in the text, from Mertoun-house, the seat of the Harden fam- 
.ly. 

" With amber beard, and flaxen hair. 

And reverend apostolic air. 

Free of anxiety and care, 

Come hither, Christmas-day, and dine; 

We'll mix sobriety with wine. 

And easy mirth with thoughts diviue. 

We Christians think it holiday. 

On it no sin to feast or play ; 

t)thers, in spite, may fast and pray. 

No superstition in the use 

<Jur ancestors made of a goose ; 

t Now I,frd Pi>Uvi»rtb. 

%The old gentlumnn was no intlraate of this celebrated ^eaiuB. By 
tHe favor :f the late Earl of Kellic, wtio was descended od the matemal 



Why may not we, as well as they, 
Be innocently blithe that day. 
On goose or pie, on wine or ale, 
And scorn enthusiastic zeal 1 — 
Pray come, and welcome, or plague rott 
Your friend and landlord, Walter Scott. 
"Mr. Walter Scott, I^essuden." 

The venerable old gentleman, to whom the lines are address- 
ed, was the younger brother of William Scott of Faeburn. 
Being the cadet of a cadet of the Harden family, h? hail vtTv 
little to lose; yet he contrived to lose the small i^operty he 
had, by engaging in the civil wars aiul intrigues" of the hoiis:- 
of Stuart. His veneration for the exiled family was so great, 
that he swore he would not shave his beard till they were re- 
stored : a mark of attachment, which, 1 suppose, had been 
common during Cromwell's usurpation ; for, in Cowley's 
" Cutter of Coleman Street," one drunken cavalier upbraids 
another, that, when he was not able to afford to pay a barber, 
he affected to " wear a beard for the King." I sincerely ho]>e 
this was not absolutely the original reason of my ancestor's 
beard ; which, as appears from a portrait in the possession of 
Sir Henry Hay Mactlougal, Bart., and another painted for the 
famous Dr. l*itcairn,2 was a beard of a most dignified and 
venerable appearance. 



Note 4- G. 

The Spirit's Blasted Trcc.—V, 139. 

I am permitted to illustrate this passage, by inserting " Cf», 
bren yr Ellyll, or the Spirit's Blasted Tree," a legendary tale, 
by the Reverend George Warrington : — 

" The event, on which this tale is founded, is preserved by 
tradition in the family of the Vuughans of Hengwyrt ; nor ia 
it entirely lost, .even among the common people, who still 
jioint out this oak to the passenger. The enmity between the 
two Welsh chieftains, Howel Sele, and Owen Glendwr, was 
extreme, and marked by vile treachery in the one, and fero- 
cious cruelty in the other.^ The story is somewhat changed 
and softened, as more favorable to the character of the two 
chiefs, and as better answering the purpose of poetry, by ad- 
mitting the passion of pity, and a greater degree of sentiment 
in the description. Some trace of Howel Sele's mansion was 
to be seen a few years ago, and may [lerhajts be still visible, in 
the park of Nannau, now betongini' lo Sir Robert Vaughan, 
Baronet, in the wild and romantic tracks of Merionethshire. 
The abbey mentioned passes under two names, Vener and 
Cymmer. The former b retained, a.t more generally used. 

THE SPIRIT'S BLASTED TREE. 
Cenbren yr Ellyll 

*' Through Nannau's Chase, as Howel pass'd, 
A chief esteem'd both brave and kind, 
Far distant borne, the stag-hounds' cry 
Came murmuring on tiie hollow wind. 

" Starting, he bent an eager ear, — 

How should the sounds return again ? 
His hounds lay wearied from the cliase, 
And all at home bis hunter train 

" Then sudden anger flashed his eye, 
And deep revenge he vow'd to take 
On that bbld man who dared lo force 
His red-deer from the forest brake 

side from Dr. Pitcaim, my father became possessed of the purtmit in ijuea- 
tioQ. 
3 The hifllory of their feud may be found in Peno&Qt'a Tour La Wa!e». 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



17S 



•' Unlmppy Chief! wooUl naught avail. 
No signs impress thy heart with fear, 
Thy lady's dark mysterious dream, 
Thy warning from the hoary seer? 


" 'Twas now November's cheerless hoar, 
Whicli drenching rain and clouds defa(»» 
Dreary bleak Robell's tract appear'd. 
And dull and dank each valley's spaco 


* Tliree ravens gave the note of death, 

As through mid-air they wing'd their way ; 
Then o'er his head, in rapid (light. 

They croak. — ihey scent tJieir destined prey. 


" Load o'er the weir the hoarse flood fell, 
And dash'd the foaming spray on high ; 
The west wind bent the forest tops. 
And angry frown'd the evening sky. 


" Ill-omen'd hird I as legends sav. 

Who hast the wondrous power to know, 

While health fills high the throbbing veins, 

The fated hoar when blood most flow. 


" A stranger paVd Llanelllid's bourne, 

His dark-gray steed with sweat besprent. 
Which, wearied with the lengthen'd way. 
Could scarcely gain the hill's ascent. 


*' Blinded by rage, alone he pass'd, 
Nor sought liis ready vassals' aid : 
But what his fate lay long unknown, 
For many an anxious year delay'd. 


** The portal reach'd, — the iron bell 

Loud sounded round the outward wall ; 
Q,aick sprang the warder to the gate, 
To know what meant the clam'rous call. 


" A peasant mark'd his angry eye, 

He saw hiui reach the lake's dark bourne, 
He saw liim near a Blasted Oak, 
But never from that hour return. 


" ' I lead ms to your lady soon ; 
Say,— it is my sad lot to tell. 
To clear the fate of that brave knight, 
She long has proved she loved so well 


*' Three days pass'd o'er, no tidings came ; — 
Where should the Chief his steps delay ? 
With wild alarm the servants ran, 
Yet knew not where to point their way. 


" Then, as he cross'd the spacious hall, 
The menials look surprise and fear ; 
Still o'er his harp old Modred hung, 
And touch'd the notes for grief's worn ear. 


" His vassals ranged the mountain's height, 
The covert close, the wide-spread plain ; 
But all in vain their eager search, 
They ne'er roust see their lord again. 


" The lady sat amidst her train ; 

A mellow'd sorrow mark'd her look : 
Then, asking what his mission meant, 

The graceful stranger sigh'd and spoke : — 


" Yet Fancy, in a thousand shapes, 

Bore to his home the Chief once more : 
Some saw him on high .Moal's top. 
Some saw him ou the winding shore. 


*' ' could I spread one ray of hope, 

One moment raise thy soul from woe, 
Gladly my tongue would tell its tale, 
My words at ease unfetter'd flow ! 


'* With wonder fraught the tale went round. 
Amazement chain'd the hearer's tongue : 
Each peasant felt his own sad loss, 
Yet fondly o'er the story hung. 


" ' Now, lady, give attention due. 

The story claims thy full belief: 
E'en in the worst events of life, 
Suspense removed is some relief. 


" Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light, 
His aged nurse and steward gray 
Would lean to catch the storied sounds, 
Or mark the flitting spirit stray. 


" ' Though worn by care, see Madoc here. 

Great Glyndwr's friend, thy kindred's foe : 
Ah. let his name no anger raise, 
For now that mighty Chief lies low. 


" Pale lights on Cader's rocks were seen, 
And midnight voices heard to moan; 
'Twas even said the Blasted Oak, 
Convalsive, heaved a hollow groan: 


" * E'en from the day, when, chain'd by fate, 
By wizard's dream, or potent spell, 
Lingering from sad Salopia's field 
'Reft of Ai* aid the Percy fell ;- 


'* And to this day the peasant still, 

With canlioas fear, avoids the ground : 
In each wild branch a spectre sees, 
And trembles at each rising soand. 


" ' E'en from that day misfortune still. 
As if for violated faith, 
Pursued him with unwearied step; 
Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. 


" Ten annual snns had held their course, 
In summer's smile, or winter storm ; 
The lady shed the widow'd tear, 
As oft she traced his manly form. 


" * Vanquish'd at length, the Glyndwr fled. 

Where winds the Wye her devious flood ; 
To find a casual shelter there, 
In some lone cot, or desert wood. 


'* Yet still to nope her heart woold cling 
As o'er the mind illusions play, — 
Of travel fond, perhaps her lord 
To distant lands had steer'd his way. 


" * Clothed in a shepherd's humble guise, 
He gain'd by toil his scanty bread ; 
He wiio iiad Cambria's sceptre borne 
And her brave sons to glory led ! 



1T6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' To penary extreme, and grief, 

The Chieftain fell a lingering prey ; 
I heard his last few faltering words, 
Such as with jiain I now convey. 

' To Sele's sad widow bear the tale, 

Nor let our horrid secret rest ; 

Give but his corse to sacred earth, 

Then may my parting soul be blest.' — 

' Dim wax'd the eye that fiercely shone, 

And faint the tongue that proudly spoke, 
And weak that arm, still raised to me, 
Wliich oft had dealt the mortal stroke. 

' How could I then his mandate bear 1 
Or how his last behest obey ? 
A rebel deem'd, with him I fled ; 
With him I ahonn'd the light of day, 

' Proscribed by Henry's hostile rage, 
My country lost, despoil'd my land, 
Desperate, I fled my native soil, 

And fought on Syria's distant strand. 

' Oh, had thy long-lamented lord 

The holy cross and banner view'd, 
Died in the sacred cause ! who fell 
Sad victim of a private feud I 

' Led by the ardor of the chase, 

Far distant from his own domain, 
From where Garllunaelan spreads her shades 
Tiie Glyndwr sought the opening plain. 

' With head aloft and antlers wide, 

A red buck roused then cross'd in view : 

Stung with tlie sight, and wild with rage. 

Swift from the wood fierce Hovvel flew. 

' With bitter taunt and keen reproach, 
He. all impetuous, ponr'd his rage ; 
Reviled the Chief, as weak in arms, 
And bade him loud the battle wage. 

' Glyndwr for once restrain'd his sword. 
And, still averse, the fight delays; 
But soften'd words, like oil to fire, 
Made anger more intensely blaze. 

' ' They fought ; and doubtfnl long the fray * 
The Glyndwr gave the fatal wound I 
Still mournful must my tale proceed, 
And its last act all dreadful sound. 

' ' How conld we hope for wish'd retreat. 
His eager vassals ranging wide. 
His bloodhounds' keen sagacious scent, 
O'er many a trackless mountain tried. 

' ' I mark'd a broad and Blasted Oak, 

Scorch'd by the lightning's livid glare 
Hollow its stem from branch to root. 
And all its shrivell'd arms were bare. 

' ' Be this, I cried, his proper grave ! — 
(The thought in me was deadly sin,) 
Aloft we raised the hapless Chief, 

And dropp'd his bleeding corpse within.' 



' A shriek from all the damsels burst, 
That pierced the vaulted roofs below; 
While horror-struck the Lady stood, 
A living form of sculptured woe. 

" With stupid stare and vacamt gaze, 
Full on his face her eyes were cast, 
Absorb'd ! — she lost her present grief, 
And faintly thought of things long past. 

" Like wild-fire o'er a mossy heath, 
The rumor through the hamlet ran ; 
The peasants crowd at morning dawn. 
To hear the tale — behold the man. 

" He led them near the Blasted Oak, 

Then, conscious, from the scpne withdrew : 
The peasants work with trembling haste, 
And lay the whiten'd bones to view I— 

" Back they recoil'd ! — the right hand still, 

Contracted, grasp'd a rusty sword ; 

Which erst in many a battle gleam'd. 

And proudly deck'd their slaughter'd lord. 

*' They bore the corse to Vener'a shrine, 
With holy rites and prayers address'd ; 
Nine white-robed monks the last dirge Bang, 
And gave the angry spirit rest." 



Note 4 H. 



The Highlander - 



Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, 
Ifask'd to tell a fairy tale.'*— P. 139. 

The Daoine shi\ or Men of Peace, of the Scottish High- 
landers, rather resemble the Scandinavian Jjuerffar th:i\\ t]\a 
English Fairies. Notwithstanding their name, they are, if 
not absolutely malevolent, at least peevish, discontented, and 
apt to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief of tbpir 
existence is deeply impressed on the Highlanders, who think 
they are particularly offended at mortals who talk of them, 
who wear their favorite color, green, or in any respect interfere 
with their affairs. This is e^pei-ialty to be avoided on Friday, 
when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with whom, in Ger- 
many, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or 
for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and poss€S>eil 
of greater power. Some curious particulars concerning the 
popular superstirions of the Highlanders may be found iu Dr. 
Graham's Picturesque Sketches of Perthshire. 



Note 4 I. 



The towers of Franeheviont.—V, 139. 

The journal of the friend to wliom the Fourth Canto of me 
Poem is insc-ribcd, furnished me with the following accouni of 
a striking superstition. 

" Passed the pretty little village of Franchemont (near 
Spaw), with the romantic ruins of the old castle of the Connie 
of that name. The road leads tlirough many delightful vate? 
on a rising ground ; at the extremity of one of them stamls 
the ancient castle, now the subject of many sujierstilioua 
legends. It is firmly believed by the neighboring peasantiT. 
that the last Baron of Franclitmont deposited, in one of the 
vaults of the castle, a ponderous chest, containing an im 
mense treasure in gold and silver, which, by some magic spell, 
was intrusted to the care of the Devil, who is constantly found 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



177 



■illing on ihe chest in the shape of a huntsman. Any one 
ailveninroQs enough to touch the chest is instantly seized 
with the palsy. Upon one occasion, a priest of noleil piety 
WON Iirought to the vault : he used all the arts of exorcism to 
pfp-uade liis infernal majesty to vacate his seat, but in vain ; 
111.' Iinnismati remained ionnovable. At last, moved by llie 
earnestness of tlie priest, he told liim that he would agree to 
r>^i;,'ti the chest, if the exerciser would sign his name witli 
Hood. But the priest understood his meaning, and refused, 
as by that act be would have delivered over lus soul to the 
Di'vil. Yet, if anybody can discover the mystic words used 
hy the person who deposited the treasure, and pronounce 
tlieni, the fiend must instantly decamp. I bad many stories 
of a similar nature from a peasant, who bad b'mself seen the 
Devil in the shape of a great cat." 



Note 4 K. 

The very form of Hilda fair. 
Hovering upon the sunny air. 
And smiling on her votaries' prayer. — P. 141. 

" I shall only produce one instance more of the great ven- 
eration paid to Lady Hilda, which still prevails even in these 
our days ; and that is, the constant opinion that she rendered, 
and still renders, herself visible, on some occa^'ions, in the 
Abbey of Streanshalh or Whilby, where she so long resided. 
At a particular time of the year (viz. in the summer months), 
at ten or eleven in tiie forenoon, the sunbeams fall in the 
inside of the northern part of the choir ; and 'tis then that the 
spectators, who stand on the west side of Wlutby churchyard, 
60 as just to see the most northerly part of the abbey pass the 
north end of Whitby church, imagine they perceive, in one 
of the highest windows there, the resemblance of a woman 
arrayed iu a shroud. Though we are certain this is only a 
reflection caused by the splendor of the sunbeams, yet fame 
report^, it, and it is constantly believed among the vulgar, to 
be an appearance of Lady Hilda in her shroud, or rather in a 
glorified state; before which, I make no doubt, the Papists, 
even in these our days, otfer up their prayers with as much 
zeal and devotion as before any other image of their most 
glorified saint."— Charlton's History of Whitby, p. 33. 



Note 4 L. 



the huge and sleeping brand 

If hick wont of yore, in brittle fray, 
His foemni's limbs to shred away, 
,1s wood-knife lops the sapling spray. — P. 143. 

The Earl of Angus had strength and personal activity cor- 
responding to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favorite 
of James IV., having spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him 
while hawking, and, compelling him to single combat, at one 
blow cut asunder bis thighbone, and killed him on the spot. 
But ere he coald obtain James's pardon for this slaugiiter, 
Angus was obliged to yield his castle of Hermitage, in ex- 
change for that of Botiiwell. which was some diminution to 
tlie family greatness. The sword with which he struck so 
rpmarkable a blow, was presented by bis descendant James, 
Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord Lin- 
desay of the Byres, when he defied Boihwell to single combat 
on Carherry Hill. See Introduction to the Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border. 



Note 4 M. 



^nd bopest thou hence unscathed to go 7 
JVo .' by St. Bride of Bot}\well, no ! 
Vp drawbridge, grooms ! — fVkat, Warder, ho ' 
Let the portcullis fall.— Y. 144. 



Tills ebullition of violence in the potent Earl of Angus it 
not without its example in the real history of the house ot 
Douglas, whose chieftains possessed the ferocity, with the 
heroic virtues of a savage stale. The most curious instauie 
occurred in the case of Maclellan, Tutor of Bombay, who, 
having refused to acknowledge tlie pre-eminence claimed liy 
Douglas over the gentlemen and Barons of Galloway, wa* 
seized and imprisoned by the Earl, in bis castle ol' the Thri' :<.-, 
on llie borders of Kirkcudbrightshire. Sir Patrick (ii.n. 
commander of King James the Second's guard, was uiu-li- m' 
the Tutor of Bombay, and obiaitied from the Kmg a " f.w<i-i 
letter of sup[)licatioii," praying the Earl to deliver his priso;i(r 
into Gray's hand. When Sir Patrick arrived at the castlf. 
he was received with all the honor due to a favoriu- 'rr- 
vant of the King's household ; but while he was at diniui, 
the Earl, wlio suspected his errand, caused his prisoner to be 
led forth and beheadeil. After dinner. Sir Patrick presented 
the King's letter to tlie Earl, who received it with great aiVec- 
tation of reverence ; " and took him by the baud, and led him 
forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying dead, and 
showed him the manner, and said. 'Sir Patrick, you are come 
a little too late ; yonder is your sister's son lying, but he wants 
the head : take his body, and do with it what you will.' — Sir 
Patrick answered again, with a sore heart, and said, 'My 
lord, if ye have taken from him his head, disjione upon the 
body as ye please;' and with that called for his horse, and 
leaped thereon ; and when he was on horseback, he said to 
the Earl on this manner, " My lord, if 1 live you shall be 
rewarded for your labors tlial you Jiave used at this tinK-, 
according to your demerits.' 

'* At this saying the Earl was highly offended, and cried for 
horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the Earl's fury, spurred his horse, 
but he was chased near Edinburgh ere they left him ; and had 
it not been his led liorse was so tried and good, he had beea 
taken." — Pitscottie's History, p. 39. 



Note 4 N. 



A letter forged ! — Saint Jude to speed .' 
Did ever knight so foul a deed! — P. 144. 

Lest the reader should partake of the Earl's astonishment, 
and consider the crime as inconsistent with the manners of the 
period, I have to remind him of the numerous forgeries (partly 
executed by a female assistant) devised by Robert of Arlois, 
to forward his suit against the Countess Matilda ; which, being 
detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved the 
remote cause of Edward the Third's memorable wars in 
France. John Harding, also, was expressly hired by Edward 
VI. to forge such documents as miglil appear to establish the 
claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the English raonarchs. 



Note 4 O. 
Lennel's convent. — P. 145. 

This was a Cistertian house of religion, now almost entirely 
demolished. Lennel House is now the residence of my venei 
able friend. Patrick Brydone, Esquire, so well known in the 
literary world.' It is situated near Coldstream, almost opposite 
to Cornhill, and consequently very near to Flodden Field, 



Note 4 P. 

Twisel bridge.—?. 145. 

On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Flodden, 
Surrey's head-quarters were at Barmoor Wood, and King 

1 First Edition. — Mr. Br^'dooe boa been mimy years deam l&iS, 



178 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



James held an inaccessible position on the ridge of Flodden-Iiill, 
one of the last and lowest eminences detaclied from the ridge 
of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, winded between 
the armies. On tlie morning of tlie 9lh September, 1513, 
Surrey marched in a uortlnvesterly direction, and crossed the 
Till, with his van and artillery, at Twisel-bridge, nigh where 
that river joins tlie Tweed, his rear-guard column passing 
about a mile higher, by a ford. This movement had the 
double effect of placing his army between King James and his 
supplies from Scotland, and of striking the Scottish monarch 
with surprise, as he seems to have relied on the depth of the 
river in his front. But as the passage, both over the bridge 
and tlirough the ford, was difficult and slow, it seems possible 
thai the English might have been attacked to great advantage 
while struggling with these natural obstacles. I know not if 
we are to impute James's forbearance to want of military skill, 
or to the romantic declaration which Pitscottie puts in his 
mouth, "that he was determined to have his enemies before 
him on a plain field," and therelore would suffer no interrup- 
tion to be given, even by artillery, to their passing the river. 

The ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the English crossed 
the Till, is still standing beneath Twisel Castle, a sjilendid pile 
of Gothic architecture, as now rebuilt by Sir Francis Blake, 
Bart., whose extensive plantations liave so much improved the 
country around. Tlie glen is romantic and delightful, with 
Bteep banks on each side, covered with copse, particularly with 
hawthorn. Beneath a tall rock, near the bridge, is a plentiful 
fountain, called St. Helen's Well. 



Note 4 Q. 

Hence might they see the fall array 

Of either host, for deadiy fraij. — P. 147. 

The reader cannot here expect a full account of the battle 
of Flodden ; but, so far as is necessary J^ understand the ro- 
mance, I beg to remind him, that when the Engliish army, by 
their skilful countermarch, were fairly placed between King 
James and his own country, the Scottish monarch resolved to 
fight ; and, setting fire to his tents, descended from the ridge 
of Flodden to secure the neighboring eminence of Brankstone, 
on which that village is built. Thus the two armies met, almost 
without seeing each other, when, according to the old poem of 
"Flodden Field," 

" The English line stretch'd east and west, 
And southward were their faces set ; 
The Scottish northward proudly prest, 
And manfully their foes they met." 

The English army advanced in four divisions. On the right, 
which first engaged, were the sons of Earl Surrey, namely, 
Thomas Howard, the Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, 
the Knight Marshal of the array. Their divisions were sepa- 
rated from each other; but, at the request of Sir Edmund, his 
brother's battalion was drawn very near to his own. The 
centre was commanded by Surrey in person; the left wing by 
Sir Edward Stanley, with the men of Lancashire, and of the 
palatinate of Chester. Lord Dacres, with a large body of 
horse, formed a reserve. When the smoke, which the wind 
had driven between the armies, was somewhat dispersed, they 
perceived the Scots, who had moved down the hill in a similar 
order of battle, and in deep silence.' The Earls of Huntley 

1 " Lesquclz Escoisois descendirenl la montaiffne en bonne ordre, en 
la maniere gue marchent Ua AUemans sans parler, nc fnWe nucun 
truit." — Gazette of the battle, Pinkerian'a Hivioiy, Appendix^ vol. ii. 
p. 456. 

a "In 1810, as Sir Caniaby Hnggerslone's workmen wore cligging in 
Flodden Field, they came to n pit filled with human bones, and which 
seemed of great extent ; but, alarmed at Iho eiyht, they immediately filled 
op the excavation, and proceeded no farther, 

"In 1811, Mr. Gray of MiUfield Hill found, near the traces of an ancient 



and of Home commanded their left wing, and charged Sii 
Edmund Howard with such success as entirely to defeat hia 
part of the English right wing. Sir Edmund's banner was 
beaten down, and he himself escaped with ditficulty to his 
brother's division. The Admiral, however, stood firm ; and 
Dacre advancing to his suppori with the reserve of cavalry, 
probably between the interval of the divisions commanded by 
the brothers Howard, apjiears to have kept the victors in 
effectual check. Home's men. chiefly Borderers, began to 
pillage the baggage of both armies ; and their leader is branded 
by the Scottish historians with negligence or treachery. On 
the other hand, Huntley, on whom they bestow miiuy enco- 
miums, is said by the English historians to have left the field 
after the first charge. Meanwhile the Admiral, whose flank 
these chiefs ought to have attacked, availed himself o'i tbeir 
inactivity, and poshed forward against another large division 
of the Scottish army in his front, headed by the Earls of 
Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were slain, and their 
forces routed. On the left, ihe success of the English was yet 
more decisive ; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of un- 
disciplined Highlanders, commanded by Lennos and Argyle, 
was unable to sustain the charge of Sir Edward Stanley, and 
especially the severe execution of the Lancashire archers. 
The King and Surrey, who commanded the respective centres 
of their armies, were meanwhile engaged in close and dubious 
conflict. James, surrounded by the flower of his kingilom, and 
impatient of the galling discharge of arrows, supjiortcd also by 
bis reserve under Bothwell, charged with sucli fury, that the 
standard of Surrey was in danger. At that critical moment, 
Stanley, who had routed the left wing of the Scottish, pursued 
his career of victory, and arrived on the right flank, and in the 
rear of James's division, which, throwing itself into a circle, 
disputed the battle till niglit came on. Surrey then drew 
back his forces ; for the Scottish centre not having been 
broken, and their left wing being victorious, he yet doubted 
the event of the field. The Scottish army, however, felt their 
loss, and abandoned the field of battle in disorder, before 
dawn. They lost, perliaps, from eight to ten thousand men; 
but that included the very prime of their nobility, gentry, and 
even clergy. Scarce a family of eminence but has an ancestor 
killed at Flodden ; and there is no province in Scotland, even 
at this day, where the battle is mentioned without a sensation 
of terror and sorrow. The English lost also a great number of 
men, perhaps within one-third of the vanquished, b. t they 
were of inferior note. — See the only distinct detail of the Field 
of Flodden in Pinkerton's History, Book xi. ; all former 
accounts being full of blunders and inconsistency. 

The spot from which Clara views the battle must be sup- 
posed to have been on a hillock commanding the rear of the 
English right wing, which was defeated, and m which conflict 
Marmion is supposed to have fallen.^ 



Note 4 R. 

Brian Tunstall, stairiless knight. — P. 14V. 

Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic language of the 
time, Tunstall the Undefiled, was one of the few Englishmen 
of rank slain at Flodden. He figures in the ancient English 
poem, to which [ may safely refer my readers ; as an edition, 
wiin full explanatory notes, has been publislied by my friend, 
Mr. Henry Weber. Tunstall, perhaps, derived his epithet of 

encampment, a short distance from Flodden Hill, a tumulus, which, on re- 
moving, txhibited a very singular sepulrhre. In the centre, a large um 
was foimd, but in a IhousjinJ pieces. It bad either been broken to piecei 
by the utonea fall iBg upon it when digging, or had gone to pieces on the ad- 
mission of the air. This um was surroimded by a number of colls formed 
of flat stones, in the shape of graves, but too smatl to hold the body in its 
natural state. These sepulchral recesses contained nothing except ashes, 
or dual of the same kind as that in the \im,"~Sykes' Local Records <* 
73ls. 8vo, 1833), vol. ii. pp. 60 and 109. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



179 



undcjiled from his white armor antl banner, the latter bearing 
a white cook, about lo crow, us well as from his unstained loy- 
alty anil knightly faitii. His place of residence was Thurland 
CasUe 



Note 4 S. 



Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

.^ndfell on Flodden plain ; 
And well in death his trusti/ brand. 
Firm clencWd within his vianly hand, 

Beseem'd the monarch slain. — P. 15J 

There can be no doubt that King Jamea fell in the battle 
of Flodden. He was killed, says tlie curious Fruncli Gazette, 
within a lance's length of the Earl of Surrey ; and tlie same 
account adds, that none of Iiis division were made prisoners, 
though many were killed ; a circumstance lliat testifies the des- 
peration of tlieir resistance. The Scottish historians reconi 
many of the idle reports whicli passed among the vulgar of 
their day. Home was accused, by tiie popular voice, not only 
of failing to support the King, but even of having carried him 
out of the tield, and murdered him. And this tale was revived 
in my remembrance, by an unauthenlicated story of a skeleton, 
wrapped tn a bull's hide, and sarrounded with an iron chain, 
said to have been found in the well of Home Castle ; for 
which, on inquiry, I could never 6nd any belter auUiority than 
the sexton of the parish having said, that, if the well were 
cleaned out, he would not be surprised at suck a discooery. 
Home was the chamberlain of the King, and Iiis prime favor- 
ite ; he had much to lose (in fact did lose all) in consequence 
of James's death, and noUiing earthly to gain by that event: 
but the retreat, or inactivity of the eft kving which he com- 



manded, after defeating Sir Edmund Howard, and even the 
circumstance of his returning unhurt, and loaded with npoil, 
from so fatal a conflict, rendered the propagation of any calum- 
ny against him easy and acceptable. Other reports gave a still 
more romantic turn to the King's fate, and averred that .lames, 
weary of greatness after tiie carnage among his nobles, had gone 
on a pilgrimage, to merit ab-^olution for the deatli of his father, 
and the breach of his oath of amity to Henry. In i)artit-ular, 
it was objected to the English, tlial they coultl never show the 
token of the iron belt ; which, however, lie was likely enougli 
to have laid aside on the day of battle, as encumbering his oer^ 
sonal exertions. They produce a better evidence, the monarch's 
sword and dagger, which are still preserved in the Herald's 
College in London. Stowe has recorded a degratling story of 
the disgrace with whicii the remains of tlie unfortunate mon- 
arch were treated in his time. An onhewn column marks the 
spot where James fell, still called the King's Stone. 



Note 4 T. 



The fair cathedral stormed and tooh. — P. l.il. 

This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been garri- 
soned on the part ot the King, took place in the Great Civil 
War. Lord Brook, who, with Sir John Gill, commanded the 
assailants, was shot with a musket-ball through tlie %isor of 
his helmet. The royalists remarked, that he was killed by a 
shot fired from .St. Chad's cathedral, and upon St. Chad's Day, 
and received his death-wound in the very eye with which, ho 
had said, he hoped to see the ruin of all the cathedrals in Eng- 
land. The magnificent church in question suffered cruelly 
upon this, and other occasions ; the principal spire being ruined 
by tlie fire of the besiegera. 



®l)c Ca^p of tl)c Cake 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

After the success of " Marmion," I felt inclined 
to exclaim ■with Ulyssea in the " Odyssey" — 

OvTOi filv Si] acB^Oi ^(laTOi tKrlTl^ccral. 
NBt' avTE {TKonui' aXXov. Odys. ^. 1. 5. 

" One venturous gnnie my liand has won to-day — 
Another, gallants, yet remains to play." 

The ancient manners, the habits and customs of 
the aboriginal race by "whom the Highlands of 
Scotland were inhabited, bad always appeared to 
me pecuharly adapted to poetry. The change in 
their manners, too, had taken place almost within 
my own time, or at least I had learned many par- 
ticulars concermng the ancient state of the High- 
lands from the old men of the last generation. I 
liad always thought the old Scottish Gael liiglily 
adapted for poetical composition. The feuds and 
pohtical dissensions, wliich, half a century earUer, 
would have rendered the richer and wealthier jjart 
of the kingdom indisposed to countenance a poem, 
the scene of wliich was laid in the Highlands, were 
now S link in the generous compassion wliich the 
English, more than any other nation, feel for the 
misfortunes of an honorable foe. The Poems of 
Ossian had, by their popularity, sufficiently shown, 
that if writings on Highland subjects were qual- 
ified to interest the reader, mere national preju- 
dices were, in the present day, very unlikely to 
interfere with their success. 

I had also read a great deal, seen much, and 
heard more, of that romantic country, where I was 
in the habit of spending some time every autumn ; 
and the scenery of Loch Katrine was connected 
with the recollection of many a dear friend and 

1 " These Highland visits were repeated almost every sum- 
mer for several successive years, and perhaps even the first of 
hem was in some degree connected with his professional busi- 
ness. At all events, it w.as to his allotted task of enforcing the 
execution of a legal instrument against some Maclarens, refracto- 
ry teinniLs of Stewart of Apjiin, brother-in-law to luvemahyle, 
thai Scott owed his introduction to the scenery of the Lady of 
the Lake. ' An escort of a sergeant and six men,* he says, 
' was obtained from a Highland regiment lying in Stirling ; 
anil tlie autlior, then a writer's apprentice, equivalent to the 
honorable situation of an attorney's clerk, was invested with 
the superintendence of tlie expedition, with directions to see 
that the messenger discharged his duty fully, and that the gal- 
lant sergeant did not exceed his part by coraniilling violence 
or plunder. And thus it happened, oddly enough, that the 



merry expedition of former days.' This poem, the 
action of which lay among scenes so beautiful, and 
so deeply imprinted on my recollection, was a la- 
bor of love ; and it was no less so to recall the 
manners and incidents introduced. The frequent 
custom of James IV., and particularly of James V., 
to walk through their kingdom in disguise, afford- 
ed me the hint of an incident, which never fails to 
be interesting, if managed with the sUghtest ad- 
dress or dexterity. 

I may now confess, however, that the employ- 
ment, though attended with great pleasure, was 
not without its doubts and anxieties. A lady, to 
whom I was nearly related, and with whom I Uved, 
durhig her whole hfe, on the most brotherly terms 
of affection, was residing with me at the time when 
the work was in progress, and used to ask me, what 
I could possibly do to rise so early in the morning 
(that happening to be the most convenient time to 
me for composition). 'At hist I told her the sub- 
ject of my meditations ; and I can never forget the 
anxiety and affection expressed in her reply. " Do 
not be so rash," she said, " my dearest cousin.^ You 
are already popular — more so, perhaps, than you 
yom'self will believe, or than even I, or other par- 
tial friends, can fairly allow to your merit. You 
stand high — do not rashly attempt to climb higher, 
and incur the risk of a fall ; for, depend upon it, a 
favorite wUl not be permitted even to stumble 
with impunity." I replied to this affectionate ex- 
postulation in the words of Montrose — 

*' He either fears his fate too much. 
Or bis deserts are small, 
Who dares not put it to the toach 
To gain or lose it aU."3 

author first entered the romantic scenery of Loch Katrine, of 
which he may perhaps say he has somewhat extended the 
reputation, riding in all the dignity of danger, with a front 
and rear guard, and loaded arms.' " — Life of Scott, vol. i. 
p. 193. 

2 " The lady with ^vhom Sir Walter Scott held this conver- 
sation was, no doubt, his aunt, Miss Christian Rutherford ; 
there was no other female relation dctid when this Introduction 
was written, whom I can suppose him to have consulted on 
literary questions. Lady Capulet, on seeing the corpse of 
Tybalt, exclaims, — 

* Tybalt, my cousin 1 oh my brother's child 1' " 

LocKHART, vol. iii, p. 251. 

s Lines in praise of worn jn. — Wishart's Memoirs of Mon- 
trose, p. 497. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



181 



• If I fail," I said, for the dialogue ia strong in 
my recollection, " it is a sign that I ought never to 
nave succeeded, and I will write prose for Ufe : 
you shall see no cliange in my temper, nor will I 
eat a single meal the worse. But if I succeed, 

' Up with t)te boiiiiie blue bonnet. 
The dirk, and the le.itiier, and a' !' " 

Afterwards, I showed my affectionate and anx- 
ious critic the first canto of the poem, which rec- 
onciled her to my imprudence. Nevertheless, 
although I answered thus confidently, with the 
obstinacy often said to be proper to those who bear 
my surname, I acknowledge that my confidence 
was considerably shaken by the warning of her 
excellent taste and unbiased fi"iendsliip. Nor was 
I much comforted by her retractation of the un- 
favorable judgment, when I recollected how likely 
a natural p-aitiality was to effect that change of 
opinion. In such cases, affection rises Uke a light 
on the canvas, improves any favorable tmts which 
it formerly exhibited, and thi'ows its defects uito 
the sliade. 

I remember that .about the same time a friend 
started in to " heeze up my hope," hke the " sports- 
man with his cutty gun," in the old song. He was 
bred a farmer, but a man of powerful understand- 
ing, natural good taste, and warm poetical feeling, 
perfectly competent to supply the wants of an 
imperfect or irregular education. He was a pas- 
sionate admirer of field-sports, which we often piu-- 
sued together. 

As this friend happened to dine with me at 
Ashestiel one da}', I took the opportunity of read- 
ing to him the first canto of " The Lady of the 
Lake," in order to ascertain the effect the poem 
was likely to produce upon a person who was but 
too favorable a representative of readers at fcirge. 
It is, of course, to be supposed that I determined 
rather to guide my opinion by what my friend 
might appear to feel, than by what he might tliink 
fit to say. His reception of my recitation, or pre- 
lection, was rather singular. He placed his hand 
across his brow, and listened with great .attention 
througli the whole account of the stag-hunt, till 
the dogs tlu'ew themselves uito the lake to follow 
their master, who embarks with Ellen Douglas. 
He then started up with a sudden exchmiation, 

' The JoMy Beggar, attributed to Kinj James V. — Herd's 
Cotlfction. lT7ti. 

3 " I believe the shrewd critic here introduced was the poet's 
excellent cousin, Charles Scolt, now laird of Knowe-south. 
The story of the Irish postillion's trot he owed to Mr. Moore." 
—I.i/c of Scott, vol. iii. |i. 253. 

^ " .Mr. Robert Cailell, who was then a young man in train- 
ing for his prolVssion in Edmbur;,'li, retains a strong impression 
of the interest whieli the Lady of the Lake e.xeiled there for 
two or three months before it w,^s on the counter. ' James 
Ballantvne,' he says, ' read the cantos from time to time to 



struck his hand on the table, and declared, in a 
voice of censure calculated for the occasion, that 
the dogs must have been totally ruined by being 
permitted to t;ikc the water after such a severe 
diase. I own I was imich encouragetl by the spe- 
cies of revery wliich had possessed so zealous a 
follower of the sports of the tmcient Nimrod, who 
had been completely siuprised out of all doubts 
of the reahty of the tale. Another of his remarks 
gave me less pleasure. He detected the identity 
of the King with the wandermg knight, Fitz-James, 
when he winds his bugle to summon liis attendants. 
He was probably thinking of the Uvely, but some- 
what licentious, old ballad, in which the denoue- 
ment of a royal intrigue takes place as follows : 

" He took a bugle frae his side, 

He blew both loud and shrill, 
And four^and-twenty belted knights 

Came skipping ower the hill ; 
Then lie took out a little knife. 

Let a' his duddies fa'. 
And he was the brawest gentleman 

That was amang them a'. 

And we'll go no more a-roving," Stc.i 

This discovery, as Mr. Pepys says of the rent in 
his camlet cloak, was but a trifle, yet it troubled 
me ; and I was at a good deal of pains to efface 
any marks by wliich I thought my secret could be 
traced before the conclusion, when I reUed on it 
with the same hope of producing effect, with which 
the Irish postboy is said to reserve a " trot for the 
avenue."" 

I took tmcommon pains to verify the accuracy 
of the local circumstances of tliis story. I recol- 
lect, in particular, that to ascertain whether I was 
telling a probable tale, I went into Perthshire, to 
see whether Kmg J.ames could actually hiivc rid- 
den from the banks of Loch Venniieh.ar to Stirling 
Castle within the tune supposed in the Poem, and 
had the pleasure to satisfy myself that it was quite 
practicable. 

After a considerable delay, " The Lady of the 
Lake" appeared in May, 1810 ; and its success was 
certainly so extraordinary as to induce me for the 
moment to conclude that I had at last fixed a nail 
iu the proverbiaU}' meonstant wheel of Fortune, 
whose stabihty in behalf of an individual who had 
so boldly courted her favors for three successive 
times, had not as yet been shaken.^ I had at- 

select coteries, as they advanced at press. Common fame was 
loud in their favor ; a great poem vwos on all hands anticipa- 
ted. I do not rerollect that any of all the author's works was 
ever looked for with more intense anxiety, or that any one of 
them excited a more extraordinary sensation when it did ap- 
pear. The whole country rang with the praises of the poet^ 
crowds set off to view the scenery of Loch Katrine, till then 
comparatively unknown ; and as the book came out just before 
the season for excursions, every house and inn in that neigh- 
borhood was crammed with a constant succession of visitors. 
It is a well-ascertained fact, that from the date of ttie pubhca- 



182 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tained, perhaps, that degree of public reputation 
at which prudence, or certainly timidity, would 
have made a halt, and discontinued efforts by 
which I was far more likely to diminish my fame 
tlian to increase it. But as the celebrated John 
Wilkes is said to have explained to his late Ma- 
jesty, that he himself, amid his full tide of popu- 
larity, was never a Wilkite, so I can, with honest 
trutli. exculpate myself from having been at any 
time a partisan of my own poetry, even when it 
was in the highest fashion with the million. It 
niu-st not be supposed, that I was either so un- 
grateful, or so superabundantly candid, as to de- 
spise or scorn the value of those whose voice had 
elevated me so much higlier than my own opinion 
told me I deserved. I felt, on the contrary, the 
more grateful to the pubUc, as receiving that from 
partiality to me, which I could not have claimed 
from merit ; and I endeavored to deserve the par- 
tiaUty, by continuing such exertions as I was ca- 
pable of for their amusement. 

It may be that I did not, in this continued course 
of scribbling, consult either the interest of the pub- 
Uc or ray own. But the former had effectual means 
of defending themselves, and could, by their cold- 
ness, sufficiently check any approach to mtrusion ; 
and for myself, I had now for several years dedi- 
cated my hours so much to literary labor, that I 
sliould have felt difficulty in employing myself 
otherwise ; and so, like Dogberry, I generously 
bestowed aU my tediousness on the public, com- 
forting myself with the reflection, that if posterity 
should think me undeserving of the favor with 
which I was regarded by my contemporaries, 
" they could not but say I had the crown," and had 
enjoyed for a time that popularity which is so 
much coveted. 

I conceived, however, that I Iield the distinguish- 
ed situation I had obtained, however unwortliily, 
ratlier like the champion of pugilism,' on tiie con- 
dition of being always ready to sliow proofs of my 
skill, than in the manner of the champion of chiv- 
alry, who performs liis duties only on rare and sol- 

Uoii of the Lady of the Lake, the post-horse duty in Scotland 
rose it) ail e.xtraordinary de;.Tee ; and indeed it coiiliniied to do 
so re^'ularly lor a number ol" years, the anttior's sueceeding 
works keejiing up the enthusiasm torourseenery wliieh iie had 
tliiis originally created. ' 

" r owe to the same correspondent the following details : — 
'Tile i|Uarto edition it\' 21150 copies disappeared instantly, and 
was I'ollowed, in the course of the same year, bv four editions 
in oi.tavo, viz. one of 3000, a second of 3'i50, and a third anil 
a fonrtli each of 6000 copies ; thus, in the space of a few 
months, the extraordinary number of 20.000 copies were dis- 
posed of. In tlie next year (1811) there was another edition of 
3000; there was one of 2000 in 1814; anolhcrof 2000 in 1815 ; 
«ne of 20(10 again in 1819 ; and two, making between them 



emn occasions. I was in any case conscious that I 
could not long hold a situation which the caprice, 
rather than the judgment, of the ptiblic, had be- 
stowed upon me, and preferred bchig deprived of 
my precedence by some more worthy rival, to 
sinking into contempt for my indolence, and losuig 
my reputation by what Scottish lawyers call the 
negative proscriptio7i. Accordingly, those wlio 
choose to look at the Introduction to Rokeby, in the 
present edition, will be able to trice the steps by 
which I declined as a poet to figure as a novelist ; 
as the ballad says. Queen Eleanor sunk at Charing- 
Cross to rise again at Queenhithe. 

It only remains for me to say, that, during my 
short pre-eminence of popularity, I ftiithfully ob 
served the rules of moderation which I Itad re- 
solved to follow before I began my course as a 
man of letters. If a man is determined to make a 
noise in the world, he is as sm'e to encimnter abuse 
and ridicule, as he who gallops furiously through a 
village, must reckon on being followed by the curs 
in full cry. Experienced persons know, that in 
stretching to flog the latter, the rider is very apt 
to catch a bad fall ; nor is an attempt to chastise a 
malignant critic attended with less danger to tlie 
author. On this principle, I let parody, burlesque, 
and squibs, find their own level ; and wliile the 
latter hissed most fiercely, I was cautious never to 
catch them up, as school-boys do, to throw them 
back against the naughty boy who fired them off, 
wisely remembering that they are, in such cases, 
apt to explode in the handUng. Let me add, that 
my reign'' (since Byron has so called it) was mark- 
ed by some instances of good-nature ;is well as pa- 
tience. I never refused a literary person of merit 
such services in smoothing liis way to the public as 
were in my power ; and I had the advantage, 
rather an miconunon one with our iiritable race, 
to enjoy general favor, without incurring perma- 
nent HI-wlII, so far as is known to me, among any 
of my contemporaries. 

■w. S. 

Abbottsfoed, April, 1830. 

2500, appeared in 1825. Since which time the Lady of the 
Lake, in collective editions of his poetry, and in separate i';sucs, 
must have circulated to the extent of at lea-st 20,000 coiries 
more. So that, down to the month of July, 1836. the legiti- 
mate sale in Great Britain has been not less than 50,0011 
copies.' " — Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 248. 

1 " [n twice five years the ' greatest living poet,' 
Like to the champion in the fisty ring. 
Is call'd on to support his claim, or show it, 
Although 'tis an imaginary thing," &c. 

Hon Jttan, canto xi. st. 55. 

• " Sir Walter reign'd before ir.e," &e. 

Von Juan, canto xi. St. 57. 



1 1) c Cake. 



TO THE 

MOST NOBLE 



JOHN JAMES MARQUIS OF AB E R C RN, 

<&c. <&c. ttc. 

THIS poem' is inscribed BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



ARGUMENT. 

The Sce7te of thefoUotoing Poeni is laid chiefly hi the Vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western High 
la.ids of Perthshire. The tivie of Action includes Six Days, and the transactions of each Day occupy 
a Canto.^ 



1 Published by John Ballantyne & Co. in 4to., with en- 
graved frontispiece of Saxon's portrait of Scott, X2 2s. 
May, 1810. 

- *■ Never, we think, has the analogy between poetry and 
painting been more strikingly exemphfied tlian in the writings 
of Mr. Scott. He sees every thing with a painter's eye. What- 
ever he represents has a character of individuaUty, and is 
drawn with an accuracy and minuteness of discrimination, 
which we are not accustomed to expect from verbal description. 
Miu'ii of this, no doubt, is the result of genius ; for there is a 
(|tiii:k and comprehensive power of discernment, an intensity 
and keenness of observation, an almost intuitive glance, which 
nature alone can give, and by means of wliich her favorites are 
enabled to discover characteristic <lirti.'rences, where the eye of 
duliK-sssees nothing but uniformity ; but something also must 
be referred to discipline and exercise. The liveliest fancy can 
only call forth those images which are already stored up in the 
memory ; and all that invention can do is to unite these into 
new combinations, which must apj)ear confused and ill-defined, 
if tile imprc^ioiis originally received by the senses were deficient 
in ;.{rcngth and disrinctness. It is because Mr. Scott usually 
delineates those objects with which he is perfectly familiar, 
tliat \u-A touch is so easy, correct, and animated. The rocks, 
the r;iviiies, and the torrents, which he exhibits, are not theim- 
perlect sketclies of a hurried traveller, but the tlnishcd studies 
of a ixiiiilent artist, deliberately drawn from ditVerent points of 
view ; each has its true shape and position ; it is a portrait ; it 
lia-* it" uame by which the spectator is invited to e-xamine the 
exaetnesH of the resemblance. The figures which are com- 
bined with the landscape are painted with the same fidelity. 
Like those of Salvator Rosa, they arc perfectly appropriate to 
the s|K»t on which they stand. The boldness of feature, tbe 
liglilness and compactness of form, the wildness of air, and the 
careless ease of attitude of these mountaineers, are as congenial 
to their native Highlands, as the birch and the pine which 
darken ih'ir ylens, the sedge which fringes their lakes, or the 
heath which waves over their moors." — QuartcHy Jicoiew, 
JUatj, 1810. 

** It is honorable to Mr. Scott's genius that he has been able 
U> interest the public so deeply with Uiia third presentment of 



the same chivalrous scenes ; but we cannot help thinking, that 
both his glory and our gratification would have been greater, 
if he had changed his hand more completely, and actually given 
us a true Celtic story, with all its drapery and accompaniments 
in a corresponding style of decoration. Such a subject, we 
are persuaded, has very great capabilities, and only wants to be 
introduced to public notice by such a hand as Mr. Scott's, to 
make a still more powerful impression than he has already ef- 
fected by the resurrection of the tales of romance. There are 
few persons, we believe, of any degree of poetical susceptibility, 
who have wandered among the secluded valleys of the High- 
lands, and contemplated the singular people by whom they are 
still tenanted — with their love of music and of song — their hardy 
and irregular life, so unlike the unvarying toils of the Saxon 
mechanic — their devotion to their chiefs— their wild and lofty 
traditions — their national enthusiasm — the melanclioly grand- 
eur of the scenes they inhabit — and the multiplied superstitions 
which still linger among them — without feeling, that there is 
no existing people so well adapted for the purposes of poetry, 
or so capable of furnishing the occasion of new and striking in- 
ventions. 

'* IVe arc persuaded, that if Mr. Scott's powerful and 
creative genius were to be turned in good earnest to such a 
subject, something might be produced still more impresswi 
and original than even this age has yet wihiessed.^^ — Jef- 
frey, Edinburgh Review, No. xvi. for 1810. 

"The subject of The Laiiy is a common Highland irruption, 
but at a point where the neighborhood of the Lowlaniis ailbrds 
the best contrast of manners — where the scenery affords the no- 
blest subject of description — and where the wild clan is so near 
to the Court, that their robberies can be connected with the 
romantic adventures of a disguised king, an exiled lord, and a 
high-born beauty. The whole narrative is very fine. There 
are not so many splendid passages for qnotation as in the two 
former poems. This may indeed silence the objections of the 
critics, but I doubt whether it will promote the popularity ol 
the poem. It has nothing so good as the Address to Scotlanu 
or the Death of Marmlon." — Mackintosh, in his Diary 
1811. see his Life, vol. ii. p. 82. 

" The Lay, if I may venture to state the cr«ed now esiaxh 



184 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



«ri)£ Calig of tl)£ Cake. 



CANTO FmST. 



Z^e ecjasc. 

Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast hung 

On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillim's 
spring, 
And down the fitful breeze tliy numbers flung," 

Till envious ivy did around thee cling. 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 

minstrel Harp, stUl must thine accents sleep ? 
Mid rusthng leaves and fountains murmuring, 

StUl must thy sweeter sounds then- silence keep. 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? 

Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 

"Was thy voice mute amid the festive crowd, 
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won. 

Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 
At each according pause, was heard aloud^ 

Thine ardent symphony subUme and high ! 
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd ; 

For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's 
matcliless eye. 

wake once more ! liow rude soe'er the hand 

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
wake once more ! though scarce my skill com- 
mand 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway. 

The wizard note has not been touch'd in vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again ! 



I. 

The stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill. 
And deep Ills midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
But, when the sun liis beacon red 



lisliet], i9, t should say, generally considered as the most natu- 
ral Jind original, Marmiou as the most powerful and splendid, 
tile Lady ol' the Lake as the most interesting, romantic, pictur- 
esque, and graceful of his great poems." — Lockuaut, vol. 
Ui. p. 256. 
* MS. — " And oji the fitful hreeze thy numbers flung. 
Till envious ivy, with her venlant ring. 
Mantled and niutlled each melodious string, — 
O IVizard Harp, still must thine accents sleep 1" 



Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 

The deep-niouth'd bloodhound's heavy bay 

Resoimded up the rocky way,' 

And faint, from farther distance borne. 

Were heard the clanging hoof and horu. 

11. 
As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
" To arms ! tlie foeman storm the wall," 
The antler'd monarch of the waste 
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
But, ere his fleet career he took. 
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 
Like crested leader proud and liigh, 
Toss'd liis beam'd frontlet to the sky ; 
A moment gazed adown the dale, 
A moment snuff "d the tainted gale, 
A moment hsten'd to the cry. 
That tliicken'd as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foes appear'd, 
With one brave bound the copse he clear'd. 
And, stretching forward free and far, 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

III. 

YeU'd on the view the opening pack , 
Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awaken'd mountain gave response. 
A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, 
Clattur'd a hundred steeds along, 
Their peal the merry horns rung out, 
A hundred voices join'il the shout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo. 
No rest Benvou'lich's echoes knew.* 
Far from the tumult fled the roe. 
Close in her covert cower'd the doe. 
The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye. 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The hurricivne had swept the glen. 
Faint and more faint, its failing din 
Return'd from cavern, cliif, and liim. 
And silence settled, wide and still. 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 

IV. 
Less loud the sounds of silvan war 
Disturb'd the heights of Uam-Var, 

2 MS. — " At each according pause thou spokest aloud 

Thine ardent sympathy." 

3 MS. — "The bloodhound's notes of heavy has3 

Resounded hoarsely up the pass." 

* Benvoirlich, a mountain comprehended in the cluster of Uio 
Grampians, at the head of the valley of the Garry, a river 
which springs from its base. It rises to an elevation of 3330 feel 
above tbe level of the sea. 



CANTO I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



186 



And roused the cavern, -where 'tis told, 
A i;iunt made his den of old ;^ 
For ore that steep ascent was won, 
Hii^li in )iis pathway hung the sun, 
And many a galUint, stay'd perforce, 
Was fain to breatiie liis faltering horse ; 
And of the trackers of tlie deer, 
Scarce lialf the lessening pack was near; 
So shrewdly on the moimtain's side 
H:id the hold bm'st tlieu' mettle tried. 

V. 

Tlie noble stag was pausing now, 
rpo!i the mountain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended, far beneath, 
'File varied realms of fair Menteith. 
\Vitli anxious eye he wander'd o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor. 
And i>onder'd refuge from his toil, 
V*y far Lochard'^ or Aberfoyle. 
Kut nearer was the copse wood gray, 
I'nat waved and wept on Loch-Achray. 
And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue. 
Fresh vigor with the hope return'd/ 



' S(_e Appendix, Note A. 

- •• About a mile to the westward of the inn of Aberfoyle, 
Ijijcliard opens to tlie view. A few hundred yards to the east 
ofil, the Aveiidow, which had just issoed from the lake, tum- 
bli-N its waters over a rugged precipice of more than thirty feet 
in lu'i^'lit, forming, in the rainy season, several very magnificent 
cataract-*. 

■' The first opening of the lower lake, from the east, is un- 
commonly picturesque. Directing the eye nearly westward, 
Bi'iilomond raises its pyramidal mass in the background. In 
nparer prospect, you have gentle eminences, covered with oak 
ami birch to the very summit ; the bare rock sometimes peep- 
ing tlirough amongst the clumps, fmmediatiidy under the eye, 
thi.' lower lake, stretching out from narrow beginnings to a 
lin*adth ol' about half a mile, is seen in full prosjiect. On the 
right, tlie banks are skirted with extensive oak woods wliich 
cover the mountain more than half way up. 

" Advancing to the westward, the view of the lake is lost for 
about a mile. The uppt-r lake, which is by far the most ex- 
tensive, U separated from the lower by a stream of about ^00 
yards in length. The most advantageous view of the upper 
lake presents itself from a rising ground near its lower extrem- 
ity, wh^rc a footpath strikes off" to the south, into the wood 
that overhangs this eoimecling stream. Looking westward, 
Bi'ulunioiid is seen in the background, rising, at the distance of 
six miles, in the form of a regular cone, its sides presenting a 
gentle slope to the N.W. and S.E. On the right is the lofty 
monnlain of Benoghrie. running west towards the deep vale in 
which IjOcIicou lies concealed from the eye. In the fon-ground, 
Lochard stretches out to the west in the fairest prospect ; its 
Kngih three milts, and its breadth a mile and a half. On the 
right, it is skirted with woods; the nortltern ami western ex- 
tn-mitv of the lake is diversified with meadows, and corn-fields, 
and farm-houses. On the left, few marks of cultivation are to 
3e seen. 

" Farther on, the Irnveller passes along the verge of the lake 
onder a leclge of rock, from thirty to fifty feet high ; and, stand- 
ing immediately under this rock, towards its western extremity, 
lie li:w a doubli; echo, of uncommon distinctness. Upon pro- 

21 



Witli flying foot the heath he spurn'd. 
Held westward with unwearied race, 
And left behind the panting chase. 

VI. 

'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, 
As swept the hunt througli Cambus-more \* 
What reins were tigliten'd in despair, 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ;^ 
Who flaggd upon Bocliastle's heath, 
Wlio shumi'd to stem the flooded Teith, — ** 
For twice that day, from shore to shore. 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far, 
That reach'd the lake of Vennachar ;'' 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won," 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 

VII. 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 
That horseman plied the scourge and steel ; 
For jaded now, and spent with toil, 
Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil, 
Wliilc every gasp with sobs he drew, 
The laboring stag strain'd full in view, 



nouncing, with a firm voice, a line of ten syllables, it is re- 
turned, first from the opposite side of the lake ; and when tiia' 
is finished, it is repeated with equal distinctness from the wuoc 
on the east. The day must be perfectly calm, and the lake as 
smooth as glass, for otherwise no liuman voice can be returned 
from a distance of at least a quarter of a mile." — Graham'3 
Skctckes of Prrtlishirc, 2d edit. p. 18-2, &c. 

3 MS.—" Fresh vigor with tlie thought return'd, 

With fiying Aoo/ihe heath he spurn'd.*' 

■1 CainhuR-morc, within about two miles of Callendcr, on the 
wooded banks of the Keltic, a tributary of the Teith, \» the seat 
of a family of the name of Buchanan, whom the Poet fre- 
quently visited in his younger days. 

6 Benledi is a magnificent mountain, 3009 feet in height, 
which bounds the horizon on the northwest from Callender, 
The name, according to Celtic etymologists, signifies /Ac .Vrnt?! 
tain of Ood. 

6 Two mountain streams — llie one flowing from Loc'i Voil, 
by the pa'-s of Leiiy ; the other from Loch Katrine, by Loch 
Achray and Loidi Vennachar, unite at Callendtr; and the 
river thus formed thenceforth lakes the name of Teith. Hence 
the designation of the territory of Jllentetth. 

" " Locli Vennachar, a beautiful expanss of water, of ahou' 
five miles in length, by a mile and a half in breadth." — Gr* 

HAM. 

** " About a mile above Loch Vennacliar, the appioaeh 
(from the east) to the Brigg, or Bridge of Turk (the st^ciie 
of the death of a wild-boar famous in Celtic tradition), U':u\9 
to the summit of an eminence, where there hursts upon tlie 
traveller's eye a sudden and wide prospect of the windings o*" 
the river that issues from Loch Auliray, with that sweet lake 
itself in front ; the gently rolling river por^neii its serpentine 
course through an extensive meailow ; at the west end of the 
Lake, on the side of Aberfoyle, is situated the delightful farm 
of Achray, the level field, a denomiiiation justly due to it, 
when considered in contrast with the rugged rocks and moun- 
tains which surround it. From tliis eminence are to be seen 
also, on the right hand, the entrance to Glenfinlas, and in vne 
distance Benvenue."- Graoam, 



ISG 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I. 



Twu dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 

Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed,' 

Fast on liis flying traces came 

And all but won that desperate game ; 

For, scarce a spear's length from liis haunch, 

Vindictive toil'd the bloodliounds stanch ; 

Kor nearer might the dogs attain. 

Nor farther might the quarry strain. 

Thus up the margin of the hike. 

Between the precipice and brake. 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 

VIII. 
The Hunter raark'd that mountain high. 
The lone lake's western boundary. 
And deem'd the stag must turn to bay, 
"Where that huge rampart barr'd the way ; 
Already glorying in the prize. 
Measured his antlers with liis eyes ; 
For the death-woimd and death-haUoo, 
Mustcr'd his breath, his wliinyard drew ; — " 
But thuudermg as he came prepared. 
With ready arm and weapon bared, 
The wily quarry shumi'd the shock, 
And turn'd him from the opposuig rock ; 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen, 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken. 
In the deejj Trosach's" wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There, while close couch'd, the tliicket shed 
Gold dews and wiid-flowers on his head, 
He heard the batHcd dogs In vain 
Rave through the hollow ])ass amain, 
Chiduig the rocks that yeU'd again. 

IX. 

Close on the hounds the hunter came, 
To cheer them on the vanish'd game ; 
But, stumbhng in the rugged dell. 
The gallant horse exliausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein. 
For the good steed, his labors o'er, 
Stretch'd his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; 
Then, touch'd with pity and remorse, 
He sorrow'd o'er the e.xpiring horse. 
" I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slack'd uyion the banks of Seine, 
That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day. 
That costs thy life, my gallant gray !" 



' See Appendix, Note B. 2 Ibid. Note C. 

3 •' Tiif term Trosach eignifies the rough or bristled tcrri- 
lorj'." — Grauam. 
< MS. — " And on the hunter hied his pace. 

To meet some comrades of the cAasr." 



X. 

Then through the dell his horn resoimds, 
From v.ain pursuit to call the hotuids. 
Back limp'd, with slow and crippled 

pace. 
The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Close to their master's side they press'd. 
With drooping tail and humbled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hoUow throat 
Prolong'd the swelling bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their dream, 
Tlie eagles answer'd with theu* scream. 
Round and ai'ound the somids were cast, 
Till echo seem'd an answering blast ; 
And on the hunter hied his way,* 
To join some comrades of the day ; 
Yet often paused, so strange the road, 
So wondrous were the scenes it sliow'd. 

XI. 

The western waves of cbbmg day 
RoU'd o'er the glen their level way ; 
Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 
Was bathed in floods of living fire. 
But not a settmg beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below. 
Where twmed the path in shadow hid. 
Round many a rocky pyramid. 
Shooting abruptly from the dell 
Its thunder-sphnter'd pinnacle ; 
Roimd many an insulated mass, 
The native bulwarks of the, pass,' 
Huge as the tower' which builders vain 
Presumptuous piled on Sliinar's phiin.* 
The rocky summits, spUt and rent, 
Form'd turret, dome, or battlement, 
Or seem'd fimtastically set 
With cupola or minaret. 
Wild crests as paged ever deck'd, 
Or mosque of Eastern architect. 
Nor were these earth-born castles bare.' 
Nor lack'd they many a banner fair ; 
For, from theij' shiver'd brows display '0, 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade. 
All twuikUng with the dewdinp's sheen,'' 
The brier-rose fell ij streamers green. 
And creeping slu'ubs, of thousand dyes. 
Waved in the west-wind's simnner sighs. 

XII. 
Boon nature sca*ter'd, free and wild, 
Each plant or flower, the mount:iin's child. 

^ MS. — " The mimic castles of llie pass." 

6 Tlie Tov.er ofBabei. — Genesis, xi. 1-9. 

7 MS. — " Nor were these mighty bulwarlts liare." 

" MS. — " Bright glistening with the dewdrop's slieen.*' 



CANTO I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



187 



Here eglantine embalm'd the air, 
Hawthorn and hazel nimgle there ; 
The primrose pale and violet flower, 
Found in each cliff a narrow bower; 
Fox -glove and night-shade, side by side, 
Emblems of piuiishment and pride, 
Group'd their dark hues with every stain 
'I'lie weather-beaten crags retain. 
With boughs tliat quaked at every breath. 
Gray birch and a.spen wept beneath ; 
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
And, higher yet. the pine-tree hung 
His shatterVl trunk, and frequent flung,* 
Where seem'd the chffs to meet on high, 
His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky. 
Highest of all, wliere white peaks glanced, 
Where glist'ning streamers waved and 

danced, 
1 ne wanderer's eye could barely view 
The summer heaven's deliciou.^ blue ; 
So wondrous wild, the whole iii'£;ht seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 

XIII. 
Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 
A narrow inlet, still and deep, 
AfforiUng scarce such breadth of brim,' 
As served the wilil-duck's brood to swim. 
Lost for a space, through tliickets veering, 
But broader when again appearing, 
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 
And farther as the hunter stray'd, 
Still broader sweep its channels made. 
The shaggy mounds no longer stood. 
Emerging from entangled wood,^ 
But, wave-encircled, seem'd to float, 
Like castle girdled with its moat; 
Yet broader floods extending still 
Divide them from their parent hill, 
Till each, retiring, claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 



' MS.- -" His scathed trank. ami frequent flnn^, 

Wliere seem'd tile ciifls to meet on high. 
His rugged arms atliw:irt the sity. 
Highest of all. wliere white pealis gianced, 
Wliere ticinhliiig streamers waved and danced.'* 
* MS. — " AITording scarce such breadth of flood. 

As served to float the wild-duck's brood." 
^ ^'S. — " Emerging dry-shod from the wood." 
< Sec .\ppendix. Note D. 

> Loch Ketturin is the Celtic pronunciation. Id his Notes 
to The Fair Maid of Perth, the author has signifled his belief 
that the lake was named after llie Catlcrins, or wild robben, 
who liaunted its shores. 

' Bcnvenue — is literally '.he little mountain — i. e. as con- 
trasted with Bcnledi ana Beniomond. 
' MS. — " His ruin'd sides ;lx]A fragments Iioar, 



XIV. 
And now, to issue from the glen. 
No pathway meets the wanderer's ken. 
Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
A far projecting precipice.* 
The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 
The hazel saplings lent their aid; 
And thus an airy point he won, 
Where, gleaming with the setting sun. 
One burnish'd sheet of living gold. 
Loch Katrine lay beneath him roU'd,' 
In all her length far winding lay, 
With jiromontory, creek, and bay. 
And islands tliat, empurpled bright. 
Floated amid the Uveher light. 
And mountains, that like giants stand. 
To sentinel enchanted land. 
High on the south, litige Benvenue' 
Down on the lake in masses threw 
Ci'itgs, knolLs, and moimds, confusedly hurVd, 
The fragments of an earlier world ; 
A wildering forest feather'd o'er 
His ruin'd .sides anil summit hoar,'' 
While on the north, through middle air, 
Ben-an° heaved higli his forehead bare." 

XV. 

From the steep promontory gazed'" 

The stranger, raptured and amazed. 

And, " What a scene were here," he cried, 

" For princely pomp, or churchman's pride I 

On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 

In that .soft vale, a lady's bower ; 

On yonder meadow, far away, 

Tlie turrets of a cloister gray ; 

How blithely might the bugle-horn 

Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn ! 

How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 

Chime, when the groves were still and mute ! 

And, when the midnight moon should lave 

Her forehead in the silver wave. 

How solemn on the ear would corao 

The holy matin's distant hum, 



While on the north to middle air." 
6 According to Graham, Ben-an, or Beniian, is a mere li- 
minutive of Ben — Mountain. 

s " Perhaps the art of landscape-painting in poetry has ne»'e» 
been displayed in higher perfection than in these stanzas, to 
which rigid criticism might possibly object that tl^e picture is 
somewhat too minute, and that the contemplation of it de- 
tains the traveller somewhat too long from the main purposo 
of his pilgrimage, but which it would be an act of the greatest 
injustice to break into fragments, and present by piecemeal. 
Not so the magnificent scene which bursts upon tba bewil- 
dered hunter as he emerges at length from the dell, and com- 
mands at one view the beautiful e.\ pause of Loch Katrine.*'-* 
Critical Heoiew, August, 1820. 

'• MS. — " From the high p omontory gazed 

The stranger, atce-struck aud amazed ■ 



188 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



While the deep peal's commanding tone 
(Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 
A sainted hermit from his cell, 
To drop a bead witli every knell — 
And bugle, lute, and bell, anil all, 
Sliould eaili bewilder'd stranger call 
To fiiendly feast, and Ughted hall.' 

XVI. 

" Blithe Tvere it then to wander here 1 
But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, — 
Like tliat same hermit's, thin and spare. 
The copse must give my evening fare ; 
Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
Some rusthng oak my canopy.^ 
Yet pass we that ; tlie war and chase 
Give httle choice of r&sting-place ; — 
A summer nigh', m greenwood spent. 
Were but to-morrow's merriment : 
But hosts may in these wikls abound, 
Such as are better miss'd tlian found ; 
To meet with Highland plunderers here. 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — * 
I am alone ; — my bugle-strain 
May call some straggler of tlie train ; 
Or, fall tlie worst that may betide. 
Ere now this falcliion has been tried." 

XVII. 
But scarce again his liorn lie wound,* 
Wlien U) ! forth stalling at the sound. 
From underneath an aged oak. 
That slanted from the islet rock, 
A damsel guider of its way, 
A little skiff shot to the bay," 
Tliat round tlie promontory steep 
Led its deep lino in graceful sweep, 
Eddying, in almost viewless wave. 
The weeping willow-twig to lave, 
And kis.s, with whispering sound and alow, 
The beach of pebbles bright .as suuw. 
The boat had touch'd this silver strand. 
Just as tlie Hunter left his stand. 
And .stood conceal'd amid the brake, 
To view this Lady of the Lake. 
The maiden paused, as if again 
'k-^he thfiught to catch the distant strain. 
With lu^ad up-raised, and look intent, 
And eye and ear attentive bent. 
And locks flung back, and lips apart, 



' MS.— "To ho<ipitable feast and liall." 

- MS. — " .'Ivd /lo/fow trunk af some otd Irre, 

My chamber for the niffht must 4c." 
3 See Appeiidix, Note E. 
t MS. — " T/te bugle shrill a^ain he woond, 

Jltid to ! Ibrtli pT.irting at Ihe sound." 
' MS.—" A little skill' shot to the Liay. 

The Hunter left liia airy stand, 



Like monument of Grecian art. 

In listening mood, she seem'd to stand. 

The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

XVIIL 
And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace" 
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 
What though the sun, with ardent frown. 
Had sUghtly tinged her check with brown. — 
The sportive toil, which, short and hght, 
Had dyed her glowing hue so bright. 
Served too in hastier swell to show 
Short glimpses of a breast of snow : 
What though no rule of courtly grace 
To measiu'ed mood had train'd her pace, — 
A foot more light, a step more true. 
Ne'er from the heatli-flower dash'd the de-F • 
E'en the shght harebell raised its head. 
Elastic from her airy tread : 
What though upon her speech there hung 
The accents of the mountain tongue, — '' 
Those silver sounds, so soft, so tlear. 
The listener held his breath to hear 

XIX. 

A Cliieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; 
Her satin snood," her silken plaid. 
Her golden brooch, such bu-th betray'd. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such wQd luxuriant ringlets liid, 
Whose glos.sy black to shame might bring 
The plumage of the raven's wing ; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair. 
Mantled a plaid with modest care, 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy. 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue. 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true 
Than every free-born glance confess'd 
The guileless movements of her breast ; 
Whether joy danced in her dark eye. 
Or woe or pity claim'd a sigli. 
Or lihal love was glowing there. 
Or nioek devotion pour'd a prayer, 
Or tale of injury call'd forth 
The indign.ant spirit of the North. 
One only passion imreveal'd. 

And when the boat had tonch'd the eaiil 
Conceal'd he stood amid the brake, 
To view this Lady ofthe Lake." 

• MS. — " A finer form, .1 fairer face. 

Had never marble Nympli or Grace, 
That boasts the Grecian clii3e''s trace.*' 

* MS. — " The accents of a stranger tongue." 
'^ See Note on Canto IIL stanza 5. 



CANTO I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



189 



With maiden pride the maid coneeal'd, 


xxn. 


Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — 


A wliile the maid the stranger eyed, 


need I tell that passion's n:une ! 


And, reassured, at length replied. 




That Highland halls were oiien stilP 


XX. 


To wildei'd wanderers of the hill. 


Impatient of the silent horn, 


" Nor tluiik you unexpected come 


Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 


To you lone isle, our desert home ; 


" Father !" she cried ; the rocks around 


Before the heath had lost the dew, 


Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 


This morn, a couch was puU'd for you ; 


A while she paused, no answer came, — * 


On yonder mountain's purple head 


" Malcolm, was thine the blast V the 


Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 


name 


And our broad nets have swept the mere, 


Les.s resolutely utter'd fell, 


To furnish forth your evening cheer." — 


Tlie echoes could not catch the swell. 


" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid. 


" A stranger I," the Huntsman said. 


Your courtesy has err'd," be said ; 


Advancing from the hazel shade. 


" No right have I to chum, misplaced. 


Tlie maid, alarm' d, with hasty oar. 


The welcome of expected guest. 


Push'd her hght shallop from tlie .shore. 


A wanderer, here by fortune tost, 


And when a space was gain'd between. 


My way, my friends, my courser lost, 


Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 


I ne'er before, believe me, fair. 


(So forth the startled swan would swing,' 


Have ever drawn your mountain air, 


So turn to prune his ruffled wing.) 


Till on tliis lake's romantic strand,' 


Then safe, though flutter'd and amazed. 


I found a fay m fairy land !" — 


She paused, aud on the stranger gazed. 




Not his the form, nor his the eye. 


XXIIL 


That youthful maidens wont to fly. 


" I well believe," the maid replied, 




As her light skiff appro.ach'd the side, — 


XXI. 


" I well beUeve, that ne'er before 


On his bold visage middle age 


Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore • 


Had sUghtly press'd its signet sage , 


But yet, as far as yesternight, 


Yet had not quench'd the open truth 


Old Allan-Bane foretold your phght, — 


And fiery vehemence of youth ; 


A gray-hau-'d su-e, whose eye mtent 


Forward and frolic glee was there, 


Was on the visiou'd futm-e bent.' 


The will to do, the soul to dare. 


He saw your steed, a dappled gray. 


The sp.arkling glance, soon blown to fire, 


Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 


Of hasty love, or headlong u-e. 


Pamted exact your form and mien. 


His limbs were cast in manly mould, 


Your hunting suit of Lincoln green. 


For hardy sports or contest bold ; 


That tasseU'd horn so gayly gilt. 


And though in peaceful garb arr.ay'd. 


Th.at falchion's crooked blade and hilt. 


Aud weaponless, except his blade, 


That cap with heron plimiage trim. 


His stately mien as well impUed 


Aud von two hounds so dark and grim. 


A high-born heart, a martial pride, 


He bade that all should ready be. 


As if a Baron's crest he wore. 


To grace a guest of fair degree ; 


And sheathed in armor trode the shore. 


But light I held liis prophecy. 


Shghtmg the petty need he show'd, 


And deera'd it was my father's horn. 


He told of his benighted road : 


Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne." 


His ready speech flow'd fan- and free, 




In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 


XXIV. 


Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland. 


The stranger smiled : — " Smce to your home 


Less used to sue than to command. 


A destined errant-knight 1 come. 


1 MS. — '* A space she paused, no answer came, — 


3 MS. — " So o'er the lake the swan would spring. 


' Mpine, was thine the blast V the name 


Then turn to prune its ruffled wing." 


Less resolutely utter'd fell. 




The echoes could not catch the swell. 


3 MS.—" Her father^ s hall was Ojien sull." 


* Nor foe nor friend,' the stranger said. 


* MS. — " Till on this lake's enchantivff strand'* 


Advancing from the hazel shade. 




The startled mtiid, with hasty oar, 


^ MS. — " is often on the future lient." — See Appenutl 


FasbM her light shallop from the shore." 


NoteF 



190 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Announced by prophet sooth and old, 


■ The ivy and Idaean vine, 


Doom'd, doubtless, for achievement bold, 


The clematis, the favor'd flower 


I'll hghtly front each liigh emprise, 


"Which boasts the name 'of virgin-bower 


For one kind glance of those bright eyes. 


And every hardy plant could bear 


Permit me, first, the task to guide 


Loch Katrine's keen and searching air. 


Your faiiy frigate o'er tlie tide." 


An instant in tliis porch she staid. 


Tlie maid, with smile suppress'd and sly, 


And gayly to the stranger said, 


The toil unironted saw him try ; 


" On heaven and on thy lady call, 


For seldom sui-e, if e'er before, 


And enter the enchanted hall !" 


His noble hand had grasp'd an oar :' 




Yet with main strength his strokes he drew. 


XXVII. 


And o'er the lake the shallop flew ; 


" My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, 


With heads erect, and whimpering cry. 


My gentle guide, in following thee." 


The hounds behind their passage ply. 


He cross'd the threshold — and a clang 


Nor frequent does the bright oar break 


Of angry steel that m.stant rang. 


Tlie dark'ning mirror of the lake. 


To his bold brow liis spirit rush'd, 


Until the rocky isle they reach. 


But soon for vain alarm he blush'd. 


And moor their shallop on the beach. 


When on the floor he saw display'd, 




Cause of the din, a naked blade 


XXV. 


Dropp'd from tlie sheath, that careless flung 


The stranger view'd the shore around ; 


Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; 


'Twas aU so close with eopsewood bound, 


For all around the walls to grace, 


Nor track uor pathw.ay might declare 


Hung trophies of the fight or chase : 


That human foot frequented there, 


A target there, a bugle here. 


Until the mountain-maiden show'd 


A h.attle-axe, a hunting-spear. 


A clambering unsuspected road, 


And broadswords, bows, and arrows store, 


That winded tlu-ough the tangled screen, 


With the tusk'd trophies of the boar. 


And open'd on a narrow green. 


Here grins the wolf as when he died,' 


Wliere weeping birch and willow round 


And tliere the wild-cat's brindled liide 


"With then- long fibres swept the ground. 


The frontlet of the elk adorns, 


Here, for retreat m dangerous hour. 


Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 


Some chief had fr;xmed a rustic bower.' 


Pennons and flags defaced and stain'd. 




That blackenmg streaks of blood retain'd. 


XXVI. 


And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white, 


It was a lodge of ample size, 


With otter's fur and seal's unite. 


But strange of structure and device ; 


In rude and uncouth tapestry all. 


Of sudi materials, as around 


To garnish forth the silvan hall. 


The workman's hand had reaiUest found. 




Lopp'd oft' their boughs, then- hoar truiil^ b:u-ed, 


XXVIII. 


And by tlie hatchet rudely squared, 


The wondering stranger round liim gazed. 


To give the walls their destined height, 


And next the fallen weapon raised : — 


The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 


Few were the arms whose sinewy strength 


"While moss and clay and leaves combined 


Sufiiced to stretch it forth at length. 


To fence each crevice from the wind. 


And as the brand he poised and sway'd, 


The lighter pme-tree.s, over-head, 


" I never knew but one," he said, 


Their slender length for rafters spread, 


Whose stalwart arm niiglit brook to wiela 


And wither'd heath and rushes dry 


A blade hke this in battle-field." 


Supplied a russet canopy. 


She sigh'd, then smdcd and took the word : 


Due westward, frontmg to the green, 


" You see the guardian champion's sword : 


A rm-al portico was seen. 


As Hght it trembles hi his hand. 


Aloft on native pillars borne. 


As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 


Of mount.ain fir, witli bark unshorn. 


My sire's tall form might grace the part 


Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 


Of Ferragus or Ascabart ;' 


. MS!.—" This gentle hand had grasp'd an oar : 


There hung the wild-cal's brindled hide. 


Yet with main strength the oars he drew.** 


Above the elk's brancli'd brow and situll. 


> St^e Appendix, Note G. 


And frontlet of the forest bull." 


' MS. — " Here grins tlie wolf as when he died, 


< See Appendix, Note H. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



191 



But in the absent giant's hold 


On wandermg knights our spells wo cast ; 


Are "Women now, and menials old/* 


Wliile viewless minstiljls touch the string. 




'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing." 


XXIX. 


She simg, and still a harp unseen 


The mistress of the mansion came, 


FiU'd up the symphony between.' 


Mature of age, a graceful dame ; 




Whose easy step and stately port 


XXXI. 


Had well become a princely coiu't. 


.Song. 


To whom, tliough more than kindred knew. 


" Soldier, rest ! thy w.arftire o'er. 


Youni? Kllen gave a mother's due.' 


Sleep the .sleep that knows not breaking ; 


ileet welcome to her guest she made. 


Dream of battled fields no more. 


And every com-teous rite was paid. 


Days of danger, nights of waking. 


That hospitality could claim, 


In oiu" isle's enchanted hall. 


Tliough idl unask'd liis birth and name •' 


Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, 


Such then the reverence to a guest. 


Fairy strauis of music faU, 


That follest foe might join the feast. 


Every sense in slmnber dewing. 


And from his deadUest foeman's door 


Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 


Unquostion'd tiu-n, the banquet o'er. 


Dream of fighting fields no more : 


At length his rank the stranger names. 


Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking. 


" The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-Jiraies : 


Morn of toU, nor night of waking. 


Lord of a barren heritage. 




"Wliich his brave sires, from age to age, 


" No rude sound shall reach thine ear,' 


By their good swords had held with toil ; 


Armor's clang, or war-steed champing. 


His sire had fallen in such tm-moil, 


Trump nor pibroch summon here 


And he, God wot, was forced to stand 


Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 


Oft for his right with blade m hand. 


Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 


Tliis morning, with Lord Moray's train, 


At the day -break fi'om the fallow. 


He chased a stalwart stag in vain. 


And the bittern sound his drum. 


Outstripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer. 


Booming from the sedgy shallow. 


Lost his good steed, and wauder'd here." 


Ruder sounds sh.oll none be near ; 




Guards nor warders cbtdlenge here. 


XXX. 


Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 


Fain would the knight in turn require 


Shouting clans, or squadrons stampuig." 


The name and state of Ellen's sire. 




Well show'd the elder lady's mien,' 


XXXIL 


That courts and cities she had seen : 


She paused — then, bluslung, led the lay'' 


Ellen, though more her looks display'd* 


To grace the stranger of the day. 


The simple grace of silvan maid. 


Her mellow notes awhile prolong 


In speech and gesture, form and face, 


The cadence of the flowing song. 


Show'd she was come of gentle race. 


Till to her lips in measured frame 


'Twere strange, in ruder rank to find. 


The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 


Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 




Each liiut the Knight of Snowdoun gave. 


Song conttnuetr. 


Dame Margaret heard with silence grave ; 


" Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 


Or Ellen, innocently gay. 


WhUe our slumb'rous spells assail ye,' 


Tum'd aU inquiry light away :— 


Dream not, with the rising sun. 


" Weird women we I by dale and down 


Bugles here shall sound reveille. 


We dwell, afar from tower and town. 


Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 


We stem the flood, we ride the blast. 


Sleep 1 thy hounds are by thee lying ; 


* MS. — " To whom, thoagli more remote her claim, 


Each anxious hint the stranger gave, 


Yonng Ellen gave a mother's name." 


The mother heard with silence grave." 


a See Appemlix. Note I. 

8 MS. — " WeU sliow'd the mother's easy mien." 


s See Appendi.t, Note K. 


* MS. — " Ellen, though more her looks betrat/d 


8 MS. — " JVoon of hunger, night of waking. 


The simple heart of mountain maid. 


No rude sound shall rouse thine ear." 


III speech and gesture, form and grace. 


T MS. — " She paused— *ut waked again the lay." 


Show'd she was come of gentle race ; 


" Slumber sweet our spells shall deal ye, 


'Twas strange, in birth so rode, to find 


' MS.— > j^^ ^^^ slumbrous spells j ^'^1 >"■ 


Snch face such manners, and such mind. 


•^ ( beguile ye ' 



192 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i, 


Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, 


And a cold gauntlet met liis grasp : 


How thy gaUiint steed lay dying. 


The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 


Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 


Upon its head a helmet shone ; 


Think not of the rising sun, 


Slowly enlarged to giant size. 


For at dawuing to assail ye, 


With darken'd cheek and tlireatening eyes. 


Here no bugles sound reveille." 


The grisly visage, stern and hoar. 




To EUen still a likeness bore. — 


xxxni. 


He woke, and, panting with affright. 


The hall was clear'd — the stranger's bed 


Recall'd the vision of tlie night.' 


Was there of mountain heather spread, 


The hearth's decaying Ijrands were red, 


Where oft a hundred guests had lain. 


And deep and dusky lustre shed. 


And dream'd their forest sports again.' 


Half showmg, half conceaUng, all 


But vainly did the heath-flower shed 


The uncouth trophies of the hall. 


Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 


Mid those the stranger fix'd his eye. 


Not Ellon's speU Iiad lull'd to rest 


Where th.at huge ftilchitm hung on liigh. 


The fever of his troubled breast. 


And thoughts on thoughts, a countless tlu-ong, 


In broken dreams the mi:ige rose 


Ru.sh'd chasing countless thoughts along, 


Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 


Until, the giddy wliirl to cure. 


His steed now flounders in the brake, 


He rose, and sought the moonsliine pure. 


Now sinks his barge upon the lake ; 




Now leader of a broken host. 


XXXV. 


His standard falls, his honor's lost. 


The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom,* 


Then, — from my couch may heavenly might 


Wasted around their rich perfume : 


Chase that worst phantom of the night ! — 


The bu-ch-trees wept m fragrant balm, 


Again retm-n'd the scenes of youtli. 


The aspens slept beneath the cahn ; 


Of confident undoubting truth ; 


The silver hght, with quiveruig glance, 


Agam his soul he interchanged 


Play'd on the water's still expanse, — 


With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 


Wild were the heart whose pas.sions' sway 


They come, in dim procession led. 


Could rage beneath the sober ray I 


The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; 


He felt its cahn, that warrior guest. 


As wai-m each hand, each brow as gay, 


Wliile thus he communed with liis breast : — 


As if they parted yesterday. 


" Why is it, at each turn I trace 


And doubt distracts lum at the view. 


Some memory of that exiled race ? 


were his senses false or true ! 


Can I not mountain-maiden spy. 


Dream'd he of death, or broken vow, 


But she must bear the Douglas eye ? 


Or is it all a vision now !' 


Can I not view a Higliland br.and, 




But it must match the Douglas hand ! 


XXXIV. 


Can I not frame a fever'd dream. 


At length, with EUen in a grove 


But still the Douglas is the theme ? 


He seem'd to walk, and speak of love ;, 


I'll dream no more — by manly mind 


She listen'd with a blush and sigh, 


Not even in sleep is will resign'd. 


His suit was warm, liis hopes were high. 


My midnight orisons said o'er. 


He sought her yielded hand to clasp. 


I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." 


' MS. — " And dream'd tlitir mountain cliase again." 


The woods, tlie mountains, and the warbling maze 


* " Ye guardian spirits, to whom man is dear. 


Of the wild brooks !" — Castle of IndoUvce, Canto I. 


From these foul demons shield the midnight gloom : 


3 " Such a strange and romantic dream as may be naturally 


Angels of fancy and of love, be near. 


expected to flow from the extraordinary events of the past day. 


And o'er the blank of sleep ditTuse a bloom ; 


It might, perhaps, be quoted as one of Mr. Scott's most success- 


Evoke the sacred shades of Greece and Rome, 


ful efforts in descriptive poetry. Some few lines of it are indeed 


And let them virtue with a look impart ; 


unrivalled for delicacy and melancholy tenderness."— Cridco/ 


But chief, awhile, O ! lend us from the tomb 


Review. 


Those long-lost friends for whom in love we smart. 


I the bosom of the lake. 


And fill with pious awe and joy-mixt woe the Jieart. 


4 MS.-" Play'd on ^ j^^^,^ Katrine's still expanse; 


" Or arc you sportive 1 — bid the morn of youth 


The bircli, the wild-rosp. and the broom, 


Rise to new light, and beam afresh the days 


Wasted around their rich perfume 


Of innocence, simplicity, and truth ; 


The birch-trees wept in balmy dew ; 


To cares estranged, and manhood's thorny ways. 


The aspen slept on Benvenae ; 


iVhat transport, to retrace our boyish plays, 


Wild were the heart whose passions' power 


Our easy bliss, when each thing joy supplied ; 


Defied the influence of the hour " 



CANTO II. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 193 


His nu(Ini»ht orisons he told, 


And sunken cheek and heavy eye, 


A prayer with every bead of gold, 


Pine for Iiis Highland home ; 


Consil,^^d to heavcu liis cares and woes, 


Tlien, warrior, tlien lie thine to show 


And 8iirik in undisturb'd repose ; 


The care that soother a wanderer's woe; 


Until the heath-cock sln'illy crew, 


Remember then thy hap erewhile, 


^\iiil niuriiing Uawn'd on Ucnvenue. 


A stranger h) tlio Umely isle. 




" Or if on life's uncertain main 
Mishap shall mar tliy saU ; 






If fiuthful, wise, and brave in vain, 


(lIjc iiabu of tl)e Cakt. 


Woe, wimt, an<l e.vile thou sustain 




Beneath the fickle gale ; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, 




CAXTO SECOND. 


On thankless courts, or friends estranged. 
But come where kindred worth shall smile. 




B\)e Eslanli. 


Tb greet thee in the lonely isle." 


L 


IV. 


At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing. 


As died the sounds upon the tide. 


'Tis morning prompts the linnet's bhthest lay, 


Tlie shallop reach'd the mainland side. 


All Nature's ciiildren feel the matin spring 


And ere liis onward way he took, 


Of Ufe reviving, with reviving day ; 


The stranger cast a lingering look, 


And wliile yon httle bark ghdes do'wn the bay. 


Where easily his eye might reach 


Wafting the Strang r on liis way again. 


The Harper on the islet beach. 


Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray. 


Reclined against a blighted tree. 


And sweetly o'er the lake wa:? heard thy strain, 


As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 


Miv'd with the sounding harp, white-hair'd 


To minstrel meditation given. 


Allan-Bane !' 


His reverend brow was raised to heaveii, 




As from the rising sun to claim 


II. 


A spai'kle of inspirmg flame. 


Sonfl. 


His hand, rocUnoil upon the wu-e. 


" Not faster yonder rowers' might 


Seem'd watcliing the awakening fire ; 


Fhngs from their oars the spray. 


So still he sate, a3 those who wait 


Not faster yonder rippling bright, 


Till judgment speak the doom of fate; 


That tracks the shallop's course m light, 


So still, as if no breeze niight dare 


Melts in the lake away, 


To lift one lock of hoary hair ; 


Than men from memory erase 


So stiU, as Ufe itself were fled, 


The benefits of former days ; 


In the last sound his harp had sped. 


Then stranger, go ! good speed the wlule. 




Nor think again of the lonely isle. 


V. 




Upon a rock with lichens wild. 


" High place to thee in royal court, 


Beside him Ellen sate and smiled. — 


High place in battle line. 


Smiled she to see the stately drake 


Good hawk and hound for silvan sport. 


Lead forth his fleet upon the lake. 


Where beauty sees the brave resort," 


While her vex'd spaniel, from the beach. 


Tlie honor'd meed be tliine ! 


Bay'd at the prize bej'ond his reach ? 


True be thy sword, thy friend sincere. 


Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows. 


Thy lady constant, kind, and dear. 


Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose ? — 


And lost in love and fi-iendship's smile, 


Forgive, forgive, Fidehty 1 


Be memory of the lonely isle. 


Perchance the maiden smiled to see 


IIL 


Yon parting hngerer wave adieu. 


And stop and turn to wave anew ; 


Sonfl contfnuEli. 


And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 


" But if beneath yon southern sky 


Condemn the herome of my lyre, 


A plaided stranger roam. 


Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 


Whose drx)ping crest and stifled sigh. 


And prize such conquest of her eye I 


I E?«e Appendix, Note L. 


* MS. — " At tourneys where the brave resort * 



194 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO II 



VI. 
"Wliile yet be loiter'd on the spot, 
It seem'd as Ellen mark'd him not ; 
But when he tm-n'd lilm to the glade, 
One courteous parting sign she made ; 
And after, oft the knight wonld say, 
Tliat not when prize of festal day 
Was dealt liim by the brightest fair. 
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
So highly did his bosom swell. 
As at that simple mute farewell. 
Now with a trusty momitain-giiide, 
And lus dark stag-homids by his side. 
He parts — the maid unconscious stiU, 
Watch'd him wind slowly round the hill ; 
But when his stately form was liid, 
The guardian in her bosom chid — 
" Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid !" 
'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said, — 
" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 
On the smooth plirase of southern tongue ; 
Not so had Malcolm strain'd his eye. 
Another step than thine to spy.' 
Wake, Allan-Bivne," aloud she cried, 
To the old Minstrel by her side, — 
" Arouse thee fi'om thy moody dream ! 
I'U give thy harp heroic theme, 
And w.arm thee with a noble name ; 
Pom- forth the glory of the Gr^uie !'" 
Scaixe from her hp the word had rush'd, 
Wlien deep the conscious maiden blush'd ; 
For of liis clan, in hall and bower, 
Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower. 

VII. 
The Minstrel waked his harp — three times 
Arose the well-known martial chimes. 
And thrice their high heroic pride 
In melanclioly ram-murs died. 
" Vainly thou bid'st, noble maid," 
Claspmg his wither'd hands, he said, 
" Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 
Though all unwont to bid in vain. 
Alas! than mine a mightier hand 
Has tuned my harp, my strings has spann'd ! 
I touch the chords of joy, but low 
And momnful answer notes of woe ; 
And the proud march, which victors tread. 
Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 
O well for me, if mine alone 
That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 
If, as my tuneful fathers said. 
This harp, wliich erst Saint ilodan sway'd,' 
Can thus its master's fate foretell, 
Then welcome be the minstrel's knell \ 



1 MS.—" The loveliest Lowland fair to spy." 
« See Appendix, NoteM. ■ Ibid. Note N. 



VIIL 

" But ah ! dear lady, thus it sigh'd 

Tlie eve thy sainted mother ched ; 

And such the sounds wliich, while I strove 

To wake a lay of war or love. 

Came marring all the festal mirth. 

Appalling me who gave them birth. 

And, disobedient to my call, 

Wail'd loud tlu-ough BothweU's banner'd 

hall. 
Ere Douglases, to ruin di'iven,' 
Were exiled from their native he.aven - 
Oh ! if yet worse mishap and woe, 
My master's house must imdergo. 
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair. 
Brood in these accents of desj>air, 
No futiu-e bard, sad Harp ! shall fling 
Triumph or raptm-e from thy struig ; 
One short, one final strain shall flow. 
Fraught with unutterable woe. 
Then shiver'd shall thy fi-agments lie. 
Thy master cast him down and die 1" 

IX. 

Soothing she answer'd him, " Assuage, 

Mine honor'd friend, the fears of age ; 

AU melodies to thee are known. 

That harp has rung, or pipe has blown. 

In Lowland vale or Highland glen, 

From Tweed to Spey- — what marvel, then. 

At times, unbidden notes should rise. 

Confusedly bound in memory's ties. 

Entangling, as they rush along. 

The war -march with the funeral song ? — 

Small groimd is now for boding fear ; 

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 

My sii'e, in native virtue great. 

Resigning lordship, lands, and state, 

Not then to fortune more resign'd, 

Than yonder oak might give the wind ; 

Tlie gi'aceful foliage storms may reave, 

The noble stem they camiot grieve. 

For me," — she stoop'd, and, looking round, 

Pluck'd a blue hare-bell from the ground, — 

" For me, whose memory scarce convej's 

An image of more splendid days. 

Tins little flower, that loves the lea, 

Mav weU my simple emblem be ; 

It drinks heaven's dew as bUthe as rose' 

That m the king's own garden gi'ows ; 

And when I place it in my hair, 

Allan, a bard is botmd to .-iwear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fan*." 

Then playfully the chaplct wUd 

She wreath'd in her dark locks, and smiled. 

* See Appendix, Note O. 

6 MS. — *' No blither dew-dlX)p cheers the rose ** 



ANTo II. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 195 


X. 


Disown'd by every noble peer,' 


Her sniilc, her speech, with winning sway, 


Even the rude refuge we have here ? 


Wiled the old hivrper's mood away. 


Alas, tliis wild marauding Chief 


With such a look as hermits tlirow, 


Alone might hazard our reUef, 


When angels stoop to sootlie their woe, 


And now thy maiden charms expand. 


lie gazed, till foud regret and pride 


L<ioks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 


Tlirill'd to a tear, then thus repUed : 


FuU soon may dispensation sought. 


" Loveliest and best ! thou httle know'st 


To back Ills suit, from Rome be brought. 


The rauk, the honors, thou hast lost i 


Then, though an exile on the liill. 


might 1 hre to see thee gi-ace, 


Thy father, as the Douglas, still 


In Scot laud's court, thy birth-right place, 


Be held in reverence and fear ; 


To see my favorite's step advance,* 


And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear. 


The Ughtest in the courtly dance. 


Tliat thou mightst guide with silken thread. 


The cause of every gallant's sigh. 


Slave of thy wUl, this chieftain dread ; 


And leading star of every eye. 


Yet, loved maid, thy mirth refram ! 


And theme of every minstrel's art, 


Thy hand is on a hon's mane." — 


The Lady of the Bleeiling Heart I"" 






XIIL 


XL 


" Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 


" Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried. 


Her father's soul ghmced from her eye. 


(Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd ;) 


" My debts to Roderick's house I know • 


" Yet is tills mossy rock to me 


All that a mother could bestow. 


Worth splendid chair and canopy ;' 


To Lady Margaret's care I owe. 


Nor would my footsteps spring more gav 


Since first an orphan in the wild 


In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, 


She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child ; 


Nor half so pleased nu'ne ear incUne 


To her brave cliieftaiu son, from ire 


To royal minstrel's lay as thine. 


Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, 


And then for suitors proud and high, 


A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 


To bend before my conquermg eye, — 


And, coidd I pay it with my blood. 


Thou, flattericg biird ! thyself wilt say, 


Allan ! Sir Roderick shoijd command 


That grim Su- Roderick owns its sway. 


My blood, my Ufe, — but not my hand. 


The Saxon scourge, Clan- Alpine's pride, 


Rather wUl EUen Douglas dwell 


The terror of Loch Lomond's side, 


A votaress in Maronnan's cell ;" 


Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 


Rather through realms beyond the sea. 


A Lennox foray — for a day." 


Seeking the world's cold charity. 




Wliere ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 


xn. 


And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, 


The ancient bard his glee repress'd : 


An outcast pilgrim wiU she rove. 


" HI hast thou chosen them for jest ! 


Than wed the man she cannot love.' 


For who, through all this western wild. 




Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled 


XIV. 


In Holy-Rood a knight he slew ■* 


" Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray,— 


I saw, when back the dirk he drew. 


That pleading look, what can it say 


Corn-tiers give place before the stride 


But what I own ? — I grant him brave. 


Of the undaunted homicide ■," 


But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave ;"' 


And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hana 


And generous — save vindictive mood. 


Full sternly kept his mounfcxiu land. 


Or jealous transport, chafe liis blood : 


Who else dared give — all 1 woe the day,' 


I grimt him true to friendly band. 


That 1 such hated truth should say — 


As his claymore is to his hand ; 


The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 


But ! that very blade of steel 


1 This couplet is not in the MS. 


That bound him to thy mother's name? 


* Tlie well-known cognizance of the Donglaa famij. 


Who else dared give," &c. 


' MS. — " This mossy rock, my friend, to me 
Is worth gay chair and canopy." 


' See Appendix, Note a. » Ibid. Note R. 
9 *' Ellen is most exquisitely drawn, and could not hava 
been improved by contrast. She is beauLiful, frank, affec- 


• See Appendix, Note P. 


tionate, rational, and playful, combining the innocence of a 


5 MS.—" Courtiers give place with heartless stride 


child with the elevated sentiments and courage of a heroine.'* 


Of the r^Uring homicide." 


— Quarterly Review. 


* MS. — '* Who else dared own the kindred 2laim 


10 See Appendix, Note S. 



196 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n. 



More mercy for a foe would feel : 

I gi-ant him liberal, to fling 

Among liis clan the wealth they bring, 

Wlien back by lake and glen they wind. 

And in the Lowland leave behind, 

Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 

A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 

riie hand that for my father fought, 

I honor, as his daughter ought ; 

But can I clasp it reeking red, 

From peasants slaughter'd in their shed ? 

No ! wddly wliile liis virtues gleam, 

They make his passions darker seem, 

4jid flash along his spirit liigh. 

Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 

While yet a child, — and cliildren know. 

Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — 

I shudder"d at his brow of gloom. 

His shadowy phiid, and sable plume ; 

A maiden grown, I ill could bear 

His haughty mien and lordly air : 

But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 

In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 

I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er 

A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 

To change such odious theme were best, — 

What think'st thou of om- stranger guest ?" — 

XV. 

" What think I of liim ? — woe the while 

That brought such wanderer to our isle 1 

Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 

For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,* 

Wliat time he leagued, no longer foes. 

His Border spears witli Hotspur's bows. 

Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 

The footstep of a secret foe.'' 

If courtly spy hath h.arbor'd here, 

Wliat may we for the Douglas fear ? 

What for this island, deera'd of old 

Clan-Alpme's last and surest hold ! 

If neither spy nor foe, I pray 

What yet may jealous Roderick say ? 

— Nay, wave not thy disdainful head, 

Bethink thee of the discord dread 

Tliat kindled, when at Beltane game 

Thou led'st the dance with Malcolm Grieme ; 

Still, though thy sii'e the peace renew'd. 

Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ; 

Beware ! — But hark, what sounds are these ?' 

My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 

No weeping bu'ch, nor aspens wake, 

Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, 

Still is the canna's* hoary beard. 



Yet, by my minstrel's faith, I heard — 
And hark again ! some pipe of war 
Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 

XVI. 

Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide, 
That, slow enlarging on the view, 
Four mann'd and masted barges grew. 
And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
Steer'd full upon the lonely isle ; 
The point of Brianchoil they pass'd, 
And, to the wuidward as they cast. 
Against the sun they gave to shine 
The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd Pine. 
Nearer and nearer as they bear. 
Spear, pikes, and axes flash in air. 
Now might you see the tartans brave, 
And plaids and plumage dance and wave : 
Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 
As his tough oar the rower plies ; 
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke. 
The wave ascending into smoke ; 
See the proud pipers on the bow. 
And mark the gaudy streamers flow 
From their loud chanters' down, and sweep 
The furrow'd bosom of the deep. 
As, rusliing through the lake amain. 
They phed the ancient Highland strain. 

XVIL 
Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
And louder rung the pibroch proud. 
At first the sound, by distance tame, 
MeUow'd along the waters came, 
And, hngering long by cape and bay, 
Wail'd every harsher note away ; 
Then bm-sting bolder on the ear. 
The clan's shi'ill Gathering they could 

hear ; 
Tliose thrilling sounds, that call the might 
Of old Clan- Alpine to the fight.' 
Tliick beat the rapid notes, as when 
The mustering hunch'eds shake the glen, 
And, luuTying at the signal dread, 
Tlie batter'd earth returns tlieir tread. 
Then prelude Ught, of liveUer tone. 
Expressed theii- merry marching on, 
Ere peal of closing battle rose. 
With mingled outcry, shi-ieks, and blows ; 
And mimic din of stroke and ward. 
As broad-sword upon target jarr'd ; 
And groaning pause, ere yet again, 
Condensed, the battle yeU'd amain ; 



» See Appendix, Note T. "J Ibid. Note U. | procession, are given with inimitable spirit and power ol ew 

"The moving picture — the effect of tlie sounds — and the , pression."— Jeffrey. * Cotton-grass. 

wild character and strong peculiar irationilily of tlie whole ; » The pipe of the bagpipe. 6 See Appendix, Note V. 



CANTO II. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 197 


Ths rapid charge, the rallying shout, 


Glen Liiss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin. 


Keti-cat buriie lieailloiig into rout, 


And the best of Loch Lomond he dead on her sitle.*^ 


And bursts of triumph, to declare 


Widow and Sa.\on maid 


Clan-AIpiue's oomiuest — all wure there. 


Long shall lament our laiil. 


Nor ended thus tlie strain ; but slow, 


Tliink of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe ; 


Sunk in a moan prolong'd an<l low. 


Lennox ami Leven-glen 


And changed the conquering clarion swell. 


Shake when they hear agen. 


For wild lament o'er those that tell. 


" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, lio 1 ieroe !" 


XVIII. 


Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlantls 1 


The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and tiill 


Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 


Were busy with their echoes .still; 


! that the rose-bud that graces yon ishmds. 


And, when they slept, a vocal strain 


Were wreathetl in agarl.tnd around liim to twine ! 


Bade theu- hoarse chorus w;die again. 


that some seedling gem, 


While loud a hundred clansmen raise 


Worthy sia-h nolile stem, 


Theu- voices in then- Cliieftaiu's prmse. 


Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow . 


Each boatman, bending to his oar, 


Loud shoidil Clan-Alpine then 


With measured sweep the burden bore, 


Rmg from the deepmost glen. 


In such wild cadence, as the breeze 


" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"* 


Makes through December's leafless trees. 




The chorus first could Allaii know. 


XXL 


'■ Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iero !" 


With all her .joyful female band. 


And near, and nearer as they row'd, 


Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 


JMstinct the martial ditty flow'd. 


Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, 




And high their snowy arms they tlu-ew. 


XIX. 


As echoing back with shrill acclaim. 


3Soat Sona. 


And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ;' 


While, prompt to please, with mother's art. 


H:iil to the Cliief who m triumph advances ! 


The darling pa.ssion of his heart. 


Honor'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine ! 


The Dame call'd Ellen to the strand, 


Long may the tree, in liis banner that glances, 


To greet her kinsman ere he land : 


Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! 


" Come, loiterer come ! a Douglas thou. 


Heaven send it happy dew. 


And shun to WTeathe a victor's brow ?" — 


Earth lend it sap anew. 


Reluctantly an 1 slow, the maid 


Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow. 


The unwelcome summoning obey'd, 


While every Highland glen 


And, when a distant bugle rung. 


Sends our sliout back agen, 


In the mid-jjath aside she sprung : — 


^ Roderigh Vich Alpme dhu, ho ! ieroe !"' 


" List, Allan-Bane ! From muuiland cast. 




I hear my father's signal blast. 


Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain. 


Be oiu*s," she cried, " the skitf to guide. 


Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 


And waft him from the mtmntain side." 


When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the 


Then like a sunbeam, swift and bright, 


mountain. 


She darted to lier shallop hght. 


The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade. 


And, eagerly while Roderick scaira'd. 


Moor'd in the rifted rock. 


For her dear form, his mother's band. 


Proof to the tempest's shock. 


The islet far behind her lay. 


Firmer he roots lum the ruder it blow ; 


And she had landed in the bay. 


Mentcith and Breadalba»e, then. 




Echo his pr.aise agen. 


XXIL 


" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 


Some feelings are to mortals given. 




With less of earth in them than heaven : 


XX. 


And if there be a Imman tear 


Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, 


From pa-ssion's dross refined and clear. 


And Bannocliar's groans to our slogan repUed ; ; 


A tear so limpid and so meek. 


' See AppcTiilii, Note W. 2 Ibid. Note X. 


poem has seldom, if ever, heen introdoced with finer effect, Of 


' " However we may dislike the geograpliical song and cho- 


in a manner better calculated to excite the cxpectaticns of th* 


rea, half Etiglij.h and half Erae, whicli is sung in praise of the 


leader, than on the present occasion." — Criticai Review. 


warrior, we musi allow that, in other respects, the hero of a 


< MS.—" The chorus to the chieftain's /amc." 



198 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii 


It would not stain an angel's cheek, 


The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide ; 


'Tis that wliich pious fathers shed 


The loved caresses of the maid 


Upon a duteoas daughter's head ! 


The dogs with crouch and whimper paid f 


And as the Douglas to liis breast 


And, at her whistle, on her hand 


His darling Ellen closely press'd, 


The falcon took her favorite stand. 


Such holy drops her tresses steep'd, 


Closed Ills dark wing, relax'd his eye. 


Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd. 


Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 


Noi while on Ellen's faltering tongue' 


And, trust, while in such guise she stood, 


Her iilial welcomes crowded hung, 


Like fabled Goddess of the wood,' 


Mark'd slie, that fear (affection's proof) 


Tliat if a father's partial thought 


litill held a graceful youth aloof; 


O'erweigh'd her worth and beauty aught. 


No ! not till Douglas named his name, 


Well might the lover's judgment fail 


Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme. 


To balance with a juster scale ; 




For with each secret glance he stole. 


xxni. 


The fond enthusiast sent liis soul 


Allan, with wistful look the wliile. 




Mark'd Roderick landuig on the isle ; 


XXV. 


His master piteously lie eyed, 


Of etatm-e tall, and slender frame, 


Then gazed upon the Cliieftain'a pride. 


But firmly knit, was Malcolm Grteme. 


Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away 


The belted plaid and tartan hose 


From his dimm'd eye the gathering spray ; 


Did ne'er more gracefid hmbs disclose ; 


And Douglas, as his hand he laid 


His flaxen hair of sunny hue. 


On Malcolm's shoulder, kinilly said. 


Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue. 


" Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy 


Train'd U) the chase, his eagle eve 


In ray jioor follower's glistening eye ? 


The ptarmigan ui snow could spy ; 


I'll teU thee : — he recalls the day. 


Each pass, by moimtain. lake, and heath. 


Wlien ui my praise he led the lay 


He knew, through Lenntix and Menteith; 


O'er the arch'd gate of liothwell proud, 


Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 


Wliile many a mmstrel answer'd loud, 


When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 


Wlien Percy's Norman pennon, won 


And scarce that doe, though wmg'd with fear, 


In bloody field, before me shone. 


Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer ; 


And twice ten knights, the least a name 


Eight up Ben-Lomond could he press, 


As mighty as yon Cliief may cla'un. 


And not a sob liis toil confess. 


Gracing my pomp, beliind me came. 


His form accortled with a mind 


Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 


Lively and ardent, frank and kind; 


Was I of all that raarshall'd crowd. 


A bUther heart, till Ellen came, 


Tliough the waned crescent own'd my might. 


Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 


And in my train troop'd lord and knight. 


It danced as lightsome in liis breast. 


Though Blantyre hynm'd her holiest lays. 


As play'd the feather on his crest. 


And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, 


Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, 


As when tliis old man's silent tear, 


His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth. 


And this poor maid's affection dear. 


And bards, who saw his features bold. 


A welcome give more kind and true. 


When kindled by the tales of old, 


Than aught my better fortunes knew. 


Said, were that youth to manliood grown. 


Forgive, my fi-iend, a father's boast, 


Not long shoulil Roderick Dhu's renown 


! it out-beggars all I lost !" 


Be foremost voiced by moimtain fame. 




But quail to that of Malcolm Grasme. 


XXIV. 




Delightful praise ! — Like summer rose. 


XXVL 


Tliat brighter in the dew-drop glows. 


Now back they wend their wateiy way, 


Tlie bashful maiden's cheek appear'd, 


And, " my sire !" did Ellen say, 


For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 


" Why m-ge thy chase so far astray ? 


The flush of shame-faced joy to hide. 


And why so late return'd V And why" — 


1 MS — " Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongae 


Although the youth w.as Maloolni Grijeme. 


Her filial ffreettji^s enfrcr liung, 


Then icitti JIusk'il cheek and doirticiLTt. eye, 


Maik'd not Uiat awe (affection's proof) 


T/teir trrcethii^ W'2S confused and sinj.** 


Plill held yon gentle youth aloof; 


* MS. — " The ilo<^s jcitk whinipcriv/r notes repaid.** 


No 1 not ti'.l Douglas named his name, 


3 MS. — • Like fabled huntress of the wood." 



OANTO II. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. ]99 


The rest was in her speaking eye. 


Themselves in bloody toils were snared ; 


" My cliilil, tlie chase I follow far, 


And when the banquet they prepared. 


'Tis niimickry of noble war ; 


And wide then- loyal portals flung. 


And with *hat j^uUant pastime reft 


O'er their own gateway struggluig hung. 


\Vcru all of Dout^Ias I have left. 


Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead, 


I met young Malcolm as I stray'd. 


From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 


Far eastward, in Glenfinlca' shade, 


Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, 


Nor str.ay'd I safe ; for, all around. 


And from the silver Teviot's side ; 


Hunters and horsemen scour'J the ground. 


The dales, where martial clans did ride,' 


This youth, though stil' a royal wai'd, 


Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. 


Ui-sk'd life and land to be my guai-d, 


This tyrant of the Scottish tlu-one. 


And through the passes of the wood, 


So faithless and so ruthless known. 


Guided my steps, not unpui-sued ; 


Now hither comes ; liis end the same. 


And Roderick sh:iU his welcome make, 


The same pretext of silvan game. 


Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 


■\\Tiat grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye 


Then must he seek Strath-Kudrick glen, 


By fate of Border cliivalry." 


Nor peril aught for me agen." 


Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas green, 




Douglas, thy stately form was seeiL 


XXVIL 


This by espial sure I know ; 


Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 


Your counsel m the streight I show." 


Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Grtemc, 




Yet, not in action, word, nor eye, 


XXLX. 


Fail'd aught in hospitaUty. 


Ellen and Margaret fearfully 


In talk and sport they whiled away 


Sought comfort in each other's eye. 


The moi'ning of that summer day ; 


Tlien turn'd their ghastly look, each one, 


But at high noon a courier light 


This to her sire — that to her son. 


Held secret piudey with the knight. 


The hasty color went and came 


Whose moody aspect soon declared. 


III the bold cheek of Malcohn Graeme ; 


That evil were tho news he heard. 


But from his glance it well appear'd, 


Deep thought seem'd toiling in his head ; 


'Twas but for Ellen that he fear'd ; 


Yet was the evening banquet made, 


While, sorrowful, but undismay'd. 


Ere he assembled round the flame ■ 


The Douglas thus hi,s counsel said : — 


His mother, Douglas, and the Grfeme, 


" Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, 


And Ellen, too ; then cast around 


It may but thunder and pass o'er ; 


His eyes, then tix'd them on the ground. 


Nor wUl 1 here remain an hour. 


As studying phrase that might avail 


To draw the lightning on thy bower ; 


Best to convey unpleasant tale. 


For well tliou know'st, at tliis gray head 


Long with his dagger's liilt he play'd. 


The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 


Tiieu r.oised his haughty brow, and said : — 


For thee, who, at thy King's command. 




Canst aid lihn with a gallant band. 


XXVIII. 


Submission, homage, humbled pride. 


*• Short be my speech ; — nor time affords, 


Shall turn the onarch's wrath aside. 


Nor my plain ii'm])er, glozing words. 


Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 


Kinsman and father, — if such name 


Ellen and I will seek, apart. 


Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; 


Tlie refuge of some forest cell ; 


Mine honor'd mother; — Ellen — why, 


There, like the hunted quarry, dwell. 


My cousin, turn away tliine eye ? — 


Till on the mountain and the moor. 


And GrKuie ; in whom I hope to know 


The stern pursuit be pass'd and o'er." — 


Full soon a noble friend or foe, 




^\'llen age shall give thee thy command. 


XXX. 


And leading in thy native land, — 


" No, by mine honor," Roderick said. 


List all ! — The King's vindictive pride 


" So help me, heaven, and my good blade I 


Boasts to have tamed the Border-side,' 


No, never ! Bhisted be yon Pine, 


Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came 


My fathers' ancient crest and mine, 


To share their monarch's silvan game. 


If from its shade in danger part 


" See Appendix, Note Y. 


' See Appeub, Note Z. 


' MS. — " The dales where clans were wont to bide,'* 





200 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tlie lineage of the Bleeding Heart 1 

Hear my blunt speech : Graut me this maid 

To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ; 

To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 

Will friends and aUies flock enow ; 

Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 

Will bind to us each Western Cliief. 

When the loud pipes my bridal tell, 

The Imks of Forth shall hear the knell, 

Tlie guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; 

And, when I light the nuptial torch, 

A thousand villages in flames. 

Shall scare the slumbers of King James I 

— Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 

And, mother, cease these signs, I pray ; 

I meant not all my heart might saj'. — 

Small need of uuoad, or of fight. 

When the sage Douglas may unite 

Each raountam clan in friendly band, 

To guard the passes of their land. 

Till the foil'd bmg, from patliless glen,' 

Shall bootless turn Mm home agen." 

XXXI. 

There are who have, at midnight hour, 

In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, 

And, on the verge that beetled o'er 

Tlie ocean-tide's incessant roar, 

Dream'd calmly out their dangerous dream,' 

Till waken'd by the mornmg beam ; 

When dazzled by the eastern glow, 

Such startler cast liis glance below, 

And saw unmeasured depth around, 

And heard unintermitted sound. 

And thought the battled fence so frail, 

It w.aved Uke cobweb in the gale ; — 

Amid Ills senses' giddy wheel. 

Did he not desperate impulse feel, 

Headlong to plunge himself below, 

And meet the worst his fears foreshow ? — 

Tims, Ellen, dizzy .and astound, 

As sudden ruin y.iwn'd around, 

By crossing terrors wildly toss'd, 

Still for the Douglas fearing most. 

Could scarce the desperate thought witlistand, 

To buy his safety with lier hand. 

XXXII. 
Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 
And eager rose to speak — but ere 
His tongue could hurry forth his fear, 
Had Douglas mark'd the hectic strife, 
Wlicre death seem'd combating with life ; 
For to her cheek, iu feverish flood, 

1 MS.—" Till the foil'd king, from hill and glen." 
« MS. — " Dream'd calmly out ths r des lerate dream." 



One instant rush'd the throbbing blood, 

Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, 

Left its domain as wan as clay. 

" Roderick, enough ! enough !" he cried, 

"My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 

Not that the blush to wooer dear, 

Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 

It m.ay not be — forgive her, Chief, 

Nor hazard aught for our rehef. 

Agamst liis sovereign, Douglas ne'er 

Will level a rebellious spear. 

'Twas I that taught his youthful hand 

To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 

I see him yet, the princely boy ! 

Not Ellen more my pride and joy ; 

I love him still, despite my wrongs, 

By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 

seek the grace you well may find. 

Without a cause to mine combuied." 

XXXIIL 
Twice through the hall the Cliieftain strode ; 
The waving of Iiis tartans broad. 
And darken'd brow, where wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied, 
Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy light, 
Like the ill Demon of the night. 
Stooping liis pinion's shadowy sway 
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way : 
But, um-equited Love ! thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, 
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung. 
At length the hand of Douglas wrimg. 
While eyes, that mock'd at tears before, 
With bitter di'ops were running o'er. 
The death-pangs of long-cherish'd hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 
But, struggling with liis spirit proud. 
Convulsive heaved its checker'd shroud, 
While every sob — so mute were all — 
Was heard distinctly tlirough the halL 
The son's despair, the mother's look, 
HI might the gentle Ellen brook ; 
She rose, and to her side there came, 
To aid her partuig steps, the Grjeme 

XXXIV. 
Then Roderick from the Douglas broke — 
As flashes flame, through sable smoke. 
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low. 
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, 
So the deep anguish of despair' 
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 

3 MS. — "The deep-toned anguish ot despair 
Flosh'd, in fierce jealousy, to air " 



TANTO 11. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 20) 


" Back, beardless boy !" he sternly said, 


Though with his boldest at his back 


" Back, niinion ! hoWst thou thus at naught 


Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 


Tho lesson I so lately taught ? 


Brave Douglas, — lovely Ellen, — nay, 


This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 


Naught here of p.arting will I say. 


Thank thou for punishment delay 'd." 


Earth does not hold a lonesome glen. 


Eager as greyhound on bis game, 


So secret, but we meet agen. — 


Fiercely with Roderick grappled Grjeme.' 


Chieftam ! we too shall find an hoiar." — 


" I'erish my name, if aught afford 


He said, and left the sUvan bower. 


Its Chieftain safety save his sword !" 




Thus as they strove, their desperate hand' 


XXXVI. 


Griped to the dagger or the brand, 


Old AUan follow'd to the strand 


And death had been — but Douglas rose, 


(Such was the Douglas's command). 


And thrust between the struggling foes 


And anxious told, how, on the morn. 


His giant strength : — " Chieftains, forego 1 


The stern Sh Roderick deep had sworn. 


I hold the first who strikes, my foe. — ' 


The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 


Madmen, forbear your fr.-mtic jar ! 


Dale, glen, and valley, down and moor 


What ! is the Douglas fall'n so far. 


Much were the peril to the Graeme, 


His daughter's hand is doom'd the spoil 


From those who to the signal came ; 


Of such dishonorable broil !" 


Far up the lake 'twere safest land. 


Sullen .■md slowly they unclasp,* 


Huuself would row liim to the strand. 


As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, 


He gave his counsel to the wind. 


And each upon liis rival glai'ed. 


While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind, 


With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 


Round dhk and pouch and broadsword roll'd. 




His ample plaid in tighten'd fold. 


XXXV. 


And stripp'd his hmbs to such array 


Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 


As best might suit the watery way,— 


Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung. 




And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, 


xxxvn. 


As, falter'd through territic tlream. 


Then spoke abrupt : " Farewell to thee, 


Then Roderick plmiged in sheath his sword. 


Pattern of old fideUty !" 


And veil'd his wrath m scornful word. 


The Minstrel's hand he kuidly press'd, — 


" Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere 


" ! could I point a place of rest 1 


Such cheek should feel the midnight an- 1* 


My sovereign holds in ward my land. 


Then m.ayst thou to James Stuart tell. 


My uncle leads my vassal band ; 


Roderick will keep the lake and fell. 


To tamo his foes, liis friends to aid. 


Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan. 


Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 


The pageant pomp of earthly man. 


Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, 


More would he of Clan- Alpine know. 


Wlio loves the Chieftain of his name, 


Tliou canst our strength and passes show. — 


Not long shall honor'd Douglas dwell. 


Malise, what ho !" — his henchman came ;' 


Like hunted stag in mountain cell ; 


" Give our safe-conduct to the Grierae." 


Nor, ere yon pride-swoU'n robber dare, — 


Toung Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold. 


I miiy not give the rest to air 1 


" Fear nothing for thy favorite hold ; 


Tell Roderick Dhu I owe him naught, 


The spot, an angel deign'd to grace, 


Not the poor service of a boat. 


Is bless'd, though robbers haunt the placo^ 


To waft me to yon momitain-side." 


Tliy churlish courtesy for those 


Then plunged he in the flasliing tide.' 


Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 


Bold o'er the flood his head he bore. 


As safe to me the mountain way 


And stoutly steer'd liim fi-om the shore ; 


At midnight as in blaze of day, 
f 


And Allan strain'd his anxious eye, 


1 " There is something foppish and out of character in Mal- 


" I hold the first who strikes, my foe." 


;o1m's rising to lead out Ellen from her own parlor ; and the 


— J^ote to the second edition. 


•ort of wrestling-match that takes place between the rival 
chieftains on the occasion, is humiliating and indecorous." — 
Jeffrey. 


* MS. — *' Sullen and slow the rivals bold 

Loosed, at his best, their desperate hold, 


a MS.—" Thus as they strove, each better hand 


But either still on other glared," &c. 


Qrasp^d for the dagger or the brand." 


6 See Appendix, Note 2 A. 


" The Author has to apologize for the inadvertent appropria- 


• See Appendi.x, Note 2 B. 


tion ' a whole line from the tragedy of Douglas, 
20 


' MS. — " He spoke, and plunged into the tide." 



202 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto hi. 


Far 'mid the lake Hs form to spy. 


The motmtain-shadows on her breast 


Darkening across eacli pmiy wave, 


Were neither broken nor at rest ; 


To which the moon her silver gave, 


In bright uncertauity they lie. 


Fast as the cormorant could skim, 


Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 


The swimmer phed each active limb; 


The water-lily to the hght 


Then landing in the moonlight dell. 


Her chalice rear'd of silver bright ; 


Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 


The doe awoke, and to the lawn. 


The Miustrel heard the far lialloo. 


Begemm'd with dew-drops, led her fawn ; 


And joyful from the shore withdrew. 


Tlie gray mist left' the mountain side, 




The torrent show'd its glistening pride ; 
Invisible m flecked sky. 




^t Cabs of tl)c Cake. 


The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The blackbhd and the speckled thrush 




Good-morrow gave from brake and brush :* 

In answer coo'd the cushat dove 

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 


CANTO THIRD. 




ffjje eSatterins. 


HI 


I. 


No thought of peace, no thought of rest. 


TrsTE rolls his ceaseless course. Tlie race of yore,' 


Assuaged the storm m Roderick's breast 


Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 


With sheathed broadsword in liis hand, 


And told our marvelling boyhood legends store. 


Abrupt he paced the islet strand. 


Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea. 


And eyed the rismg sun, and laid 


How are they blotted from the things that be ! 


His hand on his impatient blade. 


How few, all weak and wither'd of their force. 


Beneath a rock, liis vassals' care' 


Wait on the verge of dark eternity, 


Was prompt the ritual to prepare. 


Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 


With deep and deathful meaning fraught ; 


To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his 


For such Antiquity had taught 


ceaseless course. 


Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 




Tlie Cross of Fire shoidd take its road. 


Yet hve there still who can remember well, 


The shrmking band stood oft aghast 


How, when a mountain cliief his bugle blew. 


At the impatient gl.ince he cast ; — 


Both field and forest, dingle, diif, and dell. 


Such glance the mountam eagle threw, 


And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 


As, from the cliffs of Berrvenue, 


And fast the faithful clan around him drew. 


She spread her dark saUs on the wind, 


TNHiat time the warning note was keenly wound, 


And, high m middle heaven, reclined, 


What time aloft their kindred banner flew. 


With her broad shadow on the lake. 


While clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering 


Silenced the warblers of the brake. 


sound. 




And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, 


IV. 


round.' 


A heap of wither'd boughs was piled, 




Of jrmiper and rowan wild. 


IL 


Mingled with shivers from the oak, 


The summer dawn's reflected hue 


Rent by the hghtning's recent stroke. 


To purple changed Loch Katrine blue ; 


Brian, the Hermit, by it stood. 


Mildly and soft the western breeze 


Barefooted in his frock and hood. 


Just kiss'd the Lake, just stirr'd the trees. 


His grisled beard and matted hair 


And the pleased lake, like maiden coy. 


Obscured a visage of despair ; 


Trembled but dimpled not for joy ; 


His naked arms and legs, seam'd o'er, 


1 •' There are no separate introductions to the cantos of this 


Invisible in fleecy cloud. 


poem ; but each of them begins with one or two stanzas in the 


The lark sent down her matms loud ; 


measure of Spenser, osnally containing some reflections con- 


The 1-fht mist left,' &c. 


nected with the subject about to be entered on ; and ^vritten. 


< '* The green h.ils 


for the most part, with great tenderness and beauty. The fol- 


Are clothed with early blossoms ; through the grass 


lowing, we thinlt, is among the most striking." — Jeffrev. 


The quick-eyed hzard rustles, and the bills 


2 See Appendix, Note 2 C. 


Of summer birds sing welcome as ye pass."— CAiWe ffarsia. 


' MS. — " The doe awoke, and to the lawn. 


6 MS. — " Hard by, his vassals' early care 


Begemm'd with dewdrops, led her fawn ; 


The mystic ritual prepare." 



CANTO III. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



203 



Tlie scars of frantic penance bore. 

Tliat monk, of savage form and face," 

The uupeuding danger of bis race 

Had dra\m from deepest solitude, 

Far in Benliarrow's bosom rude. 

Not liis tlie mien of Christian priest, 

But Druid's, from the grave released. 

Whose hiurden'd heart and eye might brook 

On human sacrifice to look ; 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mix'd in the charms he mutter'd o'er. 

The hallow'd creed gave oidy worse' 

An d deadlier emphasis of curse ; 

No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer, 

His cave the pilgrim sliunn'd with care, 

Tlie eager huntsman knew liis bound, 

And in mid chase call'd oif his hound ; 

Or if, in lonely glen or strath, 

The desert-dweller met his path, 

He pray'd, and sign'd the cross between, 

While terror took devotion's mien.' 



Of Brian's birth strange tales were told.* 

His mother watch'd a midnight fold, 

Built deep within a tlreary glen, 

Where scatter'd lay the bones of men, 

In some forgotten battle slain. 

And bleach'd by drifting wind and rain. 

It might have tamed a warrior's heart," 

To view such mockery of his art 1 

The knot-grass fetter'd there the hand, 

Which once could burst an iron band ; 

Beneath the broad and ample bone. 

That buckler'd heart to feai' unknown, 

A feeble and a timorous guest. 

The field-fare framed her lowly nest ; 

There the slow blind-worm left his slime 

On the fleet limbs that mock'd .at time ; 

And there, too, lay the leader's skull,' 

Still wreathed with chaplet, fiush'd and fuU, 

For he.ath-bell with her purple bloom, 

1 See Appendix, Note 2 D. 

* MS. — " While the bless'd creed gave only worse." 
s MS. — " He pray'd with many a cross between. 

And terror took devotion's mien." 

* See Appendix, Note 2 E. 

• " There is something of pride in the perilous hoar, 

Whate'er be the shape in whicli death may lower; 

For Fame is there to say who bleeds, 

And Honor's eye on daring deeds I 

But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 

O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 

And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air. 

Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; 

All regarding man as their prey. 

All rejoicing in his decay." — Byron — Siege of Corinth. 

• " Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps. 

[s that a temple where a god may dwell ? 

Why, even the worm at last disdains her shattered cell I 



Supplied the bonnet and the plume.'' 
All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sate, shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
— She said, no shepherd sought her side. 
No himter's hand her snood imtied. 
Yet ne'er again to brtiid her hair 
The virgin snood did AUce wear ;' 
Gone was her maiden glee and sport, 
Her maiden girdle all too short. 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night. 
Or holy church or blessed rite. 
But lock'd her secret hi her breast. 
And died in travail, imconfess'd. 

VI. 
Alone, among his yoimg compeers, 
Was Brian from his infant years ; 
A moody and heart-broken boy. 
Estranged from sympathy and joy. 
Bearing each taimt which careless tongue 
On his mysterious hne.ige flung. 
Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale. 
To wood and stream his hap to wail. 
Till, frantic, he as truth received' 
■ffhat of his birth the crowd beheved. 
And sought, in mist and meteor fire. 
To meet and know his Phantom Sire ! 
In vain, to soothe his wayward fate, 
The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 
In vain, the learning of the age 
Unclasp'd the sable-letter'd page ; 
Even in its treasures he could find 
Food for the fever of his mind. 
Eager he read whatever tells 
Of magic, cabala, and spells, 
And every dark pm'suit allied 
To curious and presumptuous pride ; 
Till with fired brain and nerves o'er- 

strimg, 
And heart with mystic horrors wrung. 
Desperate he sought Benharrow's den. 
And liid him from the haunts of men. 

Look on its broken arch, its roin'd wall. 
Its chambers desolate, and portals fonl ; 
Yet this was once Ambition's airy hall. 
The dome of thought, the palace of the sool ; 
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole. 
The gay recess of wisdom and of wit, 
And passion's host, that never brook'd control . 
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ. 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ?'* 

Childi! Harold. 
7 "These reflections on an ancient field of battle afford the 
most remarkable instance of false taste in all Mr. Scotf ■ 
writings. Yet the brevity and variety of the images serve 
well to show, that even in his errors there are traces of a 
powerful genins." — Jeffrey. 
B See Appendix, Note 2 F. 
f .MS. — " Till, driven to phrensy, he believed 
The legend of his birth received." 



204 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto hi. 


vn. 


And strange and mingled feelings woke, 


The desert gave him visions wild, 


While his anathema he spoke. 


Such as might suit the spectre's child.' 




WTiere witli black cliffs the torrents toU, 


IX. 


He watch'd the wheehng eddies boil, 


" Woe to the clansman, who shall view 


TiU, from their foam, Ms dazzled eyes 


Tliis sjmibol of sepulchral yew. 


Beheld the River Demon rise ; 


Forgetful that its branches grew 


The mountain mist took form .and limb. 


Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 


Of noontide hag, or goljlin grim ; 


On Alpine's dwelling low 1 


The midnight wind came wild and dread, 


Deserter of his Chieftain's trust. 


Swell'd with the voices of the dead ; 


He ne'er shall mingle with their dust. 


Far on the future battle-heath 


But, from his sires and kindred thrust. 


His eye beheld the ranks of death : 


Each clansman's execration just' 


Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hm-l'd. 


Sliall doom hmi wrath and woe." 


Shaped forth a disembodied world. 


He paused ; — the word the vassals took. 


One lingering sympathy of mind 


With forw.ard step and fiery look, 


StiU boimd liim to the mortal land ; 


On high their naked brands they shook, 


The only parent he could claim 


Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 


Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 


And first in murmur low,' 


Late had he heard, in prophet's di-eam. 


Then, like the billow in his course. 


The fatal Ben-Sliie's boding scream ;' 


That far to seaward finds his source, 


Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast, 


And flings to shore liis muster'd force, 


Of charging steed's careering fast 


Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 


Along Benharrow's shingly side. 


" Woe to the traitor, woe 1" 


"Where mortal horseman ne'er might 


Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew, 


ride ;' 


The joyous wolf from covert drew. 


The thunderbolt had split the pine, — 


The exulting eagle scream'd afar, — 


All augur'd ill to Alpine's line. 


They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 


He girt his loins, and came to show 




The signals of impending woe, 


X. 


And now stood prompt to bless or ban, 


T!ie shout was hush'd on lake and feU, 


As bade the Chieftain of his clan. 


The monk resumed his mutter'd spell : 




Dismal and low its accents came. 


viir. 


The while he scathed the Cross with flame ; 


'Twas all prepared ; — and from the rock. 


And the few words that reach'd the air. 


A goat, the patriarch of the flock. 


Although the hohest name was there,' 


Before the kindling pile was laid, 


Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 


And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 


But when he shook above the crowd 


Patient the sickening victim eyed 


Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 


Tlie Hfe-blood ebb in crimson tide. 


" Woe to the wretch who fails to rear 


Down liis clogg'd beard and shaggy limb. 


At this dread sign the ready spear! 


TiU darkness glazed liis eyeballs dim. 


For, as the flames this symbol sear, 


The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer. 


Her home, the refuge of his fear. 


A slender crosslet form'd with care, 


A kindred fate shall know ; 


A cubit's length in measure due ; 


Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 


The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 


Clan- Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim. 


Wliose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave* 


While maids and matrons on his name 


Tlieir shadows o'er Clan-Alpiiie's grave. 


Shall call down wretchedness and shame, 


And answering Lomond's breezes deep. 


And infamy and woe." 


Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. 


Then rose the cry of females, shrUl 


Tlie Cross, thus form'd, he held on liigh. 


As goss-hawk's wliistle on the liill. 


With wasted hand and haggard eye, 


Denouncing misery and ill. 


1 See Appendii, Note 2 G. 


* See Appendix, Note 2 K. 


3 MS.—" The fatal Ben-Sliie's dismal scream ; 


5 MS. — " Our warriors on his worthless bast 


And seen her wrinkled form, the sign 


Shall speak disgrace and woe." 


Of woe and death to Alpine's line." 


6 MS.—" Their clattering targets hardhj strook ; 


—See Appondi.i, Note 2 H. 


And first thcij muttered /ouJ." 


' Sk Appendbs, Note 2 1. 


' MS. — " Although the holy name was there." 



CANTO III. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



206 



Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammcr'd slow ; 
Answering, with imprecation dread, 
"Sunk be liis homo in embers red I 
And cui'sed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head, 

We doom to want and woe I" 
A sharp and slffieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy gobhn cave ! 
And the gray pass where bii'ches wave, 

On Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 

Then deeper paused the priest anew, 
And hard his laboring breath he drew, 
While, with set teetli and clenched hand. 
And eyes that glow'd Uke fiery brand, 
He meditated curse more dread, 
And deadher on the clansman's head. 
Who, suuuaon'd to liis Chieftain's aid. 
The signal saw and disobey'd. 
The crosslet's points of sparkling wood 
He quench'd among the bubbhng blood, 
And, as again the sign he rear'd, 
HoUow and hoarse liis voice was heard : 
" When flits this Cross from man to man, 
Vich- Alpine's summons to his clan. 
Burst be the ear that fads to heed ! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! 
May ravens tear the careless eyes. 
Wolves make the cowai'd heart their prize ! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth. 
So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth 1 
As dies in hissing gore the spai'k, 
Quench thou his light, Destruction dark, 
And be the grace to liim denied. 
Bought by this sign to all beside !" 
He ceased ; no echo gave ageu 
The murmur of the deep Amen.' 

XII. 
Then Roderick, with impatient look. 
From Brian's h.and the symbol took : 
" Speed, MaUse, speed !" he said, and gave 
The crosslet to liis henchman brave. 
" The muster-place be Lanrick mead — ' 
Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed !" 
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, 
A barge across Loch Katrine flew ; 
High stood the henchman on the prow ; 
So rapidly the barge-men row, 
The bubbles, where they launch'd the boat, 

1 MS. — *' The slowly muttered deep Amen." 
' MS. — " Murlagan is tte spot decreed." 

* See A)ipendix, Note 2 L. 

* Ms. — " Dread messenger of fate and fear, i 

Herald of danger, fate, and fear, \ 
Stretch onward in Ihy fleet career 1 



Were aU unbroken and afloat, 
Dancing in foam and ripple stili. 
When it had near'd the mainland liill ; 
And frtJiu the silver beach's side 
Still was the prow tlii'ee fathom wide. 
When hghtly bounded to the land 
The messenger of blood and brand. 

XIII. 

Speed, Malise, speed I the dun deer's liide 

On fleeter foot was never tied.' 

Speed, Malise, speed I such cause of haste 

Thine active sinews never braced. 

Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast. 

Burst down like torrent from its crest ; 

With short and springing footstep jiass 

The trembling bog and false morass ; 

Across the brook like roebuck bound. 

And thread the brake Uke questing hound j 

The crag is high, the scaur is deep. 

Yet sliruik not from the desperate leap: 

Parch'd are tliy burning lips and brow. 

Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 

Herald of battle, fate, and fear,' 

Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! 

The woimded hind thou track'st not now, 

Ptu'suest not maid through greenwood bough. 

Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace. 

With rivals in the mountain race ; 

But, danger, death, and warrior deed. 

Are in thy course — speed, Malise, speed I 

XIV. 

Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
From winding glen, from upland brown. 
They pour'd each hardy tenant down. 
Nor slack'd the messenger his pace ; 
He show'd the sign, he named the place, 
And, pressing forward like the wind. 
Left clamor and surprise behind.' 
The fisherman forsook the strand. 
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; 
With changed cheer, the mower bUthe 
Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe ; 
The herds without a keeper stray'd. 
The plough was in mid-furrow staid. 
The falc'ncr toss'd his hawk away, 
Tlie hunter left the st.tg at bay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rush'd to ai'ms; 
So swept the timndt and aS'ray 

Thou track'st not noxv the stricken doe. 
Nor mxden coy throngh ^'reenwood hough." 
& '* The description of the starting of the ' iiery cross' bears 
more marks of labor than most of Mr. Scott's poetry, and 
borders, perhaps, upon straining and exaggeration ; yet it 
shows great power." — Jeffrey. 



206 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cahto hi. 


Along the margin of Achray. 


Tlie autumn wuids rushing 


Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 


Waft tlie leaves that are searest, 


Thy banks should echo sounds of fear 1 


But our flower was m flushing, 


The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 


When bhghting was nearest. 


So stilly on thy bosom deep. 




The lark's bhthe carol, from the cloud, 


Fleet foot on the correi,* 


Seems for the scene too gayly loud.' 


S.age counsel in cumber. 




Red h.and in the foray. 


XV. 


How sound is thy slumber ! 


Speed, Malise, speed ! the lake is past, 


Like the dew on the mountain, 


Duncraggan's huts appear at last. 


Like the foiim on the river. 


And poop, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, 


Like the bubble on the foiuitain, 


Half liidden in the copse so green ; 


Thou art gone, and forever I' 


Tliere mayst thou rest, thy labor done, 




Their Lord shall speed tlie signal on. — 


XVII. 


As stoops the hawk upon his prey, 


See Stimiah,' who, the bier beside. 


The henchman shot him down the way. 


His master's corpse with wonder eyed. 


— What woful accents load the gale ? 


Poor Stmnah ! whom his least halloo 


The funeral yell, the female wail !' 


Could send like lightning o'er the dew, 


A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 


Bristles his crest, and points his ears. 


A vahant warrior tights no more. 


As if some stranger step he hears. 


Wlio, in the battle or the chase, 


'Tis not a mourner's muflled tread. 


At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! — 


Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead. 


Within the hall, where torches' ray 


But headlong haste, or deadly fear. 


Supplies the excluded beams of day. 


Urge the precipitate career. 


Xiies Duncan on his lowly bier. 


All stand aghast : — unlieeding aU, 


And o'er him streams liis widow's tear. 


The henchm.an bursts mto the hall ; 


His stripling son stands mournful by, 


Before the dead man's bier he stood ; 


His youngest weeps, but knows not why. 


Held forth the Cross besmear'd with blood ; 


The village maids and matrons round 


" The muster-place is Lamick mead ; 


The dismal coronach resound.' 


Speed forth the signal 1 clansmen, speed !" 


XVI. 


xvin. 


CToronaci). 


Angus, the hen- of Duncan's line,'' 


He is gone on the mountain, 


Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. 


He is lost to the forest. 


In haste the stripUng to his side 


Like a summer-dried fountain. 


His father's dirk and broadsword tied ; 


When our need was the sorest. 


But when he saw liis mother's eye 


The font, reappearing, 


Watch liim in speecliless agony, 


From the rain-drops shall borrow. 


Back to her open'd arms he flew. 


But to us comes no cheering, 


Press'd on her lips a fond adieu — 


To Duncan no morrow ! 


" Alas !" she sobb'd, — " and yet, be gone. 


The hand of the reaper 


And speed thee forth, Uke Duncan's son !" 


Takes the ears that are hoary, 


One look he cast upon tlie bier. 


But the voice of the weeper 


Dash'd from liis eye the gathering tear. 


Wails manhood in glory. 


Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast. 


J MS. — " Seems uli too lively and too loud.'^ 


imperceptible by the hurried eye of the reader ; but when th» 




short lin?3 are yoked in pairs, any dissonance in the jingle, ot 


'J MS. — " 'Ti3 woman's scream, 'tis chikiliood's wail." 






interruption of the construction, cannot fail to give offence 


3 See Appendix, Note £ M 


We leani from Horace, that in the course of a long work, s 


4 Or corri. The hollow side of the hill, where game usual- 


poet may legitimately indulge in a momentary slumber ; bul 


ly lies. 


we do not wish to hear liim snore."— Q«aWfr/y Review. 


fi " Mr. Scott is such a master of versification, that the most 


^Faithful. The name of a dog. 


complicated metre does not, for an instant, arrest the progress 


' MS. — " Angus, \\\e first of Duncan's line. 


of his imagination ; its difficulties usually operate as a salu- 


Sprung forlii and seized the fatal sign. 


taxy e.\citement to his attention, and not unfrequently suggest 


.Snd then upon his kinsman's bier 


to him new and unexpected graces of expression. If a care- 


Fell Jilalise's suspended tear. 


less rhyme, or an ill-constructed phrase occasionally escape him 


[n hasle the stripling to his side 


amidst the in'egular torrent ol his stanza, the blemish is often 


His father's targe and falchion tied." 



OASTO m. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 207 


And toss'J aloft liis bonnet crest, 


Until the opposing bank he gain'd. 


Tlien, like tho liigh-bred colt, when, freed, 


And up the chapel pathway atrain'd 


First he essays liis fii'e and speed. 




He vaiiish'd, and o'er moor and moss 


XX. 


Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 


A blithesome rout, that morning tide. 


Suspended was the widow's tear, 


Had sought the chapel of St. Bride. 


■While yet his footsteps she could hear ; 


Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 


And when she mark'd the henchman's eye 


To Norman, heir of Armandave. 


Wet with unwonted sympathy, 


And, issuuig from the Gothic arch. 


" Kmsiuan," she said, " his race is run. 


The bridal now resumed then march. 


That should have sped thine errand on; 


In rude, but glad procession, came 


"llie oak has fall'n, — the sapling bough 


Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 


Is all Duiicraggan's shelter now. 


And plaided youth, with jest and jeer. 


Yet trust I well, liis duty done. 


■Which snooded maiden would not heiir ; 


llie orphan's God will guard my son, — 


And children, that, unwittmg why. 


And you, m many a danger true, 


Lent the g.ay shout their shriUy cry ; 


At Duncan's best your blades that drew, 


And mmstrels, that in measures vied 


To arms, and guard that orphan's head 1 


Before the young and bonny bride. 


Let babes and women wail tlie dead." 


■Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 


Tlien weapon-clang, and martial call, 


The tear and blush of mornmg rose. 


Rcsoimded through the funeral h.aU, 


■With virgm step, and bashful hiind. 


■Wlule from the waUs the attendant band 


She held the 'kerchief's snowy baud ; 


Snatoh'd sword and targe, with hurried hand ; 


The gallant bridegroom by her side, 


And short and flitting energy 


Beheld his prize with victor's pride, 


Ghuiced from the mourner's sunken eye, 


And the glad mother in her ear 


As if the sounds t» warrior dear 


"Was closely wliispering word of cheer. 


Might rnuse her Duncan from his bier. 




But faded soon that borrow'd force ; 


XXL 


Grief chiim'd his right, and tears their course. 


"Who meets them at the churchyard gate ? 




The messenger of fear and fate 1 


XIX. 


Haste in his hurried accent hes. 


Ecnledi saw the Cross of Fire, 


And grief is swimming in his eyes. 


It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire." 


All dripping fi-om the recent flood, 


O'er dale and liill the suminons flew. 


Pantmg and travel-soil'd he stood, 


Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew ; 


The fatal sign of fire and sword 


The tear that gather'd in iiis eye 


Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: 


He left the mountain breeze to dry ; 


" The muster-place is L.anrick mead ; 


Until, where Teith's young waters roll, 


Speed forth the signal 1 Norman, speed I" 


Betwixt liim and a wooded knoU.^ 


And must he change so soon the hand,* 


That graced the sable strath with green. 


Just link'd to liis by holy band. 


The chapel of St. Bride was seen. 


For the fell Cross of blood and brsmd ? 


Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge. 


And must the day, so blithe that rose, 


But Angus paused not on tlie edge ; 


And promised rapture in the close. 


Though the dark waves danced dizzily, 


Before its setting hour, divide 


Though reel'd liis symp.athetic eye. 


The bridegroom from the phghted bride ) 


He dash'd amid the torrent's roar ; 


fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 


His right hand liigh the crosslet bore. 


Clan- Alpine's cause, her chieftain's trust, 


His left the pole-axe grasp'd, to guide 


Her summons dread, brook no delay ; 


And stay his footing in the tide. 


Stretch to the race — away 1 away ! 


He stumbled twice — the foam splash'd higli, 




■V^^ith lioarser swell the stream raced by ; 


XXII. 


And had he fall'n, — forever there. 


Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, 


Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir ! 


And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, 


But still, as if in parting life. 


Until he saw the stiu-tmg tear 


Firmer he grasp'd the Cross of strife, 


Speak woe he might not stop to cheer ; 


1 dee Appendix. Note 2 N. 


Graced the dark strath with emerald green.** 


*MS. — '*,-3B(i where a steep and wooded knoU 


3 MS. — *' And must he then excliange tlie hand " 







208 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III. 



Then, trusting not a second look, 
In baste he sped hun up the brook. 
Nor backward ghmced, till on tlie heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake sup])hes the Teith. 
■ — What in the racer's bosom stirr'd ? 
The sickening pang of hope deferr'd, 
And memory, with a torturing train' 
Of aU his morning visions vain. 
Mingled with love's impatience, came 
Tlie manly thu'st for martial fame ; 
Tht stormy joy of mountaineers. 
Ere yet they rush upon the spears; 
And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning, 
And hope from weU-fought field retm'ning. 
With war's red honors on liis crest, 
To clasp his Mary to his breast. 
Stmig by such thoughts, o'er bank and 

brae. 
Like fire from flint he glanced away, 
Wliile liigh resolve, and feeling strong. 
Burst into voluntary song. 

XXIII. 

Sang. 

The heath this night must be my bed, 
The bracken^ curtain for my head. 
My lullaby the warder's tread. 

Far, far, from love and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid I 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 
I m.ay not, dare not, fancy now^ 
Tlie grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 
I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And aU it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know ; 
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe. 
His heart must be like bended bow. 

His foot like arrow free, Mary. 

A time ■wW. come with feeling fraught, 
For, if I faU in battle fought, 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thouglit on thee, Mary.' 
And if returu'd from conquer'd foes, 
How blithely will the evening close, 
How sweet the linnet sing repose. 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 

1 MS. — " And memory brought the tortnring tiain 
Of all his morning visions vain ; 
But mingled with impatience came 
The manly love of martial fame." 

« Bracken. — Fern. 

8 MS. — " 1 may not, dare not, im.age now." 

* MS.-* *' A time will come for love and faith. 

For should thy bridegroom yield his breath, 



XXIV. 
Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,* 
Rushing, in conflagration strong, 
Thy deep ravines and deUs along, 
Wr.^ppiug thy cliffs in piu^ple glow. 
And reddening the dark lakes below ; 
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far. 
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.' 
The signal roused to martial coil 
The suUen margin of Loch Voil, 
W.aked still Loch Doine, and to the som"ce 
Alarm'd, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 
Thence southward turn'd its rapid road 
Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad, 
TiU rose m arnts each man might claim 
A portion in Clan- Alpine's name, 
From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand. 
To the raw boy, whose sliaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
Each valley, each sequester'd glen, 
Muster'd its little horde of men. 
That met as torrents from the height 
In liighland dales their streams unite, 
Still gathering, as they pour along, 
A voice more loud, a tide more strong. 
Till at the rendezvous they stood 
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 
Each train'd to arms since hfe began. 
Owning no tie but to his clan. 
No oath, but by liis chieftain's hand. 
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.' 

XXV. 
That summer mom had Roderick Dhu 
Survey'd the skirts of Benvenue, 
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath 
To view the frontiers of Menteith. 
All backward came with news of truce ; 
Still lay each martial Graime and Bruce, 
In Rednoch courts no horsemen wait. 
No banner waved on Cardross gate, 
On Ducltray's towers no beacon shone, 
Nor scared the herons from Loch Con ; 
All seem'd at peace. — Now, wot ye why 
The Chieftain, with such anxious eye, 
Ere to the muster he rep.air. 
This western frontier scaim'd with care ? — 
In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, 

'Twill cheer him in the hour of death. 
The boasted right to thee, Mary." 

6 See Appendix, Note 2 O. 

6 " The eager fidelity with which this fatal signal is homed 
on and obeyed, is represented with great spirit and febcity "- 
Jeffrey. 

' See Appendix, Note 2 P. 



CANTO HI. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 209 


A fair, though cruel, pledge was left ; 


■Wlicn Roderick, with a chosen few. 


For Douglas, to his promise true, 


Repa.s.s'd the heights of Benvenue. 


That morning from the isle withdrew. 


Above the Goblin-cave they go. 


And in a deep sequester'd dell 


Through the wild-pass of Beal-nam-bo :* 


Had souglit a low and lonely cell 


The prompt retainers speed before. 


Hy many a bard, in Celtic tongue. 


To laimch the sliallop from the shore, 


Has Coir-nan- Uriskin been sung;' 


For cross Loch Katrine lies his way 


A sc if tor name the Saxons gave. 


To view the passes of Achray, 


And call'd the grot the Goblin-cave. 


And place liis clansmen in array. 




Yet lags the cliief in mnsing mind, 


XXVI. 


Unwonted sight, his men beliind. 


It was a wild and strange retreat, 


A suigle jiage, to bear his sword. 


As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 


Alone attended on his lord ;' 


'I'lie dell, upon the mountain's crest. 


Tlie rest their way tlu-ough thickets break. 


Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast ; 


And soon await him by the lake. 


Its trench had staid full many a rock. 


It was a fair and gallant sight, 


Ihirl'd by primeval earthquake shock 


To view them from the neighboring height, 


From Benvenue's gray summit wild, 


By the low-levell'd sunbeams light ! 


And here, in r.indom ruin piled. 


For strength and stature, from the clan 


They frown'd mcumbent o'er the spot. 


Each warrior was a chosen man. 


And form'd the rugged silvan grot.' 


As even afar might weU be seen. 


■| he oak imd birch, with mingled shade, 


By their proud step and martial mien. 


.\t noontide there a twiUght made. 


Tlieir feathers dance, their tartans float, 


I'nlcss when short and sudden shone 


Their targets gleam, as by the boat 


Sume straggling beam on cliff or stone, 


A wild and warlike group they stand. 


With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 


That well became such motmtain-strand. 


(iains on thy depth. Futurity. 




No murmm- waked the solemn still. 


XXVIII. 


Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 


Their Cliief, with step reluctant, still 


Hut when the wind chafed with the lake. 


Was hngering on the craggy hill. 


A sullen sound would upward break. 


Hard by where turn'd apart the road 


With dasliing hollow voice, that spoke 


To Douglas's obscure abode. 


The incessant war of wave and rock. 


It was but with that dawning morn. 


Suspended cUffs, with hideous sway, 


Tliat Roderick Dhu had promlly sworn 


Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern gray. 


To drown liis love in war's wild roar,' 


From such a den the wolf had sprung. 


Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 


In such the wild-cat leaves her youjQg ; 


But he who stems a stream with .sand. 


Yet Douglas and his daughter fair 


And fetters flame with flaxen band. 


Sought for a space their safety there. 


Has yet a harder task to jjrove^ 


(iray Superstition's wliisper dread 


By firm resolve to conquer love ! 


Deliarr'd the spot to vulgar tread ; 


Eve finds the Cliief, hke restless ghost. 


For there, she said, did fays resort, 


Still hovering near his treasure lost ; 


And satyrs' hold their silvan court. 


For though his haughty heai't deny 


liy moonlight tread their mystic maze. 


A parting meetmg to his eye, 


And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 


Still fondly strains his anxious ear. 




Tlie accents of her voice to hear. 


XXVII. 


And iuly did he curse the breeze 


[Now eve, with western shadows long, 


That wiiked to sound the rustling trees. 


Floated on Katrine bright and strong. 


But hark 1 what mingles in the strain * 


1 See Appcndii, Note 2 a. 


feet ; towards the east, the rock appears at some furnier period 


' " Altfir laiiiling on the skirts of Benvenue, we reach the 


to liave tumbled down, strewing the whole eoui-se of its fall 


tovr (or more properly the covi) of the goblins, by a steep and 


with immense fragments, which now serve only to give shelter 


narrow dufile of a few hundred yards in length. It is a deep 


to foxes, wild-cats, and badgers."— Dr. Graham. 


circuljiT amphitheatre of at least 600 yards of extent in its 


3 The (/risk, or Highland satyr. See Note on the previoot 


nppcr diameter, gradually narrowing towards the base, hem- 


Canto. 


OK-i' in all round by sleep and towering roi-ks. and rendered 




inip,-nflrab!e to the rays of the snn by a close covert of luxu- 


See Appendix, Note 2 R. ■'■ Ibid. Note S S. 


riant \m-*. On the south and west it is bounded by the pre- 


8 MS.— "To drown Imffrief in war's wild roar. 


Cl[iiuris shoulder of Benvenue. to the height of at least 500 
2? 


Nor think of ^ore and Eiten more." 



- 1 
210 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv 


It is the harp of AUan-Bane, 


And eastward held their hasty way. 


That wakes its measure slow and high, 


Till, with the latest beams of Ught, 


Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 


The band arrived on Lanrick height. 


Wliat melting voice attends the strings ? 


'Wliere muster'd, in the vale below,' 


'Tis Ellen, or an angel sings. 


Clan-Alpine's men in martial show. 


XXIX. 


XXXI. 


Jgnmn to tSe Vfrflfn. 


A various scene the clansmen made, 


Ave Maria ! maiden mild ! 


Some sate, some stood, some slowly stray'd ; 


Listen to a maiden's prayer ! 


But most with mantles folded round, 


Thou canst hear though from the wild, 


■Were couch'd to rest upon the ground. 


Thou canst save amid despair. 


Scarce to be known by curious eye. 


Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 


From the deep heather where they lie. 


Though banish'd, outcast, and reviled — 


So well was match'd the tartan screen 


Maiden 1 hear a maiden's prayer ; 


■With heath-bell dark and brackens green ; 


Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 


Unless where, here and there, a blade, 


Ave Maria / 


Or lance's point, a gUmmer made, 




Like glow-worm twinkhng through the shade 


Ave Maria ! undefiled ! 


But when, advancing through the gloom, 


The flinty couch we now must share' 


They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume. 


Shall seem with down of eider piled, 


Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide. 


If thy protection hover there. 


Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 


The murky cavern's heavy air' 


Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 


Shall breathe of b.alm if thou hast smiled ; 


Three times return'd the martial yell ; 


Tlien, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer ; 


It died upon Bochastle's plain. 


Mother, hst a suppUant child ! 


And Silence claim'd her evening reign. 


Ave Maria I 
Ave Maria ! stainless styled ! 






Foul demons of the earth and au-, 
From this their wonted haunt exiled, 


(Eljc laU of tl)c £akf. 


Shall flee before thy presence fair. 




We bow us to our lot of care. 




Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; 
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, 


CANTO FOimTH. 




And for a father heai- a child ! 


51 !) c 13 V J) !) e c s . 


A ve Maria 1 


I. 


XXX. 


" The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new. 


Died on the harp the closing hymn — 


And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ;• 


Unmoved in attitude and limb, 


The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew. 


As hst'ning still, Clan- Alpine's lord 


And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears. 


Stood leaning on his heavy sword, 


wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 


Until the page, with humble sign. 


I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave. 


Twice pointed to the sun's dechne. 


Emblem of hope and love tlu-ough future years !" 


Then wliile liis plaid he round him cast, 


Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, 


" It is the last time — 'tis the last," 


■What tune the sun arose on Vennachar's broad 


He rautter'd thrice, — " the last time e'er 


wave. 


That angel voice shall Roderick hear!" 




It was a goading thought — his stride 


n. 


Hied hastier down the mountain-side ; 


Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, 


Sullen he flmig Iiim in the boat. 


Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 


And instant 'cross the lake it shot. 


All while he stripp'd the wild-rose spray. 


They landed in that silvery bay, 


His axe and bow beside liim lay. 


1 MS. — '* The flinty couch my sire most share." 


3 MS. — " Where broad extending far below. 




Muster'd Cian-.\lpine's martial show.'' 


3 MS.— '* The murky potto's noxious air." 


* MS.—" And rapture dearest when obscured by fears.'" 



CANTO IV. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



211 



For on a pass 'twist lake and wood, 


Our siies foresaw the events of war." 


A wakeful sentinel lie stood. 


Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew." 


Hark I on the rock a footstep rung, 




And instmit to his aims he sprung. 


MALISE. 


" Stand, (*r thou (.liest ! — What, Mali93 ? — soon 


" All ! well the gallant brute I knew I 


Art thou return'd from Braes of Doune. 


Tlie choicest of the prey we had, 


By thy keen step and glance I know, 


When swept om' merry -men Gallangad.' 


Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." 


His liide was snow, his horns were dark, 


(For while the Fiery Cross liied on. 


His red eye glow'd like fiery spark ; 


On distant scout had Malise gone.) 


So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 


"Where sleeps the Chief?'' the henchman 


Sore did he cumber our retreat, 


said. — 


And kept our stoutest kernes in awe, 


" Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 


Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 


To liis lone couch I'll be your guide." — 


But steep and flinty was the road. 


Then call'd a slumbercr by liis side, 


And .sharp the hurrying pikemen's goad, 


And stu-r'd him with his slacken'd bow — 


And when we came to Deiman's Row, 


" Up, up, Olentarldn 1 rouse thee, ho ! 


A cliild might scatheless stroke his brow." — 


We seek the Cliieftain : on the track, 




Keep eagle watch till I come back." 


y. 




NORMAN. 


III. 


" That buU was slain : his reeking hide 


Together up the pass they sped : 


They stretcVd the cataract beside. 


" \Vliat of the foeman ?" Norman said. — 


Whose waters their wild tumult toss 


■' Varying reports from near and far ; 


Adown the black and craggy boss 


Tills certam, — that a band of war 


Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge 


Has for two days been ready botme. 


Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.* 


At prompt command, to march from Doune ; 


Couch'd on a shelve beneath its brink, 


King James, the while, with princely powers, 


Close where the thundering torrents sink, 


Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 


Rocking beneath their headlong sway, 


Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 


And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, 


Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 


Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, 


Imu-ed to bide such bitter bout. 


The wizard waits prophetic dream. 


The warrior's plaid m.ay bear it out ; 


Nor distant rests the Chief; — but hush! 


But, Norman, how wilt tliou provide 


See, gliding slow through mist and bush, 


A shelter for thy bonny bride ?" 


The hermit gains yon rock, and stands 


" What I know ye not that Roderick's care 


To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 


To the lone isle hath caused repair 


Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost, 


Each maid and matron of the clan, 


That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host ? 


And every child and aged man 


Or raven on the blasted oak, 


Unfit for arms ; and given liis charge, 


Tliat, watching while the deer is broke,' 


Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, 


His morsel claims with sullen croak !" 


Upon these lakes shall float at large, 




But aU beside the islet moor, 


MALISE. 


That such dear pledge may rest secure !" — 


— " Peace ! peace ! to other than to me, 




Thy words were evil augury ; 


IV. 


But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade 


" 'Tis well advised — the Cliieftaiu's plan' 


Clan-Alpme's omen and her aid. 


Bespeaks the father of his clan. 


Not aught that, glean'd from heaven or hell, 


But wherefore sleeps Su- Roderick Dhu 


Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell. 


Apart from all his followers true !" 


The Chieftain joins him, see — and now, 


" It is, because last evening-tide 


Together they descend the brow." 


Brian an au;,'ury hath tried, 




Of that dread kind wliich must not be 


VI. 


Unless in dread extremity. 


And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord 


Tlie Taghairm call'd ; by which, afar, 


The Hermit Monk held solemn word : — 


' MS. — " 'Tis well advised — a prudent plan, 


5 See Appendix, Note 2 T. = Ibid. Note 2 U. 


Worthy the father of his claa." 


t Ibid. Note 2 V. ' Ibid. Note 2 W. 



212 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



CANTO IV 



" Roderick ! it is a fearful strife, 


" By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 


For man endow'd with mortal life, 


I love to hear of worthy foes. 


Wlioae shroud of sentieat clay can still 


When move they on ?" — " To-morrow'a noon* 


Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, 


Will see them here for battle boune." — ° 


Wliose eye can stare in stonj' trance, 


" Then shall it see a meeting stem ! — 


Whose hair can rouse like warrior's limce, — 


But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn 


'Tis hard for such to view, unfui'l'd, 


Naught of the friendly clans of Karn ? 


The curtain of the future world. 


Strengthen'd by them, we well might bide 


Yet, witness every quaking limb. 


Tlie battle on Benledi's side. 


My sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim. 


Thou couldst not ? — Well I Clan-Ali)ine's men 


My soul with harrowing anguish torn, — 


Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen ; 


Tliis for my Chieftain have I borne !— 


Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll fight, 


Tlie shapes that sought my fearful couch. 


All in om- maids' and matrons' sight. 


An human tongue may ne'er avouch ; 


Each for his hearth and household lire, 


No mortal man, — save he, who, bred 


Father for cliild, and son for sire — 


Between the living and the dead, 


Lover for maid beloved ! — But why — 


Is gifted beyond nature's law,^ 


Is it the breeze affects mine eye ! 


Had e'er survived to say he saw. 


Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear 1 


At length the fatal answer came. 


A messenger of doubt or fear ? 


In cliaracters of hving flame ! 


No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 


Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll. 


Unfix Benledi from his stance, 


But Ixirne and branded on my soul ; — 


Than doubt or ten-or can pierce through 


WniCH SPILLS TUE FOREMOST FOESLAN's LIFE,' 


The unvielding heart of Roderick Dhu 1 


TUAT PARTV CONQUERS IX THE STRIFE !" ' 


'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. — ' 




Each to his post ! — all know their charge." 


VII. 


The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, 


" Tlianks, Brian, for thy zeal and care ! 


The broadswords gleam, the bamiers dance, 


Good is thine augury, and fair. 


Obedient to the Cliieftain's glance. 


Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood, 


—I turn me from the martial roar. 


But fiisl our broadswords tasted blood. 


And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 


A surer victim still I know. 




Self-ofFer'd to the auspicious blow : 


IX. 


A spy has sought my land this morn, — • 


Wliere is the Douglas ? — ^he is gone ; 


No eve shall witness his retm-u ! 


And Ellen sits on the gray stone 


My followers guard each pass's mouth, 


Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 


To east, to westward, and to south ; 


While vainly Allan's words of cheer 


Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide.' 


Are pour'd on her unheeding ear. — 


Has charge to lead his steps aside, 


" He will retm-n — Dear lady, trust ! — 


Till, in deep path or dingle brown. 


With joy return ; — lie will — he must. 


He light on those shall bring liim down.* 


Well was it time to seek, afar, 


— But see, who Cfimes liis news to show 1 


Some refuge from impending war. 


Malise ! what tidmgs of the foe ?"— 


When e'en Clim- Alpine's rugged .swarm 




Are cow'd by the approacliiug storm. 


VIII. 


I saw then boats, with many a hght, 


" At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 


Floatmg the Uve-long yesternight. 


Two Barons proud their banners wave. 


Sliifting like fla.shes darted forth' 


f saw the Moray's silver star, 


By the red streamers of the north ; 


And mark'd the sable pale of Mar." — 


1 m.ark'd at morn how close they ride. 


1 MS. — " Which foremost sjiilU a foeman's life." 


' MS. — " 'Tis stuhborn as his HiglUand targe," 


2 See Appendix. Note 2 X. 


» MS.—" Thick as the flashes darted forth 




By morrice-dancers of the north ; 


" MS.- -" Tile clansman, vainly deem'tl his guide." 
* MS.—" He light on tltose shall stab liim down." 


And saw at morn their !l:"';S'^/'**^' 
i little fleet, 


> MS.-" ■ When move Ihey on 7' j ] ™ j™" j at noon 


Close moor'ti by the lone islet's side. 


Fince tliis mile race dare not ahide 


'Tis said will see them march from Doune.' 


Upon their native mountain side, 


. n, it makes t 

* lo-niorrow then ; J meeting 3tern. 


'Tis fit tiiat Douglas should provide 


/ sees ) ° 


For hia dear child some safe abode, 


e For battle bounc — ready for battle. 


And soon he comes to point the road." 



CANTO IV. THE LA.DY OF THE LAKE. 213 


Thick moor'd by the lone islet's side, 


Think of the stranger at the isle. 


Like wilil-ducka couching iu tlie fen, 


And think upttn the luirpings slow. 


Wlien stot)p9 the liawk upon the glen. 


That presaged this ajiproaching woe ! 


Since this rude race dare not abide 


Sooth was my propliecy of fear ; 


The peril on the mainland side, 


Believe it when it augurs cheer. 


Shall not thy noble father's care 


Would we had left this dismal spot ! 


Some safe retreat for thee prepare ?" — 


HI luck still haunts a fairy grot. 




Of such a wondrous tale I know — 


X. 


Dear lady, change that look of woe. 


ELLEN. 


My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." — 


" No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind' 




Jly wakeful terrors could not blind. 


ELLEN. 


\\'lien in such tender tone, yet grave, 


" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear. 


Douglas a parting blessing gave. 


But cannot stop the bursting tear." 


Tlie tear that glisten'd in his eye 


The Minstrel tried his sknple art, 


Dro\vn'd not liis purpose fix'd on high. 


But distant far was Ellen's heart. 


My soul, though feminine and weak, 




Can image liis ; e'en as the lake. 


XII. 


Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke,' 


aSallaU.' 


Reflects the invulnerable rock. 


He hears report of battle rife, 


ALICE BKAND. 


He deems liimself the cause of strife. 


Merry it is in the good gi-eenwood. 


I saw liim redden, when the theme 


When the mavis* and merle^ are singing. 


Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dieam 


When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are 


Of Malcolm Grfeme, in fetters bound, 


in cry. 


Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. 


And the hunter's horn is rmging. 


Thmk'st thou he trow'd thine omen aught J 




Oh no 1 'twas apprehensive thought 


" Alice Brand, my native land 


For the kind youth, — for Roderick too — 


Is lost for love of you ; 


(Let me be just) that friend so true ; 


And we must hold by wood and wold. 


In danger both, and in om* cause ! 


As outlaws wont to do. 


Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 




Why else that solemn warning given. 


" Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright 


' If not on earth, we meet in heaven !' 


And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue. 


Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane. 


That on the night of our luckless flight. 


If eve return him not again. 


Thy brother bold I slew. 


Am I to hie, and make me known ? 




Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne. 


" Now must I teach to hew the beech 


Buys his friend's safety with his own ; — 


The hand that held the glaive. 


He goes to do — what I had done. 


For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 


Had Douglas' daughter been his son !' — 


And stakes to fence our cave. 


XI. 


" And for vest of pall, thy fingers smaU, 


" Nay, lovely Ellen !— dearest, nay 1 


That wont on harp to stray. 


If aught should his return delay. 


A cloak must sheer from the slaughtered 


He only named yon holy fane 


deer, 


As fitting place to meet again. 


To keep the cold away." — 


Be sure he's safe ; and for the Grteme, — 




Heaven's blessing on liis gallant name 1 — 


" Richard ! if my brother died. 


My vision'd sight may yet prove true. 


'Twas but a fatal ch.ance ; 


Nor bode of ill to him or you. 


For darkUng was the battle tried, 


When did my gifted dream beguile ? 


And fortune sped the lance." 


MS. — " No, Allan, ao ! His words so kind 


' See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 


Were but ;,reteits my feare to blind. 


• Thrnsh. :• Blackbird. 


When in such solemn tone, and grave. 




Dougl^3 a parting blessing gave." 


6 MS. — " 'Tw;is but a midniglil cliance ; 


' MS .t^All disturb'd by slightest shock, 


For biiiidlold waa the battle plied, 


Reflects the adamantine rock." 


And fortmip hold the lance." 



214 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IV. 



*' If pall and vaii" no more I "wear, 


" And if there's blood upon his hand, 


Nor thou the crimson sheen, 


'Tis but the blood of deer." — 


As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray, 




As gay the forest-green. 


" Now loud thou licst, thou bold of mood ! 




It cleaves unto his hand, 


" And, Richard, if our lot be hard. 


Tlie stain of tluue own Idndly blood. 


And lost tliy native land, 


The blood of Ethert Brand." 


.Still Alice has her own Richard, 




Aud he Ids Alice Brand." 


Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 




And made the holy sign, — 


XIII. 


"And if there's blood on Richard's band. 


JSallaa continurt. 


A spotless hind is mine. 


'TIs merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 




So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 


" And I conjure thee. Demon elf. 


On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side. 


By Him whom Demons fear, 


Lord Richard's axe is rmging. 


To show us whence thou art thyself 




And what thuie errand here ?" — 


Up spoke the moody Elfin Iving, 


XV. 


Wlio won'd witliin the hill, — ' 


Like wind m the porch of a ndn'd church. 


JSallaB contfiiucB. 


His voice was ghostly slu-ill. 


" 'Tis merry, 'tis meriy, in Fairy-land, 




■When fairy birds ai-e singing, 


" Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 


When the court doth ride by their monarch's 


Our moonlight circle's screen P 


side, 


Or who comes here to chase the deer, 


With bit and bridle ringing : 


Beloved of our Elfin Queen ?" 




Or who may dare on wold to wear 


" And gayly shines the Fairy-land, — 


The fairies fatal green ?' 


But all is glistening show," 




Like the idle gleam that December's beam 


" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal liie. 


Can dart on ice and snow. 


For thou wert cliristpn'd man f 




For cross or sign thou wilt not fly. 


" And fadmg, like that varied gleam. 


For mutter'd word or ban. 


Is om- mconstant shape. 




Who now like kniglit and lady seem. 


" Lay on him the cm-se of tlie wither'd heart. 


And now Uke dw.arf aud ape. 


The curse of the sleepless eye ; 




Till he wish and pray that liis life would part. 


" It was between the night and day, 


Nor yet find leave to die." 


■When the Faiiy King has power. 




That I sunk down in a sinful fray. 


XIV. 


And, 'twist life and death, was snatch'd away 


aSallatJ conti'nucD. 


To the joyless Elfin bower.'' 


'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, 




Though the bu-ds have still'd tlieu- singing ; 


" But wist I of a woman bold, 


The evening blaze doth Alice raise. 


Who thi-ice my brow durst sign. 


And Richard is fagots brmging. 


I might regain my mortal mold, 




As fair a form as thine." 


Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwaj-f, 




Before Lord Richard st.ands, 


She cross'd him once — she cross'd him twice— 


And, as he cross'd and bless'd IiimselJ 


That lady was so brave ; 


" I fear not sign," quoth tlie grisly elf. 


The fouler grew his goblin hue, 


" That is made with bloody hands." 


The darker grew the cave. 


But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 


She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold; 


That woman, void of fear, — 


He rose beneath her hand 


1 See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 


5 See Appendix, Note 3 A. * Ibid. Note J B. 


- MS. — " ^ur fairy ringlet's screen.** 


' Ibid. Note 3 C. « Ibid. Note 3 D. • Ibid. Note 3 E. 



CANTO IV. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 215 


The fairest knight on Scottish mold, 


Too mucli, before, my selfish ear 


Her brother, Ethert Brand 1 


Was idly suotlied my praise to liear.^ 




That fatal bait hath lured thee back. 


Mc'iry it is in good greenwood. 


In deathful hour, o'er d.angerous track 


Wlien the mavis and merle are singmg, 


And how, how, Cim I atone 


But merrier were they iii Dunfermline gr.iy, 


The wreck my vanity brought on ! — 


When all the bells were rijiging. 


One way remains — I'll tell liim all — 




Yes, struggling bosom, forth it shall ! 


XVI. 


Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 


Just as the minstrel sounds were staid. 


Buy thine own pardon with thy shame! 


A stranger climb'd the steepy glade 


But first — my father is a man 


His martial step, Ms stately mien. 


Outlaw'd and e.xiled, under biin ; 


His hmiting suit of Lincoln-green, 


The price of blood is on liis head, 


His eagle ghmce, remembrance claims — 


With me 'twere infamy to wed. — 


'Tis Snowdoun's Kuight, 'tis James Fitz-James. 


StiU wouldst thou speak ? — then hear the truth ! 


EUen beheld as in a dream, 


Fitz-James, there is a noble youth, — 


Then, starting, scai'ce suppress'd a scream: 


If yet he is ! — exposed for me 


■■ stranger ! in such hour of fear. 


And mine to dread extremity — 


What evil liap has brought thee here t" — 


Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 


" ^Vn evil hap how can it be. 


Forgive, be generous, and depart 1" 


Tliat bids me look agiiin on thee ? 




By prouiise bound, my former guide 


XVIII. 


Met me betimes this morning tide, 


Fitz-James knew every wily train 


And marshall'd, over bank and bourne, 


A lady's fickle heart to gain ; 


Tlie happy path of my return." — 


But here he knew and felt them vain. 


" The happy path ! — what ! said he naught 


There shot no glance from EUen's eye, 


Of war, of battle to be fought, 


To give her steadfast speech the lie ; 


Of guarded pass ?'' — " No, by my faith 1 


In maiden confidence she stood, 


Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." — 


Tliough m.antled in her cheek the blood, 


" haste thee, Allan, to the kern. 


And told her love with such a sigh 


— Yonder liis tartans I discern ; 


Of deep and hopeless agony, 


Learn thou his pm-pose, and conjure 


As death had seal'd her M;dcolm's doom. 


That he wiU guide the stranger sure 1 — 


And she sat son-owmg on his tomb. 


What prompted thee, unhappy man i 


Hope vanish'd from Fitz-Jimies's eye. 


The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 


But not with hope fled sympathy. 


Had not been bribed by love or fear, 


He proffer'd to attend her side, 


Unknown to him to guide thee here." — 


As brother would a sister guide. — 




" ! httle know'st thou Roderick's heai-t 1 


xvir. 


Safer for both we go apart. 


" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, 


haste thee, and from Allan learn, 


Since it is worthy care from thee ; 


If thou mayst trust yon wily kern." 


Yet Ufe I hold but idle breath. 


With hand upon his forehead laid. 


When love or honor's weigh'd with death. 


The conflict of his mind to shade, 


Then let me profit by my cliance, 


A parting step or two he made ; 


And speak my purpose bold at once. 


Then, as some thought had cross'd his brau\. 


I come to bear thee from a wild, 


He paused, and tm-n'd, and came again. 


Where ne'er before such blossom smiled ; 




By this soft hand to lead thee far 


XIX. 


From frantic scenes of feud and war. 


" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 


Near Boch.astle my horses wait ;' 


It chanced m fight that my poor sword 


They bear us soon to Siirling gate. 


Preserved the Ufe of Scotliind's lord. 


m place thee in a lovely bower, 


This ring the grateful Monarch gave,' 


I'll guard thee like a tender ilower" 


And bade, when I had boon to crave, 


" husli, Su- Knight, 'twere female art, 


To bring it Kick, and boldly claim 


To say 1 do not read thy heart ; 


The recompense that I would name. 


* MS. — " Btj CambusmoTC my Iiorses wait." 


3 MS. — *' This ring of itotd the monarch save ■ 


3 MS. — *' Was idly/ort(/ thy praise to hear." 





216 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 

But one who lives by lance and sword. 

Whose castle is his helm and sliield, 

His lordship the embattled field. 

What from a prince can I demand. 

Who neither reck of state nor land ! 

Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ;' 

Each guard and usher knows the sign. 

Seek thou the king without delay ;'^ 

This signet shall secure thy way ; 

And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, 

As ransom of liis pledge to me." 

He placed the golden circlet on. 

Paused — kiss'd her hand — and then was gone. 

The aged Minstrel stood aghast, 

So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 

He join'd his guide, and wending down 

The ridges of the mountain brown. 

Across the stream they took their way, 

That joins Loch Katrine to Achray. 

XX. 

All in the Trosach's glen was still. 
Noontide was sleeping on the hUl ; 
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high — 
" Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ?" — 
He stammei''d forth — " I shout to scare' 
Yon raven from his dainty fare." 
He look'd — ^he knew the raven's prey. 
His own brave steed : — " Ah ! gallant gray 1 
For thee — for me, perchance — 'twere well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell. — 
Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 
Wliistle or whoop, and thou shalt die !" 
Jealous and sullen on they fared, 
Each silent, each upon his guard. 

XXI. 

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge. 
When lo ! a wasted female form, 
Bhghted by wrath of sun and storm. 
In tatter'd weeds and wild array,' 
Stood on a chff beside the way, 
And glancing round her restless eye, 
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, 
Scom'd naught to mark, yet all to spy. 
Her brow was wreatli'd with gaudy broom ; 
With gesture wild she waved a plume 
Of feathers, which the eagles fling 

' MS. — " Permit this hand — the nng is thine." 
• MS. — *' ' Seek thou the King, and on thy knee 

Pat forth thy suit, whate'er it he, 

As ransom of Iiis pledije to me : 

My pame and this shall make thy way.' 

He put the little signet on." 
3 MS. — " He slammer'd forth confused reply : 
' Saxon, 



' Sir Knight, 



i shouted bat to scare 



To crag and cliff from dusky wing ; 
Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 
Where scarce was footmg for the goat. 
The tartan plaid she first descried. 
And shriek'd till all the rocks rephed ; 
As loud she laugh'd when neai:.they drew. 
For tlien the Lowland garb she knew ; 
And then her hands she wildly wrung. 
And then she wept, and then she sung — 
She simg ! — the voice, in better time. 
Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 
And now, though strain'd and roughen'd, still 
Rimg wildly sweet to dale and hill. 

XXII. 
Song. 

Tliey bid me sleep, they bid me pray. 

They say my bram is warp'd and wrung — 

I cannot sleep on Highland brae, 
I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 

But were I now where Allan' glides, 

Or heard my native Devan's tides, 

So sweetly would I rest and pray 

That Heaven would close my wintry day I 

'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, 
They made me to the chm'ch repair ; 

It was my bridal morn they said. 

And my true love would meet me there. 

But woe betide the cruel guile 

That drown'd in blood the mornmg smile ! 

And woe betide the fairy dream ! 

I only waked to sob and scream. 

XXIIL 

" Who is this maid ? what means her lay ! 

She hovers o'er the hollow way, 

And flutters wide her mantle gray. 

As the lone heron spreads his wing. 

By twihght, o'er a haunted spring." — 

" 'Tis Blanche of Devaii," Murdoch said, 

" A crazed and captive Lowland maid,' 

Ta'en on the morn she was a bride. 

When Roderick foray'd Devan-side. 

The gay bridegroom resistance made, 

And felt our Chief's unconquer'd blade. 

I marvel she is now at large. 

But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. — 

Hence, brain-sick fool 1" — He raised his bow ; — 

" Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, 

Yon raven from his dainty fare.' " 
* MS. — " Wrapp'd in a tatter'd mantle gray." 
& The Atlnn and Devaii are two hcautifnl streams, the 
latter celebrated in the poetry of Burns, wdiich descend 
from the hills of Perthshire into the great carse or plain of 
Stirling. 



CMS.- 



' A Sa.xon born, a crazy maid — 
'Tis Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch said.' 



r.vNTo IV. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 217 


I'll pitch thee from the cliff ns far 


He came stately down the glen, 


As ever peasant pitcli'ii a bar!" 


Ever smg hardily, liardily. 


'■ Thaaks, champion, thanks !" the Maniac cried. 




And press'd her to FitzJames's side. 


" It was there he met with a wounded doe, 


'■ See the gray pennons I prepare,' 


She was bleeduig deathfuUy ; 


To seek my true-love through the air ? 


She wam'd liira of the toils below, 


I will not lend that sav.age groom," 


0, so fiiithfuUy, faithfully ! 


To break his fall, one downy plume ! 




No ! — deep amid disjointed stones, 


" He had an eye, and he could heed, 


Tlio wolves sliall batten on liis bones, 


Ever sing warily, warily ; 


And then shall his detested plaid, 


He had a foot, ami he could speed — 


By bush and brier in mid air staid. 


Hmiters watch so narrowly.'" 


Wave forth a banner fair and free. 




Meet signal for their revelry." — 


XXVL 




Fitz-Jaraos's mind was passion-toss'd. 


XXIV. 


When Ellen's hints and fears were lost ; 


Hush thee, poor maiden, and be stiU !"' — 


But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought. 


" ! thou look'st kindly, and I wiU. — 


And Bkmche's song conviction brought. — 


Mine eye has dried .and wasted been. 


Not Uke a stag that spies the snare, 


But stiU it loves the Lmcohi-green ; 


But hon of the hmit aware, 


And, though mine ear is all unstrung, 


He waved at once his blade on high. 


Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue. 


" Disclose thy treachery, or die !" 




Forth at full speed the Clansman flew," 


For my sweet William was forester true,' 


But in his race his bow he drew. 


He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 


The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest. 


His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, 


And thrill'd in BLanche's faded breast. — 


And so blithely he trill'd the Lowland lay 1 


Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed. 




For ne'er had Alpme's son such need ! 


" It was not that I meant to tell . . . 


With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 


But thou art wise and guessest weU.'" 


Tlie fierce avenger is behind I 


Then, in a low and broken tone, 


Fate judges of the rapid strife— 


And hmTied note, the song went on. 


The forfeit death— the prize is life ! 


Still on the Clansman, fearfully. 


Thy kindred ambush hes before. 


She fix'd her apprehensive eye ; 


Close couch'd upon the heathery moor : 


Then turn'd it on the Knight, and then 


Them couldst thou reach ! — it may not 


Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 


be ' 




Thme ambu.sh'd kin thou ne'er shalt see. 


XXV. 


The fiery Saxon gtiins on thee ! 


•' Tlie toUs are pitch'd, and the stakes are set, 


— Resistless speeds the deadly thrust. 


^'^ver sing merrily, merrily; 


As hghtnmg strikes the pine to dust ; 


I"*) ! bows they bend, and the knives they whet. 


With foot and hand Fitz-James must 


Hunters live so cheerily. 


strain. 




Ere he can win Iiis blade tigiiin. 


' It was a stag, a stag of ten,' 


Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye,' 


Bearing its branches sturdily ; 


He grmily smiled to see liim die ; 


MS. — " With thee these pennons will I share, 


was set for him. The maniacs of poetry have indeed l.n I a 


Then seek my true love through the air.* 


prescriptive right 10 he musical, since the days of Op) fl.a 


> M^. — " But I'll not lend tliat savage groom. 


downwards ; but it is rather a ras!i extension of Itiis pri\ il'-'ie 


To break his tall, one downy plume! 


to make them sing good sense, and to make sensible peopit ua 


Deep. dee|> 'iniil yon disjointed stones, 


guided by tliem."— Jeffrey. 


The wolf shall batten on his bones." 


MS.—" Forth at full speed the Clansman went ; 


3 A!S.--" Sweet William was a woodman true, 


But in his race his bow he bent, 


He stole poor Blanehe's heart away I 


Halted — and back an arrow sent." 


His coat was oCthe forest hue. 


' MS. *' It may not be — 


And sweet he sun^' the Lowland lay." 


The fiery 8a.\on gains on thee. 


* Hav ig ten branches on his antlers. 


Thine ambush'd kin thon ne'er shalt see 1 


^ " >'<' machinery can be conceived more clumsy for effecting 


Resistless as the lightning's fiame, 


the deli* .ranee of a distrcsse;! hero, than the introduction of a 


The thrust betwixt bis shoulder came." 


Ji.id v.( lan, who, without knowing or earing about the wan- 


• MS. — "Then o'er liini hung, with t'alcon eye. 


derer, / »ms him btf a nong. to take care of the ambush that 
28 


And grimly smilutl to see him die." 



218 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto rv. 


Tlien slower wended back his way, 


" By Him whose word is truth ! I swear, 


Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 


No other favor will I wear, 




Till this sad token I imbrue 


XXVII. 


In tlie best blood of Roderick Dhu ! 


She sate beneath the bu-chen-tree, 


— But hark ! what meims yon faint hallo { 


Her elbow restmg on her knee ; 


The chase is up, — but they shall know. 


She hud withdra\vn the fatal shaft, 


The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe." 


And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd; 


Barr'd from the known but guarded way, 


Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, 


Thi-ough copse and cliff's Fitz-.J.ames must 8«vm} 


Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 


And oft must change his desperate track, 


The Ivnight to stanch the hfe-stream tried,— 


By stream and precipice turu'd back. 


" Stranger, it is in vain !" she cried. 


Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length. 


" Tliis hour of death has given me more 


From lack of food and loss of strength, 


Of reason's power than years before ; 


He couch'd him in a thicket hoar. 


For, as these ebbing veins decay. 


And thought his toils and perils o'er : — 


My jjhrensied visions fade away. 


" Of all my rash adventures past. 


A helpless injm'ed wretch I die,' 


This frantic freak must prove the last ! 


And something tcUs me ill tliiue eye. 


Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd. 


That thou wert mine avenger born. — 


That all tliis Highland hornet's nest 


Seest thou this tress ? — ! stUl I've worn 


Would muster up in swarms so soon 


Tlus little tress of yellow liair, 


As e'er they he;u-d of bands at Doune ? — 


Through ilanger, plirensy, and despair ! 


Like bloodhounds now they search me out, — 


It once w-as bright and clear as tliine, 


Hark, to the whi.stle and the shout! — 


But blood .ind tears have dimm'd its shine. 


If farthei- tluough the wilds I go. 


I will not tell tliee wiien 'twas slired. 


I only fall upon the foe : 


Kor from what guiltless victim's head — 


I'll couch me here till evenmg gray. 


My braui would turn ! — but it sliall wave* 


Then darkling try my dangerous way." 


Like plumage on thy liehnet brave, 




Till sun and wind sliall bleach the stain. 


XXIX. 


And thou wilt bring it me ;igain.— 


Tlie shades of eve come slowly down. 


I waver stiU. — God ! more bright 


The woods ai-e -wrapt in deeper brown. 


Let reason beam her parting light ! — ■ 


The owl awakens from her dell, 


! by thy biighthuod's honor'd sign. 


Tlie fox is heard upon the fell ; 


And for thy hfe preserveil by mine, 


Enough remains of glimmermg light 


■When thou sbalt see a d:u-ksonie man, 


To guide the wimderer's steps aright. 


"Who boasts hmi Chief of Alpine's Clan, 


Yet not enough from far to show 


With tart.an'a broad and shadowy plume. 


His figure to the watchful foe. 


And hand of blood, and brow of gloom. 


With cautious step, and ear awake, 


Be thy heart bold, thy. weapon strong. 


He chmbs the cnig and threads the brake ; 


And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong ! 


And not the summer solstice, there. 


They watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 


Temjjer'il the midnight mountain .air. 


Avoid the paih ... (iod ! . . . farewell." 


But every breeze, that swept the wold, 




Benunib'd bis thenched hmbs with cold. 


XXVIIL 


Ill dread, in danger, and alone, 


A kindly heart had brave Fitz-Jimies ; 


Famish'il and cliill'd, through ways unknown 


Fast jjour'd his eyes at pity's chums. 


Tangled and steep, he journey 'd on ; 


And now with mingled grief and ire, 


Till, as a rock's huge pomt he turn'd. 


He saw the murder'd maid expu-e. 


A watch-fii-e close before him bm-ii'd. 


" God, in ray neeil, be my rehef,' 




As I wreak this on yonder Chief!" 


XXX. 


A lock from Bhancbe's tre-sses fair 


Beside its embers red and clear,' 


He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 


Bask'd, in liis plaid, a mountauieer ; 


The mingled braid in blood be dyed. 


And up he sprung with sword ui hand. — 


And placed it on his bonnet-side : 


" Thy n.-ime and purpose ! Saxon, stand !" — 


> MS. — *' A guiltlejss injured wretch I die." 


As I wreak this on Roderick Dhu," 


3 MS. — '* But now, my cliampion, — it siiall wave." 


4 MS. — " By the decaying flame was laid 


3 MS.—" God, in my need, to me be true, 


A warrior in his Highland jdaid." 



CANTO V. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 219 

> 


" A stranger." — " What dost thou require ?" — 


Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, 


" Rest :md a guide, and food aud fii'e. 


As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 


My life's beset, my path is lost, 


From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — 


The gale h;Ls oliiU'd my Um,bs with frost." — 


" I take thy courtesy, by heaven, 


" Art tliou a friend to Roderick 1" — " No." — 


As freely as 'tis nobly given !" — 


■'Tliou darest not call thyself a foe '("— 


" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 


" I dare ! to him and all the band' 


Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 


Ho laings to aid liis nnirderous hand." — 


With that he shook the gather'd heath. 


" Bohl words ! — but, though the beast of game 


And spread l:is plaid upon the wreath; 


The privilege of clia-se may claim, 


And the brave foenien, side by side, 


Tliongh space and law the stag we lend, 


Lay peaceful down, Uke brothers tried, 


Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 


And slept imtil the dawning beam* 


Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when. 


Purpled the mountain and the stream 


The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain P 




Tims treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie. 
Who say thou earnest a secret spy !" 






" They do, by heaven ! — Come Roderick Dhu, 




Aud of his clan the boldest two, 


«Elj£ £abj) of tl)c Cake 


And let me but till morning rest, 


T write the f'dsehnod on their crest" 




''If by the blaze I mark aright. 

Thou beiir'st the belt and spur of Knight." — 


CINTO FIFTH. 




" Then by these tokens mayst thou know 




Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — 


Srje Combat. 


" Enough, enough ; sit down and share 


I. 


A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 


Faik as the earliest beam of eastern light, 




When first, by the bewUder'd pilgrim spied, 


XXXI. 


It smUes upon the dreary br*iw of night, 


He gave him of his Highland cheer, 


And silvers o'er tlie torrent's foaming tide, 


The harden'd flesh of mountain deer ■' 


And lights the fearful path on mountain-side ; — * 


Dry fuel on the tire he laid, 


Fan- as that beam, although the ftiu-est far. 


And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 


Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 


He tended him like welcome guest, 


Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star; 


Then thus liis farther speech address' d. 


Tlu-ough all the wreckfid storms that cloud the 


"Stranger, I am to Roderick Dim 


brow of War. 


A clansman born, a kinsman true : 




Each word against his honor spoke, 


II. 


Demands of me avenging stroke ; 


That early beam, so fair and sheen, 


Yet more, — upon thy fate, 'tis said. 


Was twinkling through the hazy screen. 


A mighty augury is laid. 


When, rousing at its gUmmer red, 


It rests with me to wind my horn, — 


The warriors left their lowly bed. 


Tliou art with numbers overborne ; 


Look'd out upon the dappled sky, 


It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 


Mutter'd their soldier matins by. 


Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 


And then awaked their fire, to steal, 


But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause. 


As short and rude, theu- soldier meal. 


Will I depart o-om honor's hxws ; 


That o'er, the Gael" around him threw 


To assail a wearied man were shame. 


His graceful plaid of varied hue, 


Aud stranger is a holy name ; 


And, true to promise, led the way. 


(■fuidance and rest, and food and fire. 


By thicket green and mountain gray. 


In vam he never must require. 


A wildering path ! — they winded now 


Then rest thee here till down of day ; 


Along the precipice's brow. 


Myself wiU guide thee on the way. 


Commanding the rich scenes beneath. 


O'er stock and stone, through watch and ■ward. 


The windings of the Forth .and Teith, 


*MS.— "Idare! to hiip an*' aV tb.-PA'u-m 


* MS. — " And slept cntil the dawning streak 


He brings to aid hL" m'Td'trai arm." 


Purpled tlie moontaii) and the lake." 




6 MS.—" And lights the fearful way along its side." 


s See Appendix, Note 3 B'. 


• The Scottish Highlander calls himself Oael, or Gan., twi 


• See Aopendix, Note 3 G. 


terms the l.<.\vlandei^, Sassenac/t, or Sazooa. 



'220 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v 


And all the vales beneath that lie, 


" Yet why a second ventiu-e try ?" — 


Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 


" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 


Tlien, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 


Moves oiu- free course by such fix'd cause, 


Gain'd not the length of horseman's lance. 


As gives tlie poor mechanic laws ? 


'Twas oft so steep, tlie foot was fam 


Enough, I souglit to drive away 


Assistance from the liand to gam ; 


The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 


So tangled oft, that, bursting through, 


SUght cause will then suflice to guide 


Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, — 


A Knight's free footsteps far and wide, — ' 


That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 


A falcon flown, a greyhound stray'd. 


It rivals all but Beauty's tear. 


The merry glance of mountain miud : 




Or, if a patli be dangerous known. 


III. 


The danger's self is lure alone," — 


At length they came where, stern and steep,' 




Tlie hill sinks tlown upon the deep. 


y. 


Here Vennadiar in silver flows, 


" Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ; — ' 


There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 


Yet, ere ngam ye sought this spot. 


Ever tile lioUow path twined on. 


Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war. 


Beneath steep bank and tlireatening stone ; 


Against Clan-Alphie, raised by Mar !" 


An hundred men might hold the post 


— " No, by my word ; — of bands prepared 


With hardihood against a host. 


To guard King .lames's sports I heard ; 


The rugged mountahi's scanty cloak 


Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 


Was dwarfish shruba. of bircli and oak,* 


Tliis muster of the mountaineer. 


Witli shingles biu-e, and cUfl's between. 


Their pennons will abroad be flung. 


And patches briglit of bracken green. 


Wliich else m Doune had peaceful hung." — ' 


And heatlier black, that waved so high, 


" Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 


It lield tlie copse in rivalry. 


Then- silken folds should feast the moth. 


But wliere the lake slept deep and still. 


Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 


Dank osiers fringed tlie swamp and hill ; 


Clan-Alpine's ])ine in banner brave. 


And oft both path and hill were torn, 


But, Stranger, peaceful since you came. 


Where wintry torrents down had borne, 


Bewdder'd in tlie mountaui game. 


And lieap'd upon tlie cuniber'il land 


Whence the bold boast b}' which you show 


Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand 


Vicli-Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe ?" — 


So toilsome was the road to trace, 


" Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew 


The guide, abating of his pace. 


Naught of thy Cliieftam, Roderick Dhu, 


Led slowly througli the pass's jaws. 


Save as an outlaw'd desperate man. 


And ask'd Fitz-James, by wliat strange cause 


The chief of a rebellious clan. 


He sctught these wilds ? traversed by few. 


\Mio, in the Regent's court and sight. 


Without a psiss from Roderick Dhu. 


With ruflSan dagger stabb'd a knight : 




Yet this alone might from liis part 


IV. 


Sever each true and loyal heart" 


"Brave Gael, my pass in danger tried. 




Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 


VL 


Yet, stiotli to tell,'' the Saxon said. 


Wrothful at such arraignmeut foul. 


" I dreamt not now to claim its aid.' 


Dark lower'd the clansman's sable scowL 


Wlien liere, but three days since, I came, 


A space he paused, then sternly said. 


Bewilder'd in pursuit of game, 


" And lieard'st thou why he drew his blade 1 


All seem'd as peaceful and as still. 


Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow 


As the mist slumbering on yon liili ; 


Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 


Thy dangerous Chief was then afar. 


What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood 


Nor soon expected back fiom war. 


On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood J 


Thus said, at least, my mountain guide. 


He rights such wrong where it is given. 


Though deep, perchance, tlie villain lied." — 


If it were in the court of heaven." — 


' MS. — " Ar length Ihey paced the mountain's side, 


S MS.—" I dream'd not now to draw my blade " 


And b:iw beneatli the waters wide.*' 


< MS.-" My errant foot*te|,s ) ^^^ ^^^ ^.^^ ,. 


» ftIS — •' The rugged mountain's stunted screen 


A knight's bold wanderings 1 


Was dwarfish ( *''"'■' with cliffs between." 


'' MS.—" Thy secret keep. 1 ask it not." 


I copse i 


•■ MS. — " Which else in hati had peaceful hting." 



CANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



221 



" still was it outrage ; — yet, 'tis true, 


Is aught but retribution true ? 


Not then chum'd sovereignty liia due; 


Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." — 


Wliile Albiuiv, with feeble hand, 




Held borrowed truncheon of command,^ 


VIIL 


The young King, mew'd in Stirling 


Answer'd Fitz-James, — " And, if I sought, 


tower, 


Think'st thou uo other could be brought ? 


Was stranger to respect and power. 


What deem ye of my path waylaid ? 


But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! — 


My life given o'er to ambuscade ?" — 


Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 


" As of a meed to rashness due : 


Wrenching from ruin'd Lowland swain 


Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 


His herds and harvests rear'd in vain. — 


I seek my hound, or falcon stray'd. 


Methinks a soul, like thine, shoiJd scorn 


I seek, good faith, a Highland maid, — 


The spoils from such foul foray borne." 


Free hadst thou been to come and go: 




But secret path marks secret foe. 


VII. 


Nor yet, for this, even as a spy. 


The Gael beheld him giim the while, 


Hadst thou, unlieard, been doom'd to die, 


And answer'd with disdainful smile, — 


Save to fulfil mi augury." — 


" Saxon, from yonder mountain high. 


" Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 


1 mark'd thee send delighted eye, 


Fresh cause of enmity avow, 


Far to the south and east, where lay, 


To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 


Extended in succession gay. 


Enough, I am by promise tied 


Deep waving fields and pastures green. 


To match me with this man of pride : 


With gentle slopes and groves between: — 


Twice have I .souglit Clan- Alpine's glen 


Tliese fertile plains, that soften'd vale. 


In peace ;.but when I come agen, 


Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 


I come with banner, brand, and bow, 


The stranger came with iron hand. 


As leader seeks his mortal foe. 


And from our fathers reft the land. 


For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, 


Wliere dwell we now ! See, rudely swell 


Ne'er panted for the appointed hour. 


Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 


As I, until before me stand 


Ask we this savage hill we tread. 


This rebel Cliieftain and his band !"— ' 


For fatten'd steer or household bread ; 




Ask we for flocks these shingles dry. 


IX. 


And well the mountain might reply, — 


" Have, then, thy wish !" — he whistled shrill. 


' To you, as to yom- su-es of yore. 


And he was answer'd from the hill ; 


Ilelong the target and claymore ! 


Wild as the scream of the curlew. 


I give you shelter in my breast. 


From crag to crag the signal flew.* 


Your own good blades must win the 


Instant, through copse and heath, arose 


rest.' 


Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 


Pent in tliis fortress of the Nortli, 


On right, on left, above, below, 


Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 


Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 


To spoil the spoiler as we may. 


From shingles gray their lances start. 


And from the robber rend the prey ? 


The bracken bush sends forth the dart,' 


Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 


The rushes and the willow-wand 


The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 


Are bristling into axe and brand. 


WliUe, of ten thousand herds, there strays 


And every tuft of broom gives life' 


But one along yon river's maze, — 


To plaided warrior arm'd for strife. 


The Gael, of plain and river heu-. 


That whistle gturison'd the glen 


Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.' 


At once with full five hundred men, 


Where hve the moiuitain Chiefs who hold. 


As if the yawning liUl to heaven 


That plundering Lowland field and fold 


A subterranean host had given.' 


' S-ee Appendix, Note 3 H. ' Ibid. Note 3 I. 


That whistle manned the lonely glen 


• MS.— " This dark Sir Roderick ) ,,. , . ,, 
„, . „, , ■ I^i'' 'lis band." 
Tins savage Chieftain \ 


Witli full live hundred firmed mew." 


' The Monthly reviewer says — " We now come to the chef- 


* MS. — " From copse to copse the signal flew. 


rfViivrc of Walter Heott, — a scene of more vigor, nature, and 


Instant. Ihroagh copse and crfigs, arose." 


animation, than any other in all his poetry." Another anony- 


6 MS. — " The bracken bnsh shoots forth tlie dart." 


mous critic of the jioein is not afraid to quote, with reference 


• MS. — " And eacli lone tuft of broom gives bfe 


to the effect of this passage, the sublime langu.-tge of the Pro- 


To plaided warrior arm'd for strife. 


phet Ezckiel : — "Tlicn said he unto me. Proiiliesy unto (be 



222 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO V. 



Watching their leader's beck and wiU,' 

AH silent there they stood, and still. 

Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass 

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 

A.S if an infant's touch could urge 

Their headlong passage down the verge, 

With step and weapon forward flung, 

Upon the mountain-side they hung. 

The Mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's liying side, 

Then fix'd his eye and sable brow 

Full on Fitz-James — " How say'st thou now ? 

These are Clan- Alpine's warriors true ; 

And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu !" 



Fitz-James was brave t — Though to his heart 

The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start, 

He »nann'd himself with dauntless :ui", 

Return'd the Cliief his haughty stare. 

His back against a rock he bore, 

And firmly placed his foot before : — • 

" Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 

From its firm base as soon as I.'"" 

Sir Roderick mark'd — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise. 

And the stern joy which warriors feel 

In foenien worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved his band : 

Down sunk the disappearing baud ; 

Each warrior vanish'd where he stood. 

In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 

In osiers pale and copses low ; 

It seem'd as if their mother Eiu'tli 

Had swallow'd up her warlike birth. 

The wind's last breath had toss'd in air, 

Pennfin, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill-side. 

Whore heath and fern were waving wide ; 

The sun's last glance was glinted back. 

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — 

wind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith 
tlie Lord God ; Come from the four winds, O breath, and 
hrealhe ujton these slain, that they may live. ?o I jirophesied 
(ts lie commanded me, and the hrealh came into tliem, and they 
ived, ami stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army." 
-Cliap. .\x.\vii. V. 9, A. 
I MS. — " All silent, too, they stood, and still. 

Watching tlieir leader's beck and will. 
While forward step and weapon show 
They long to rush upon the foe, 
Like the loose crags, whose tottering mass 
Hung threatening o'er the hollow pass." 
- David de trtralhbogie Earl of Athoie, when about to en- 
gage Pir Andrew Moray at the battle of Kilblene, in 1335, in 
*vhich he was slain, made an apostrophe of the same kind : — 
" — At a little path was there 
All samen they a.-^scmbletl were 
Even ir Uie path was Earl Davy 



Tlie next, all um-eflected, shone 

On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 

XI. 
Fitz-Jamea look'd round — ^yet scarce beUeved 
The witness that his sight received ; 
Such apparition well might seem 
Delusion of a dreadfid dream. 
Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 
And to his look the Chief replied ; 
" Fear naught — nay, that I need not say — 
But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my word 
As far as Coilantogle ford : 
Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
For aid against one valiant hand,' 
Though on our strife lay every vale 
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.'' 
So move we on ; — I only meant 
To show the reed on which you leant. 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.'" 
They moved : — I said Fitz-James was brave, 
As ever knight that belted glaive ; 
Yet dare not say, that now his blood 
Kept on its wont and temper'd flood, 
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
Tliat seeming lonesome pathway through, 
Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 
With lances, that, to take his Ufe, 
Waited but signal from a guide, 
So late dishonor'd and defied. 
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanish'd guardians of the gromid. 
And still, from copse and heather deep. 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep,' 
And in the plover's slu-illy strain, 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they ■wind 
Along a wide and level green. 
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen. 



And to a great stone that lay by 
He said By God his face, we twa 
The flight on us shall samen* ta." 

3 MS. — " For aid against one brave mait^s hand." 

4 "This scene is excellently described. Tiie frankness and 
higb-souled courage of the two warriors, — the reliance which 
the Lowlander places on the word of the Highlander to guide 
him safely on his way the next morning, although he has 
spoken threatening and violent words against Rodericic, whose 
kinsman the mountaineer professes himself to be, — these cir- 
cumstances are all admirably imagined and related." — Jlonthly 
Review. 

s See Appendix, Note 3 K. 

6 MS. — " And still, from copse and heather busli, 
Fancy saw spear and broadswotJ rush." 

• At the aame time or toeelher. 

Note in the Author's MS. not ajixcd to any /ojmer edition o/lhepcfi^ 



CANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



223 



Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, 
To liide a bonnet or a spear. 

XII. 
Tlie Chief in silence strode before, 
And reacli'd that torrent's sounding sliore, 
Wliich, daughter of tlu'ee mighty lakes, 
From Vennachar in silver breaks, 
Sweeps through the pl.ain, and ceaseless mines 
On Bochastle the mouldermg hues," 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd.' 
And here his course the Gliieftain staid, 
Tlu^cw down liis target and liis plaid, 
And to the Lowland warrior said : — 
" Bold Saxon ! to Iiis promise just, 
Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust. 
This mm'derous Chief, this ruthless man, 
This head of a rebellious clan. 
Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward. 
Far past Chm-Alpine's outmost guiu'd. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A Cliieftain's vengeance thou shiilt feel. 
See here, all vantagelcss I stand, 
Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand ? 
For this is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

XIII. 

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delay'd, 

When foeman bade me di'aw my blade ; 

Nay, more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death : 

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 

And my deep debt for life preserved, 

A better meed have well deserved : 

Can naught but blood our feud atone ? 

Are there no means ?"— " No, Stranger, none I 

And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — 

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 

For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 

Between the Uving and the dead; 

' WIio spills the foremost foeman's life. 

His party conquers in the strife.' " — ■ 

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 

" The riddle is already read. 

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, — 

There Ues Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 

Tluis Fate has solved her prophecy, 

Tlien yield to Fate, and not to me. 

To James, at Sthling, let us go, 

J MS. — " On Bochastle the martial lines." 
•> See Appouili-v, Note 3 L. •• Ibid. Note 3 M. 

* MS. — " III ligtitning flasli'd the Ciiief's dark eye." 
fi MS. — " He stoops not, lie, to James nor Fate.'* 

^ " The two principal figures are contrasted with uncommon 
felicity. Fit/.-.Iames, who more nearly resembles the French 
Henry the Fourth ihan the Scottish James V., is gay, amor- 



Wlien, if thou wilt be still his foe, 
Or if the King .shall not agree 
To grant thee grace and favor free, 
I phght mute honor, oath, and word, 
That, to thy native strengths restored, 
With each ailvantage shidt thou 8t.and, 
That aids thee now to guard thy land." 

XIV. 
Dark lightning flash'd £i-om Roderick's eye — ' 
" Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 
Because a wretched kern ye slew. 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu 1 
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate !' 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : — 
My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet knight, 
Who ill deserved my coiu'teous care. 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair." — 
" I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone ! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone. 
Proud Chief I can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn. 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not— which thou wilt — • 
We try this quarrel liilt to hilt." — 
Then each at once liis falchion drew, 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw, 
Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain, 
As what they ne'er might see agam ; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed.' 

XV. 
HI fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw,'' 
Wliose brazen studs and tough buU-liide 
Had death so often da.sh'd aside ; 
For, train'd abroad liis arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and .shield. 
He practised every pass and ward, 

0U3, fickle, intrepid, impetuons, affectionate, courteous, grace- 
ful, and dignified. Roderick is gloomy, vindictive, arrogant, 
undaunted, but constant in his affections, and true to his en- 
gagements ; and the whole passage in which these personages 
are placed in opposition, from their first meeting to their final 
conflict, is conceived and written with a sublimity which h.ii 
been rarely equalled." — Quarterly Review, 1810. 
' See Appendix. Note 3 N. 



224 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOllKS. 



CANTO V 



To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
"While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintain'd unequal war.' 
Three times in closing strife they stood. 
And thiice the Saxon blade drank blood ; 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain. 
And shower'd his blows like wintry rain ; 
And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, 
Against the winter shower is proof, 
The foe, invulnerable stUl, 
Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill ; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand. 
And backward borne upon the lea. 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.^ 

XVI. 

" Now yield thee, or by Hira who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade !' 
" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die.''' 
— Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toU, 
Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 
Full at Fitz-James's thi'oat he sprung ;'' 
Received, but reck'd not of a wound, 
And lock'd his arms his foeman round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
Tliat desperate grasp thy frame might feel, 
Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 
They tug, they strain ! down, down they go, 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The Chieftain's gripe his thi'oat compress'd. 
His knee was planted in his breast ; 
His clotted locks he backward tln'ew, 
Across his brow his hand he drew. 
From blood and mist to clear his sight. 
Thou gleam'd aloft his dagger bright ! — 
— But hate and fury ill supphed 
The stream of life's exhausted tide. 
And all too late the advantage came. 
To tvu-n the odds of deadly game ; 
For, while the dagger gleam'd on high, 
Ileel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye. 
Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; 

1 MS. — " Not Roderick tliu?, lliough stronger far, 
More tall, anil more inured to war." 

3 This couplet is not in the MS. 

3 See Appendix, Note 3 O. 

* MS — " ' Yield they alone wlio fear to die.* 

Like mountain-cat who guards her yonng. 
Full at Fitz-Janies's throat he sprnng.'* 



Unwoimded from the dreadful close. 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.' 

xvn 

He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life, 

Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife ;° 

Next on his foe liis look he ca^t. 

Whose every gasp appear'd his last ; 

In Roderick's gore he dipt the braid, — 

" Poor Blanche I thy wrongs are dearly paid : 

Yet with thy foe must die, or live. 

The praise that Faith and Valor give." 

With that he blew a bugle-note. 

Undid the collar from his throat, 

XJnboimeted, and by the wave 

Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 

Then faint afar are heard the feet' 

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 

The sounds increase, and now are seen 

Four motmted squires in Lincoln-green ; 

Two who bear lance, and two who lead. 

By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed ; 

Each onward held his headlong course. 

And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse, — 

With wonder view'd the bloody spot — 

— " Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. — 

You, Herbert and Lutihess, alight. 

And bind the wounds of yonder knight ; 

Let the gray palfrey bear his weight. 

We destined for a fairer freight. 

And bring liim on to StirHng straight ; 

I will before at better speed. 

To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 

The Sim rides high ; — I must be botme, 

To see the archer-game at noon ; 

But hghtly Bayard clears the lea. — 

De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 

XVIIL 

" Stand, Bayard, stand !" — the steed obey'd. 
With arcliing neck and bended head. 
And glancing eye and quivering ear. 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stu-rup staid, 
No grasp upon the saddle laid. 
But wreathed his left hand in the mane, 
And lightly bounded from the plain, 
Turn'd on the horse his armed heel. 
And stirr'd his courage with the steeh 
Bounded the fiery steed in an-, 
The rider sate erect and fair, 

MS. — " Panting and hreathless on the sands, 
But all unwonnded. now he stands." 
6 MS. — " Redeemed, unhoped, from rfcat//y strife ; 

Ne.Tt on his foe his look he ] ' 

' threw. 

Whose every breath appear'd his last." 

' MS. — *' Faint and afar are heard the feet." 



CANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



225 



Then like a bolt from steel crossbow 
Forth launch'd, along the pluiii they go. 
They ilash'd that rapid torrent through, 
Aiid up Ciu-hoiiie's hiU they flew ; 
Still at the gallop prick'd the Knight, 
His nuTry-men foUow'd as they luight. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they ride, 
.\nd iu the race they mock thy tide ; 
'I'orry and Lendrick now .ire past, 
.\nd Deanstown lies beliind them cast ; 
They rise, the banner'd towers of Doune,' 
They sink m distimt woodland soon ; 
Bl;iir-Drunnuoud sees the hoofs strike fire," 
Tliey sweep like breeze thi'ough Ochtertyre ; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Kier ; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides. 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides. 
And on the opposing shore take ground, 
With plash, with scramble, and with bound. 
Ilight-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth !' 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Gray StirUng, with her towers and town, 
Upon their fleet career look'd down. 

XIX. 
As up the flinty path they strain'd* 
Sudden his steed the leader rein'd ; 
A signal to his squire he flung, 
"Who instant to his stirrup sprung : — 
" Scest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray, 
WTio townwiU'd holds the rocky way. 
Of statiu-e tall and poor arr.ay ? 
Miu'k'st thou the firm, yet active stride, 
With wliich he scales the mountain-side ?* 
Know'st thou from whence he comes, or 

whom ?'" — 
" No, by my word ; — a burly groom 
He seems, who in the field or chase 
A baron's tr.ain would nobly grace." — 
" Out, out, De V."iux ! can fe.or supply. 
And jealou.sy, no sharper eye ? 
Afar, ere to the liiU he drew, 
Tliat stately form and step I knew ; 
Like form in Scotland is not seen. 
Treads not such step on Scottish green. 
'Tis J.ames of Douglas, by Saint Serle !' 
The micle of the banish'd Earl. 

* The nii s of Doane Castle, formerly the residence of the 
Earls of Menteilh, now the property of the Earl of Moray, are 
lituate<l at the confiuenoe of the Ardoch and the Teith. 
s MS. — " Blair-Drunimond saw their hoofs ofjire.^' 
3 It may be worth noting, that the Poet marks the progress 
of the King hy naming in succession places familiar and dear 
to his own early recollections — Blaii^Drnmmond, the seat of 
the Homes of Kaimes ; Kier, that of the principal family of 
the name of Stirling ; Ochtertyre, that of John Ramsay, the 
w«ll-known antirjuary, and correspondent of Bums ; and 
Crttifilorth, that of the Callenders of Craigforlh, almost under 
29 



Away, away, to court, to show 

Tlie near approach of dreaded foe : 

Tlie King must stand upon his guard ; 

Douglas and he must meet prepared." 

Tiien right-hand wheel'd their steeds, and straij^lii 

They won the castle's postern gate. 

XX. 

The Douglas, who h.ad bent his way 

From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray, 

Now, as he climb'd the rocky shelf. 

Held sad communion with himself: — 

" Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 

A prisoner lies the noble Graeme, 

And fiery Roderick soon will feel 

The vengance of the royal steel. 

I, only I, can ward their fate, — 

God grant the ransom come not late I 

The Abbess hath her promise given. 

My cliild shall be the bride of Heaven ; — 

— Be pardon'd one repining tear ! 

For He, who gave her, knows how dear, 

How excellent ! but that is by. 

And now my business is — to die. 

— Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 

A Douglas by his sovereign bled ; 

And thou, sad and fatal moimd !' 

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. 

As on the noblest of the land 

FeU the stern headsm.on's bloody hand, — 

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 

Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom I 

— But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ? 

And see ! upon the crowded street. 

In motley groups what masquers meet 1 

Baimer and pageant, pipe and driiio. 

And merry morrice-dancers come. 

I guess, by all this quaint array. 

The burghers hold their sports to-day.' 

James wiU be there ; he loves such show, 

Wliere the good yeomen bends his bow, 

An il the tough wrestler foils his foe, 

As well as where, in proud career, 

Tlie high-born filter shivers spear. 

I'll follow to the Castle-p.ark, 

And play my prize ; — King James shall mark 

If age has tamed these sinews stark, 

the walls of Stirling Castle ; — all hospitable roofs, under which 

he had spent many of his younger days. — Ed. 
* MS. — " As up the sleepy path they strain'd." 
6 MS. — " With which he gains the mountain-side." 
B The Edinburgh Reviewer remarks on " that unhappy 

cooplet, where the King himself is in such distress for a rhyme 

as to be obliged to apply to one of the obscurest saints in th» 

calendar." The reading of the MS. is — 

" 'Tis James of Douglas, by my word, 
The uncle of the banish'd Lord." 
' See Appendix, Note 3 P. « Ibid. Note 3 a. 



226 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v. 


Whose force so oft, in happier days, 


Friar Tuck with quarterstafl' and cowl. 


His boyish wonder loved to praise." 


Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, 




Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone, 


xxr. 


Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little Johu ; 


The Castle gates were open flung. 


Their bugles challenge aU that will, 


The quivering drawbridge rock'd and rung. 


In archery to prove their skill. 


And echo'd loud the flinty street 


The Douglas bent a bow of might, — 


Beneath the com-sers' clattering feet, 


His first shaft ceuter'd in the white. 


As slowly down the steep descent 


And when in turn he shot again. 


Fan- Scotland's King and nobles went,' 


His second spht the first in twain. 


While aU along the crowded way 


From the Iving's hand must Douglas take 


Was jubilee and loud huzza. 


A silver dart, the archer's stake ; 


And ever James was bending low, 


Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye,' 


To his wliite jennet's saddle-bow. 


Some answermg glance of sympathy, — 


Doffing Ills cap to city dame, 


No kind emotion made reply ! 


Who smiled and blush'd for pride and shame. 


Indifferent as to archer wight. 


And well the simperer might be vain, — 


The monarch gave the arrow brighi 


He chose the fairest of the train. 




Gravely he greets each city sire. 


XXIII. 


Commends each pageant's quaint attire, 


Now, clear the rmg 1 for, hand to hand, 


Gives to the dancers thanks .aloud, 


The manly wrestlers take their stand. 


And smiles and nods upon the crowd. 


Two o'er the rest superior rose, 


Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, 


And proud demanded mightier foes, 


" Long Uve the Commons' King, Iving James !" 


Nor call'd m vain ; for Douglas came. 


Behind the King tlirong'd peer and kniglit, 


— For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 


And noble dame and damsel bright, 


Scarce better John of Alloa's fare. 


Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay 


Whom senseless home his comrades bear. 


Of the steep street and crowded way. 


Prize of the wrestlmg match, the King 


— But m the train you might discern 


To Douglas gave a golden ring,' 


Dark lowerhig brow and visage stern ; 


While coldly gl.tnced his eye of blue, 


There nobles mourn'd their pride restrain'd," 


As frozen drop of wintry dew. 


And the mean burgher's joys disdaiu'd ; 


Douglas would speak, but in his breast 


And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan. 


His struggling soul Iiis words suppress'd ; 


Were each from home a banish'd man, 


Indignant theu he turn'd him where 


There thought upon then- own gi-ay tower. 


Their aims the brawny yeomen bare. 


Theu- waving woods, their feudal power, 


To hurl the massive bar in air. 


And deem'd themselves a shameful part 


When each his utmost strength had shown. 


Of pageant which they cursed m heart. 


The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 




From its deep bed, then heaved it high, 


XXII. 


And sent the fragment through the sky, 


Kow, in the Castle-park, dj'ew out 


A rood beyond the farthest mark ; — 


Then- checker'd bands the joyous rout. 


And stUl m Stirling's royal park. 


There morricers, with bell at heel. 


The gray-hau-'d sires, who know the past. 


And blade in hand, then- mazes wheel ;' 


To strangers pomt the Douglas-cast, 


But chief, beside the butts, there stand 


And moralize on the decay 


Bold Robm Hood' and all liis band, — 


Of Scottish strength in modern day.' 


» MS.—" King James and all his nobles went . , 


3 The MS. adds :— 


Ever the King 2cas bending low 


" With awkward stride there city groom 


To his wliite jennet's sadille-bow. 


Would part of fabled knight assume." 


DotBng liis cap to btn-gher dame, 


' See Appendix, Note 3 R. 


fyiio smiling blush'd for [iriile and sliame." 


* MS. — *' Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye. 


* MS. — " Nobles who monrn'd their power restrain'd. 


For answering glance of sympathy, — 


And the poor burgher's joys disdain'd ; 


Sut no emotion made reply I 


Dark chief, who, hostage for liis clan, 


Indifferent as to unknoxon i 


Was from his home a banish'd man. 


Cold as to unknown yeoman { ^'= ' 


IVho ttiought upon his own gray tower. 


The king gave forth the arrow bright." 


The waving woods, his feudal bower. 


« See Appendix, Note 3 S. 


And deem'd himself a shamefol part 


' Ibid. Note 3 T. 


Of pageant that he cursed in heart." 


8 MS. — " Of mortal strength in modern day." 



CANTO T. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 227 


XXIV. 


Came up, and with his leash unbound, 


The vale with loud applauses rang, 


In anger struck the noble hoimd. 


The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 


— The Douglas had endured, that morn. 


The King, with look unmoved, bestow'd 


The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn. 


A purse well fiU'd with pieces broad.' 


And last, and worst to spirit proud. 


Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, 


Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 


And threw the gold among the crowd," 


But Lufra had been fondly bred. 


"WTio now, with anxious wonder, scan. 


To share Itis board, to watch his bed. 


And sh;irper ghmce, the dark gray man ; 


And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck 


Till ~ liispers rose among the throng. 


In maiden glee with garlands deck ; 


That heart so free, and h;md so strong, 


They were such playmates, that with name 


Must to the Douglas blood belong ; 


Of Lufra, Ellen's unage came. 


The old men mark'd, and shook the head. 


His stifled wrath is brimming high. 


To see his hair with silver spread. 


In darken'd brow and flashing eye ; 


And wiuk'd aside, and told each son, 


As waves before the bark divide, 


Of feats upon the Enghsh done, 


The crowd gave way before his stride ; 


Ei*e Douglas of the stalwart hand^ 


Needs but a buffet and no more. 


Was exiled from his native land. 


The groom lies senseless in his gore. 


The women praised liis stately form, 


Such blow no other hand could deal. 


Though wreck'd by many a winter's storm ;* 


Though gauntleted in glove of steel. 


The youth with awe and wonder saw 




His strength surpassing Nature's law. 


XXVL 


Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, 


Then clamor'd loud the royal train,' 


Till murmur rose to clamors loud. 


And brandish'd swords and staves amain. 


But not a glance from that proud ring 


But stem the Baron's warning — ■" Back !' 


Of peers who circled round the King, 


Back, on your lives, ye menial pack ! 


With Douglas held couunmiion kind. 


Beware the Douglas. — Yes 1 behold, 


Or caU'd the banish'd num to mind ;° 


King James ! the Douglas, doom'd of old, 


No, not from those who, at the chase, 


And vainly sought for near and far. 


Once held his side the honor'd place, 


A victim to atone the war. 


Begirt his board, and, in the field. 


A willing victim, now attends, 


Found safety underneath his shield ; 


Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." — 


For he, whom royal eyes disown. 


" Thus is my clemency repaid ? 


When was his form to courtiers known ! 


Presumptuous Lord !" the monarch said ; 




" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan. 


XXV. 


Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man. 


The Monarch saw the gambols flag. 


The only man, in whom a foe 


And bade let loose a gallant stag. 


My woman-mercy would not know : 


"WHiose pride, the holiday to crown, 


But shall a Monarch's presence brook" 


Two favorite greyhounds .should pull down. 


Injurious blow, and haughty look ? — 


That venison free, and Bordeaux wine, 


What ho ! the Captain of our Guard I 


Might serve the archery to dine. 


Give the offender fitting ward. — 


But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side 


Break off the sports !" — for tmnult rose, 


Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide. 


And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, — 


The fleetest hound in all the North, — 


" Break off the sports 1" he said, and frowu'd. 


Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 


" And bid our horsemen clear the ground." 


She left the royal hounds mid-way, 




And dashing on the antler'd prey. 


xxvn. 


Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank. 


Then uproar wild and misarray 


And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 


Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 


The King's stout huntsman saw the sport 


The horsemen prick'd among the crowd, 


By strange intruder broken short, 


Repell'd by threats and insult loud ;' 


1 MS. — " A pnise leeigh^d doion with pieces broad." 


7 MS. — *' But stem the warrior's warning — ' Back I' " 


* MS. — " Scattered tlie gold among the crowd." 
J MS.—*' Ere James of Douglas' stalwart hand." 


^ MS. — " Bat in my court, injurious blow, 

And bearded llius. and thus out-dared ' 


• MS. — " Thoogh worn by many a winter storm." 
» ArS — " Or call'd his stately form to mind." 


What ho ! the Captain of our Guard I" 


• MS. — " Clamor'd his comrades of the train." 


8 MS. — " Their threats repell'd by insult loud." 



228 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v 


To earth are borne the old and weak, 


Bless'd him who staid the civil strife ; 


The timorous fly, the women sluiek ; 


And mothers held their babes on high, 


Witli flint, with sliaft, with stafif, with bar, 


The self-devoted Chief to spy, 


Tlie hardier urge tumultuous war. 


Triumphant over wrongs and ire, 


At once round Douglas darkly sweep 


To whom the prattlers owed a su-e : 


The royal spears in circle deep, 


Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ; 


And slowly scale the pathway steep ; 


As if behind some bier beloved. 


Wliile on the rear in thunder pour 


With trailing arms and droopmg head, 


The rabble with disorder'd roar. 


The Douglas up the liill he led. 


With grief the noble Douglas saw 


And at the Castle's battled verge. 


The Commons rise agamst the law, 


With sighs resign'd his honor'd charge. 


And to the leading soldier said, — 




" Sir John of Hyndford ! 'twas my blade 


XXX. 


Tli.at knighthood on thy shoulder laid ; 


The oft'ended Monarch rode apart. 


For that good deed, permit me then 


With bitter thought and swelUng heart, 


A word with these misguided men. 


And woidd not now vouchsafe again 




Tlirough StuUng streets to lead his train. 


XXVIII. 


" Lennox, who would wish to rule 


" Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet for me. 


Tills changeling crowd, this common fool ? 


Ye break the bands of fealty. 


Hearst thou," he said, " the loud acclaim. 


My life, my honor, and my cause, 


With wliich they shout the Douglas' name ? 


I tender free to Scotland's laws. 


With Uke acclaim, the vulgar throat 


Are these so weak as must require 


Strain'd for King James then- morning note ; 


The aid of your misguided ire ? 


With like acclaim they h.ail'd the day 


Or, if I suffer causeless wrong, 


When first I broke the Douglas' sway ; 


Is then my selfish rage so strong, 


And like acclakn would Douglas greet, 


My sense of public weal so low, 


If he could hm'l me from my seat. 


That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 


Wlio o'er the herd would wish to reign, 


Those cords of love I should unbind. 


Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain ! 


Which knit my country and my kmd ! 


Vain as tlie leaf upon the stream," 


Oh no ! BeUeve, in yonder tower 


And tickle as a changeful dream ; 


It will not soothe my captive hour. 


Fantastic .as a woman's mood, 


To know those spears our foes should di'ead, 


And fierce as Phrensy's fever'd blood. 


For me in kindred gore are red ; 


Thou many-headed monster thmg," 


To know, in fruitless brawl begun. 


who would wish to be thy king 1 


For me, that mother wails her son ; 




For me, that widow's mate expires ; 


XXXI. 


For me, that orphans weep their sires ; 


" J3ut soft ! what messenger of speed 


That patriots mourn insulted laws. 


Spurs hitherward his panting steed ? 


And curse the Douglas for the cause. 


I guess his cognizance afar — ■ 


let your patience w.ard such ill. 


What from oui- cousin, Jolm of Mar ?" — 


And keep your right to love me still 1" 


" He prays, my liege, yom- sports keep boimd 




Within the safe and guiirded ground : 


XXIX. 


For some foul purpose yet imknown, — 


The crowd's wild fury simk again' 


Most sure for evil to the throne,— 


In tears, as tempests melt m rain. 


The outl.aw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 


With lifted h.ands and eyes, they pray'd 


Has suminon'd his rebellious crew : 


For blessings ou his generous head, 


'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid 


Who for his country felt alone. 


Tliese loose banditti stand array "d. 


And prized her blood beyond his own. 


The Earl of Mar, tliis morn, from Doune, 


Ohl men, upon the verge of life, 


To break their muster march'd, and soon 


' MS. — " The crowd's wild fury ebb'd .imam 


Whicli would increase his evil. He that depends 


In tears, as tempests sink in r:iin." 


U]ion your favors, swims with fins of lead, 


t MS.—" Vain as the sick man's idle dream.** 


And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye I Trust ye 7 
Witli every minute you do change a mind ; 


> " Who deserves greatness, 


And call him noble, that was now your hate. 


Deserves your hate ; ami your atlections are 


Him vile that was your garland." 


A sick man's appetite, who desires most tliat 


Coriolanus, Act. I. Seeoa t. 

i 



CANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



229 



Your gr.ice will hear of battle fought ; 
But earnestly the Earl besought, 
Till for sudi danger he provide, 
With scanty train you will not ride." — ' 

XXXII. 

'■ Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, — 
I should have earlier look'd to this : 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
— Retrace with speed thy former way ; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war : 
Roderick, this morn, in single fight. 
Was made our prisoner by a knight ; 
And Douglas hath himself tmd cause 
Submitted to om- kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve.the mountain host, 
Nor would we that the vulgar feel. 
For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. 
Bear Mar our message, Braco : fly !" 
He turn'd his steed, — " My Uege, I hie, — 
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, 
I fear the broadswords will be drawn." 
The tiu-f the flying courser spurn' d. 
And to his towers the King return'd. 

XXXIII. 

Ill with King James's mood that day 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismiss'd the courtly throng, 
And soon cut short the festal song. 
Kor less upon the sadden'd town 
The evening sunk in sorrow down. 
The burghers spoke of civil jar. 
Of rumor'd feuds and mountain war, 
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms : — the Douglas too. 
They moiu'n'd him pent witliin the hold, 
" Where stout Earl Wilham was of 

old"—' 
And there his word the speaker staid. 
And finger on liis lip he laid, 
Or pomted to his dagger blade. 
But jaded horsemen, from the west. 
At evening to the Castle press'd ; 
And busy talkers said they bore 
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore ; 
At noon the deadly fray begun. 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumor shook the town. 
Till closed the Night her pennons brown. 

1 MS. — '* On distant chase yon will not ride." 
* Stabbed by James II. in Stirling Castle. 



Sljc £a'ii^ of tl)c Coke. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



Bit <Kuartr°3Eloam. 



The sun, awakemng, through the smoky air 

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance. 
Rousing each caitiff to liis task of care. 

Of sinful man the sad uiheritance ; 
Summoning revclli.'rs from the lagging dance, 

Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; 
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance. 

And warning student pale to leave his pen. 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of 
men. 

What various scenes, and, ! what scenes of woe, 

Are witness'd by that red and struggling beam I 
The fever'd patient, from liis pallet low. 

Through crowded hospital beholds it stream ; 
The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam. 

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 
The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting 
dream ; 

The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale. 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes liis 
feeble wail. 

n. 

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 

With soldier-step and weapon-clang. 

While drums, with rolling note, foretell 

Relief to weary sentinel. 

Through narrow loop and casement barr'd,' 

The sunbeams souglit the Court of Guard, 

And, struggling with the smoky air, 

Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. 

In comfortless alliance shone' 

The Ughts through arch of blacken'd stone, 

And show'd wild shapes in garb of war, 

Faces deform'd with beard and .scar. 

All haggard from the midnight watch. 

And fever'd witli the stern debauch ; 

For the oak table's massive board. 

Flooded with wine, with frsignients stored. 

And beakers drain'd, and cups o'ertlirown, 

Show'd in what sport the night had flown. 

Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 

Some labor'd still their thirst to quench ; 

Some, chiU'd with watcliing, spread their hands 

O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, 

3 MS. — " Throngh blacken'd arch and -basement barr'd.'' 
* MS. — " The ligh> in strange alliance shone 

Beneath the arch ol' blacken'd stone." 



2nu 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAKTO VI. 



Wliile round them, or beside them flung, 
At every step their harness rung. 

III. 
These drew not for their fields the sword. 
Like tenants of a feudal lord, 
Nor own'd the patriarclial claim 
Of Chieftain in theb" leailer's name ; 
Adventurers they, from far who roved, 
To hve by battle which they loved. ^ 
Tliere the Italian s clouded face, 
Tlie swarthy Spaniard's there you trace ; 
The muuntain-loving Switzer there 
M<)re freely breathed in mountain-air: 
The Fleming there despised tlie soil 
That paid so ill the laborer's toil ; 
Tlieir rolls show'd French and German name ; 
And merry England's exiles came, 
To share, with ill-conceal'd disdain, 
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
All brave in arms, well train'd to wield 
The heavy halberd, brand, and shield ; 
In camps licentious, wild, and bold ; 
In pillage fierce and uncontroU'd ; 
And now, by holytide and feast, 
From rules of discipline released. 

IV. 
Tliey held debate of bloody fray, 
Fought 'twist Lock Katrine and Achray. 
Fierce was their speech, and. 'mid their words, 
Their hjmds oft grappled to their swords ; 
Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear 
Of wounded comrades groaning near, 
Whose mangled hmbs, and bodies gored, 
Bore token of tlie mountain sword. 
Though, neighboring to the Coui't of Guard, 
Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ; 
Sad burden to the ruffian joke, 
And savage oath by fury spoke ! — "^ 
At length up started Jt>hn of Brent, 
A yeoman from the banks of Trent ; 
A stranger to respect or fear, 
111 peace a chaser of the deer, 



1 See Appendix, Note 3 U. 

- MS. — " Sati burden to llie ruffian jest, 

And rude oailis vented l>y the real.'* 

3 Bacclianalian interjection, borrowed from the Dutch. 

1 " The greatest blemish in the poem, is the ribaldry and 
dull vulgarity which is put into the mouths of the soldiery in 
the guard-room. Mr. Scott has condescended to write a song 
for them, which will be read with pain, we are persuaded, 
even by his warmest admirers; ami liis whole genius, and 
even Iiis power of versi filial ion. seems to desert him when he 
attempts to repeat their conversation. Here is some of the 
eluff' which has dropped, in this inauspicious attempt, from 
the pen of one of tlie firit of poets of his age or country," &c. 
Itc. — Jeffrky. 



In host a hardy mutineer. 

But still the boldest of the crew, 

Wlien deed of danger was to do. 

He grieved, that day, their games cut short, 

And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport, 

And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl 1 

And, while a merry catch I troll, 

Let each the buxom chorus bear, 

Like brethren of the brand and spear." 

V. 

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown 

bowl, 
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly 

black-jack, 
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack ; 
Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off with thy liquor. 
Drink upsees' out, and a fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, 
Says, that Beelzebub hirks in her kercliief so sly 
AndApoUyon shoots darts from her merry blact 

eye; 
Yet -whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker, 
TUl she bloom Uke a rose, and a fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar thus preaches — and why should he not ? 
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot ; 
And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch, 
Who infringe the domains of oiu- good Mother 

Church. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor, 
Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar. 

VL 
Tlie warder's challenge, heard without, 
Staid in mid-roar the merry shout. 
A soldier to the portal went, — 
" Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent ; 
And, — beat for jubilee the drum ! 
A maid and minstrel with liim come." 



" The Lady of the Lake is said to be inferior, as a fjoeni, to 
Walter Scott's former productions, but really one h;inliv 
knows how to examine sufh compositions .is poem«. AW 
that one can look for is to find beautiful passages in them, 
and 1 own that there are some parts of the Lady of the Lake 
which please me more than any thing in Walter Scott's for- 
mer poems. He has a great tleal of imagination, and is cer- 
tainly a very skilful painter. The meeting between Douglas 
and his daughter, the King descending from Stirling Crtstle to 
assist at the festival of the townsmen (though borrowed in a 
considerable degree from Dryden's Pnlamon and Arcite), and 
the gnard-room at the beginning of tlie last canto, all show 
extraordinary powep. of description. If he wrote less and 
more carefully, he would be q very considerable poet." — Sio 
Samuel Romilly. [On. 1810.1 — Life, vol. ii. p. 342. 



CANTO VI. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 231 


Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarr'd, 


Cheer'd liim in camps, in marches led. 


Was entering now the Court of Guard, 


And with him in the battle bled. 


A harper witli him, and in plaid. 


Not from the valiant, or the strong, 


All muffled close, a mountain maid, 


Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." — • 


Wlio backward shrunk to 'scape the view 


Answer'd De Breut, most forward still 


Of the loose scene .and boisterous crew. 


In every feat or good or ill, — 


" What news ?" they roar'd, — •" I only know. 


" I shame me of the part I play'd : 


From noon till eve we fought with foe, 


And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid ! 


As wUil and as untameable 


An outlaw I by forest laws. 


As the rude mountains where they dwell ; 


And merry Needwood knows the cause. 


On both sides store of blood is lost, 


Poor Rose, — if Rose be livuig now," — ^ 


Nor much success can either boast." — 


He wiped his iron eye and brow,— . 


" But whence thy captives, friend ! such spoil 


" Must bear such age, I think, as thou. — 


As theirs must needs reward thy toil.' 


Hear ye, my mates ; — I go to call 


Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp ; 


The Captain of our watch to hall : 


Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp 1 


There hes my halberd on the floor ; 


Gel thee an ape, and trudge the land. 


And he that steps my halberd o'er. 


The leader of a juggler baud." — " 


To do the maid injurious part. 




My shaft sh.all quiver in his heart ! — 


VII. 


Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 


" No, comrade ; — no such fortime mine. 


Ye all know John de Breut. Enough." 


After the fight these sought cm* line, 




That aged harper and the girl. 


IX. 


And, having audience of the Earl, 


Their Captain came, a gallant young — 


Mar bade I should purvey them steed. 


(Of TuUibardine's house he sprtmg), 


And bring them hitherward with speed. 


Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 


Forbear your mirth and rude .alarm. 


Gay was his mien, his Inmior light. 


For none shall do them shame or harm." — 


And, though by coin-tesy controU'd, 


" Hear ye liis boast ?" cried John of Brent, 


Forward liis speech, his bearing bold. 


Ever to strife and jangling bent ; 


The high-born maiden Ul could brook 


"Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, 


Tlie scanning of his curious look 


And yet the jealous niggard grudge 


And daimtless eye ; — and yet, in sooth. 


To pay the forester his fee ? 


Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 


ril have my share, howe'er it be. 


But Ellen's lovely face and mien. 


Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 


Bl suited to the gai-b and scene. 


Bertrmn his forward step withstood ;' 


Might lightly bear construction strange. 


And, burning in liis vengeful mood. 


And give loose fancy scope to range. 


Old Allan, though unfit for strife, 


" Welcome to Stirling towers, fan- maid ! 


Laid hand upon liis dagger-knife ; 


Come ye to seek a champion's aid. 


But Ellen boldly stepped between. 


On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 


And dropp'd at once the tartan screen : — 


Like errant damosel of yore ? 


So, from liis morning cloud, appears 


Does thy high quest a knight require, 


The sun of May, through summer tears. 


Or may the venture suit a squire ?" — 


The savage soldiery, am.ized,* 


Her dark eye flasli'd ; — she paused and sigh'd— 


As on descended angel gazed ; 


" what have 1 to do with pride ? — 


Even hardy Brent, abaiih'd and tamed, 


Tlirough scenes of sorrow, 8h.arae, and strife, 


Stood half admh-ing, half ashamed. 


A supplimit for a father's Ufe, 




I crave an audience of the King. 


vni. 


Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 


Boldly she spoke, — " Soldiers, attend ! 


The royal pledge of grateful claims. 


My father was tlie soldier's friend ; 


Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James.'" 


' Tlie MS. reads after this :— 


'MS "Bertram! '"'' f violence withstood." 


" Get ilice an ape, .mil then at once 
Tlion niayst renoiiru'e the warcier'a tance, 
And trudge rliruuj^h Ijoroagh and through land, 
The leader of a jii;,'gler band." 


' swell * 
* MS.—" While the rude soldiery, amazed." 
» M.S.—" Should Ellen Doujlaa sDlfer wron?." 
^ MS. — " ' My Rose.' — he wiped his iron eye and brow 
' Poor Rose. — if Rose be living now,' " 


• See Appendix. Note :l V 


' MS. — " The Monareh gave to James Fitz-Ja.-nn 



23^ SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi. 


X. 


" We Southern men, of long descent ; 


The signet-ring young Lewis took, 


Nor wot we how a name — a word — 


With deep respect and alter'd look; 


Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 


And said, — " This rmg our duties own ; 


Yet kind my noble landlord's part, — 


And pardon, if to worth unknown. 


God bless the house of Beaudesert ! 


In semblance mean obscurely veil'd, 


And, but I loved to drive the deer, 


Lady, in aught my folly fail'd. 


More than to guide the laboring steer. 


Soon as the day flings wide his gates, 


I had not dwelt an outcast here. 


The King shall know what suitor waits. 


Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 


Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower 


Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see." 


Repose you till his waking hour ; 




Female attendance shall obey 


XIL 


Yoiu- best, for service or array. 


Then, from a rusted iron hook, 


Permit I marshal you the way." 


A bunch of ponderous keys he took. 


But, ere she followed, with the grace 


Lighted a torch, and AUan led 


And open bounty of her race. 


Through grated arch and passage dread. 


She bade her slender purse be shared 


Portals they pass'd, where, deep within. 


Among the soldiers of the guard. 


Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din ; 


The rest with thanks their guerdon took ; 


Through rugged vaults,^ where, loosely stoi ed. 


But Brent, with shy and awkward look. 


Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 


On the reluctant maiden's hold 


And many an hideous engine grim. 


Forced bluntly back the proffer'd gold ; — 


For wrenching jomt, and crusliing' hrab. 


" Forgive a haughty Enghsh heart, 


By artist form'd, who deem'd it shame 


And forget its ruder part ! 


And sin to give their work a name. 


The vacant purse shall be my share,' 


They halted at a low-brow'd porch. 


Which m my barret-cap I'U bear, 


And Brent to Allan gave the torch, 


Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 


While bolt and chain he backward roU'd, 


Where gayer crests may keep afar." 


And made the bar imhasp its hold. 


With thanks — 'twas all she could — the maid 


They enter'd : — 'twas a prison-room 


His rugged coiu-tesy repaid. 


Of stern secm-ity and gloom. 




Yet not a dungeon ; for the day 


XL 


Through lofty gratings foimd its way, 


When EUen forth with Lewis went. 


And rude and antique garniture 


Allan made suit to John of Brent ; — 


Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor ;* 


" My lady safe, let your grace 


Such as the rugged days of old 


Give me to see my master's face ! 


Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. 


His mmstrel I, — to share his doom 


" Here," said De Brent, " thou mayst remain' 


Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 


Till the Leech visit him again. 


Tenth in descent, since first my sires 


Strict is his charge, the warders tell. 


Waked for liis noble house their lyres, 


To tend the noble prisoner well." 


Nor one of aU the race was known 


Retiring then, the bolt he drew. 


But prized its weal above their own. 


And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew. 


With the Chief's birth begms our care ; 


Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 


Our harp must soothe the infant heir. 


A captive feebly raised his head ; 


Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 


The wondering Minstrel look'd, and knew^ . 


His earliest feat of field or chase ; 


Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu ! 


In peace, in war, our rank we keep, 


For, come from where Clan- Alpine fought. 


We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep. 


They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought. 


Nor le.ave lum till we pour our verse — 




A doleful tribute ! — o'er his hearse. 


xin. 


Then let me share his captive lot ; 


As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 


It is my right — deny it not !" — 


Shall never stem the billows more, 


" Little we reck," said John of Brent, 


Deserted by her gallant band, 


1 MS. — '* The silken pnree shall serve for me, 


' MS. " Thou maysl remain 


And in my I)arret-cap shall flee." 


And then, retiring, bolt and chain, 


* MS. — " Z.9W broad vaults.^' 


And rnsty bar. he drew again. 


' MS.—" Stntching." * MS.—" Flinty floor." 


Ronsed at tlie sonnd," &c. 



CANTO VI. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 233 


Amid the breakers lies astrauil, — 


He witness'd from the mountain's height, 


So, nil liis couch, lay Rddcriclv Dhu ! 


■With what old Bertram told at night,* 


Anil oft his fever'tl limbs be threw 


Awaken'd the full power of song. 


la toss abrupt, as when her sides 


And bore liim in career along; — 


Lie rocking in the advancing tides, 


As shallop lamich'd on river's tide. 


That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, 


Tliat slow and fearful leaves the side, 


Yet cannot heave her from her seat ; — 


But, when it feels the middle stream, 


! liow unlike her course at sea !' 


Drives downward swift as lightning's beam. 


Or his free step on hill and lea 1— 


' 


Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, 


XV. 


" What of thy lady ?— of my clan »— 


aSattlc ut iSeaV an JDuine.' 


ily mother ? — Douglas ? — tell me all ! 


" Tlie Minstrel came once more to view 


Have tiiey been ruin'd in my fall ? 


The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 


Ah, yes ! or wherefore art tliou here i 


For, ere he pai-ted, he would say 


Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not fear." — 


Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — 


(For Allan, who liis mood well knew. 


"Wliere shall he find, in foreign land, 


Was choked with gi-ief and terror too.) — 


So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! 


" Who fought— who fled ?— Old man, be brief;— 


There is no breeze upon the fern. 


Some might — for they had lost their Chief. 


Nor ripple on the lake. 


Who basely live ? — who bravely died V — 


Upon her eyry nods the erne. 


■' O, calni thee, Cliief I" the Minstrel cried, 


The deer has sought the brake ; 


■ EUen is safe." — " For that, thank Heaven ?" — 


The small birds will not sing aloud, 


■ And hopes are for the Douglas given ; — 


The springing trout lies stiU, 


The Lady Margaret, too, is well ; 


So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, 


And, for thy clau, — on field or fell. 


That swathes, as witli a pm-ple shroud. 


Has never harp of mmstrel told,^ 


Benledi's distant liill. 


Of combat fought so true and bold. 


Is it the thunder's solemn sound 


Thy stately Prue is yet unbent. 


That mutters deep and dread. 


Tliough many a goodly bough ib rent." 


Or eclioes from the groaning ground 




The warrior's measured tread! 


XIV. 


Is it the lightning's quivering glance 


The Chieftain rear'd his form on high. 


That on the thicket streams, 


And fever's fii-e was in liis eye ; 


Or do they flash on spear and lance 


But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 


The sun's retu-ing beams ? , 


Checker'd his swartliy brow and cheeks. 


—I see the dagger-crest of M.ar, 


— '* Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play. 


I see the Moray's silver star, 


With measure bold, on festal day, 


W^ave o'er the cloud of Saxon war. 


In yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er 


That up the lake comes winding far ! 


Shall harper play, or warrior hear- ! . . . 


To hero bound for battle-strife, 


Tliat stu-ring au" that peals on high, 


Or bard of martial lay. 


O'er Dermid's race our victory. — 


'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life. 


Strike it !^ — and then (for well thou canst), 


One glance at their array ! 


Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced. 




Fling me the picture of the fight. 


XVL 


Wlien met my clan the Saxon might. 


" Their light-arm'd archers far and near 


I'll listen, till my fancy hears 


Survey'd the tangled ground. 


Tlie clang of swords, the crash of spears ! 


Their centre ranks, with pike and speai 


Tliese grates, these walls, shall vanish then. 


A twUight forest frown'd. 


For the fair field of fighting men. 


Their barbed horsemen, in the rear. 


And my free spii-it burst away, 


Tlie stern battalia crown'd. 


As if it so:u-'d from battle fray." 


No cymbal clasli'd, no clarion rang. 


The trembling Bard with awe obey'd, — 


Still were the pipe and drum ; 


Slow on the harp liis liand he laid ; 


Save heavy tread, and armor's clang, 


But soon remembrance of the sight 


The sullen mardi was dumb. 


' MS. — " 0!i ! how unlike iiir course on maio ! 


Of combat fought so fierce inil well.' 


Or his free slep on hill and plain !" 


» See Appendix, Note 3 W. ' The MS. hu not tbia Um 


' .MS.—" Sh:lll never hnrp of min.stn?l tell, 
30 


- See Appendix, Note 3 X. 



■ ■ ..■■-■ 1 —■■■,.■■- . . . ■ — ^ 

234 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi. 


There breathed nowmd their crests to shake, 


Above the tide, each broadsword bright 


Or wave tlieir flags abroad ; 


Was brandishmg like beam of light. 


Scarce the frjiil aspen seem'd to quake, 


Each targe was dark below ; 


That shadow'd o'er theu- road. 


And with the ocean's mighty swing. 


Their vaward scouts no tidings bring. 


When heaving to the tempest's wing. 


Can rouse no lurking foe. 


Tliey hurl'd them on the foe. 


Nor spy a trace of living thing, 


I heard the lance's shivering crash. 


Save when they stirr'd the roe ; 


As when the whudwrnd rends the ash. 


The host moves, like a deep-sea w ive, 


I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 


Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 


As if an hundred anvils rang ! 


Higli-swelling, dark, and slow. 


But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank 


The lake is passVl, and now they gain 


Of horsemen on Clan-Alpme's flank, 


A n;irrow and a broken plain, 


— ' My bauner-man, advance ! 


Befiire the Trosach's rugged jaws; 


I see,' he cried, ' their column shake. — 


And here the horse and spearmen pause. 


Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake. 


Wliile, to explore the dangerous glen, 


Upon them with the lance !' 


Dive through the pass the archer-men. 


Tlie liorsenien dash'd among the rout, 




As deer break through the broom ; 


XVII. 


Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, 


" At once there rose so wild a yell 


They soon make hghtsome room. 


Witliin that dark and narrow dell, 


Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — 


As all the fiends, from heaven th.at fell, 


Where, where was Roderick then ! 


Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell ! 


One blast upon liis bugle-horn 


Forth from the pass m tumult driven. 


Were worth a thousand men ! 


Like ciiaff before the wind of heaven, 


Anil refluent tlirough the pass of fear' 


The arcliery appear ; 


The battle's tide was pour'd; 


For life ! for life ! their plight they ply — 


Vanisli'd the Saxon's struggling spear, 


And sln-iek, and shout, and battle-cry. 


Vanish'd the mountam-.sword. 


And plaids and bonuets waving liigh. 


As Br.acklinn's chasm, so black and steep. 


And broadswords flashing to the slcy, 


Receives her roaring linn, 


Are maddening in the rear. 


As the dark caverns of the deep 


Onw.ard they drive, in ch*eadful race. 


Suck the wild whirlpool in, 


Pursuers and pursued ; 


So did the deep .and d.arksome pass 


Befts-e that tide of flight and chase. 


Devour the battle's mingled mass: 


How shall it keep its rooted place, 


None linger now upon the plain. 


Tlie spearmen's twilight wood ? — 


Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 


' Down, down,' cried Mar, ' your lances down ! 




Bear back both friend and foe !' — 


XIX. 


Like reeds before tlie tempest's frown, 


" Now westward rolls the battle's din, 


Tliat serried grove of l.ances brown 


That deep and doubling pass witliin. 


At once lay levell'd low ; 


— Minstrel, away, the work of f«te' 


And closely shouldering side to side, 


Is bearing on : its issue wait. 


Tlie bristling ranks the onset bide. — ' 


Where the rude Trosach's dread defile 


' We'll quell the savage mountaineer, 


Opens <in Katrine's lake and isle. — 


As theu- TmclieP cows the game 1 


Gr.ay Beuveuue I soon repass'd. 


T)iey come as fleet as forest deer. 


Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 


We'll drive them back as tame.' — 


The sun is set ; — the clouds are met. 




The lowering scowl of lieaven 


xvin. 


An inkv view of vivid blue 


" Bearuig before them, in their course. 


To tlie deep lake has given ; 


The relics of the archer force, 


Strange gusts of wmd from mountain-glen 


Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 


Swept o'er the lake, then sunk .agen. 


Right onward did Clan- Alpine come. 


I heeded not the eddying surge, 


^ The .MS. has not this couplet. 


' MS. — " And refluent down the darksome pass 


2 A circle of sportsmen, who. hy sarroundiriE^ a great space. 


The battle's tide was pour'd ; 


and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer 


There toil'd the spearman's struggling speir 


together, which usually made desperate eftorts to break through 


There ra^ed the mountain sword." 


'Jie Tinckei. 


M:^. — "Away! away! the work of fate !" 



CANTO VI. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 236 


Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge, 


Well for tlie swimmer swell'd they high. 


Miiiu ear but hoard the sullen sound, 


To mtir the Highland marksman's eye ; 


Wliicli like an earthquake shook the grountl, 


For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and hail, 1 


And spoke the stern and desperate strife 


The vengeful arrows of the Gael. — 


That parts not hut with parting life,' 


In vain — He nears the isle— and lo ! 1 


Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll' 


His hand is on a shallop's bow. 


The dirge of many a passing soul. 


— Just then a flash of lightning came 


Xeiirer it comes — the dim-wood glen 


It tinged the waves aud strand with flame ; — * 


Tlie martial tlood disgorged agen, 


I m.ark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame. 


But not in mingled tide ; 


Behind an oak I saw her stand, 


Tlie plaided warriors of the North 


A naked iliik gleam'd in her hand: 


High on the mountmn thunder forth 


It darken'd, — but, amid the moan 


And overhang its side ; 


Of waves, I heard a dyuig groan ; 


While by the lake below appears 


Another flash ! — the speariuim floats 


The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.' 


A weltering corse beside the boats. 


At weary bay each shatter'd band. 


And the stem matron o'er him stood. 


Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand ; 


Her hand and dagger streaming blootL 


Their banners stream like tatter'd sail. 




Tliat flings its fragments to the gale, 


XXI 


And broken arms and disarray 


" ' Revenge ! revenge !' the Saxons cried. 


ihuk'd the fell havoc of the day. 


The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 




Despite the elemental rage. 


XX. 


Again they hurried to engage ; 


" Viewing the mountain's ridge askance. 


But, ere they closed in desperate fight, 


T)ie Stixon stood in sullen trance, 


Bloody with spurring came a knight. 


Till Moray pomted with his lance, 


Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag. 


And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! — 


Waved 'twbct the hosts a milk-white flag. 


See ! none are left to guard its str.-ind. 


Clarion and trumpet by his side 


But women weak, that wring the hand : 


Rung forth a truce-note high and wide. 


'Tis there of yore the robber band 


Wliile, m the Monarch's name, afiir 


Their booty wont to f ile ; — 


An herald's voice forbade the war. 


Jly purse, with bornet-piece.o store, 


Fur Bothwell's lord, aud Roderick bold, 


To him will swim a bow-shut o'er, 


Were both, he said, in captive hold." 


And luose a snallop from the shore. 


— But here the lay made sudden stand ! — 


Lightly we'K tame the war- wolf then, 


Tlie harp escaped the Minstrel's hand ! — 


Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' 


Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 


Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, 


How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy : 


On earth his casque and corslet rmig. 


At iirst, the Chieftain, to the chime. 


He plunged him in the wave ;— 


With hfted hand, kept feeble time ; 


AU saw the deed — the purpdse knew, 


That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong 


Aud to their clamors Benvenue 


Varied his look as changed the song ;^ 


A mingled echo gave ; 


At length, no more liis deafen'd ear 


Tlie Saxons shout, their mate to cheer. 


Tlie minstrel melody can hear ; 


The helpless females scream for fear, 


His face grows sharp, — his hands are clench'd, 


Aud yells for rage the mountaineer. 


As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd ; 


'Twas then, as by the outcry riven. 


Set are liis teeth, his fatling eye*^ 


Piuir'd down at once the lowermg heaven; 


Is sternly fix'd on vacancy ; 


A whirlwind .'^wept Loch Katrine's breast. 


Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 


Her billows rear'd their snowy crest. 


His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu ! — ' 


1 " the '.oveliiiess in ileHth 


The eight closing lines of the stanza are interpolated on n 


That part" nol quite wilh parting breath." 


slip of paper. 


Byron's Oiaour. 


6 MS. — " Glow'd in his look, as swell'd the song." 


2 MS. — " And secmM, .0 minstrel ear, to toll 


CMS. "his!g'^^'"gjeye.- 


Tlie par^'iig (I'.ge of many a soul." 


i fiery S ' 


' MS.—" Wliile by the darken'il lalie below, 


' " Rob Roy, while on his deathbed, learned that a person. 


File CM the dpeamen of the foe." 


'with whom he was at enmity, proposed to visit him. ' Rain 


1 The MS. reacts— 


me from my bed,' said the invalid ; ' throw my plaid aroond 


" It tinged the boats and lake with flame " 


me, and bring uh- my claymore, dirk, and pistols, — it ihal" 



236 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO TI. 



Old Allan-Bane look'd on aghast, 
While grim and stUl his spirit pasa'd : 
But "when he saw tliat life was fled, 
He pour'd liis wailing o'er the dead. 

XXII. 
2.ament. 

" And art thou cold and lowly laid,' 
Thy foenian's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade ! 
For thee shall none a requiem say ? 
— For thee, — who loved the mijistrel's lay, 
For thee, of B<itliweir3 house the stay, 
The shelter of lier exiled line,° 
E'en in this prison-house of tliino, 
rU wail for Alpine's honor'd Pine ! 

" Wliat groans shall yonder valleys till ! 
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill ! 
What tears of burning rage sliall thrill, 
Wlien mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 
Tliy fall before the race was won. 
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! 
Tliere breathes not clmisnian of thy line, 
But would have given liis life for tliine. — ■ 
woe for Alpine's honor'd Pine ! 

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
The captive thrusli may brook the cage. 
The prison'd eagle dies for rage. 
Brave sjiirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And, when its notes awake again, 
Even she, so long beloved in vain, 
Sliall with my harp her voice combine 
And mix her woe and tears with mine. 
To wail Clan-Aljiine's lionor'd Pme." — ' 

XXIII. 
Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 
Reniain'd in hirdly bower apart. 
Where play'd with niaiiy-color'd gleams, 
Thro'gh storied jjane the ri.sing beams. 
In vain on gihled r(jof tliey fall, 
And hghten'd up a tapestried wall. 
And for her use a menial train 



IK Mil be said tiiat a Ibenian siiw Rob Roy MacGregor delencf- 
li'^- anil imarmcil.' His toeman, coiijPfturRil to l»e one of tbe 
M:i(:Larens liefore aiul after nienlioiied, en:ere(i anil paid his 
f!>iiipliments, inquiring after tlie lieaitli of liis formidable iieigh- 
'jor. Rob Roy maintaineil a eolil. Iiaiiglily civility during 
liieir short coillerence ; and so soon as he bad left tbe house, 
■ Now,' be said.' "all is over: let the piper play. Ha til vu 
tiihiUi' [we reliirn no more], and he is said to have exjiired 
before the dirge was finished." — Iiitroilitction It) Rob Roy. 
Wavcriey .M'ovcts , vol. vii. p. 85. 

1 MS. — " * And art thou gone,' the Minstrel said." 

2 MS.— " The mightiest of a mighty line,'' 

^ MS. — Tti the Printer. — " I have three pages ready lo be 
copied, you may send for them in about an hour. The rest 



A rich collation spread in vain. 

Tlie banquet proud, the chamber gay,' 

Scarce drew one curious glance astray ; 

Or, if she look'd, 'twas but to say. 

With better omen dawn'd the day 

In that lone isle, where waved on high 

The dun-deer's liide for canopy ; 

Where oft her noble father shared 

The simple meal her care prepared, 

While Lufra. croucliing by her side, 

His station claim'd with jealous pride, 

And Doughis, bent on woodland game,^ 

Spoke of the chase to Malcohn Gra;me, 

Whose tinswer, uft at random made, 

The wandering of his thoughts betray'd, — 

Those who such simple joys have known. 

Are taught to prize them when they're gone 

But sudden, see, she hfts her head ! 

The wuidow seeks with cautious tread. 

What distant music has the power 

To wui Iter in this woful hour ! 

'Twas fiom a turret that o'erhung 

Her latticed bower, the strain was sung. 

XXIV. 
3lan of tljc Eiii})rfsonclj Jfjuntsman. 

" My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 

My idle greyhound loathes his food. 

My horse is weary of his .stall, 

And I am sick of captive thrall. 

I wish I were, as I have been. 

Hunting the hart in forest green. 

With bended bow and bloodhound free, 

For that's the life is meet for me.' 

I hate to learn the ebb of time. 

From yon duU' steeple's drow.sy chime, 

Or mark it as tlie sunbeams crawl. 

Inch after inch, along tlie wall. 

Tiie lark was wont my matins ring,' 

The sable rook my vespers sing ; 

These towers, although a king's they be. 

Have not a hall of joy I'or me." 

No more at dawuuig morn 1 rise. 

And sun myself in Ellen's eye.s, 

Drive the fleet deer the forest through, 

of my fla.\ is on the spindle, but not yet twisted into ]iropel 
yarii. I am glad you like tbe battle ol' Beal' an Dnine. It is 
ratlier too long, but that was unavoidable. I hope yon will 
push on the notes. To save time I shall send the copy when 
ready to St. John Street. — W. S." 

4 MS. — *' The banquet gay. the chamber's pride. 
Scarce drew one curious glance aside." 

a MS. — " Earnest on his game." 

^ MS. " was meant for me." 

T MS. — " From darken'd steeple's." 

8 MS. — " The lively lark my matins rung, 

The sable rook my vespers sung." 

9 MS. — " Have not a hall should harbor me." 



CANTO VI. THE LADY OF 


THE LAKE. 237 


And liomeward wend with evening dew ; 


Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 


A blitliosume weleoniu blitludy meet, 


To liini each lady's look was lent •, 


And lay my tropliies at her feet, 


On him each courtier's eye was bent; 


While Hed the eve on wing of glue, — 


Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen. 


That life is lost to love and me !" 


He 8to()d, in simple Lincoln-green, 




The centre of the glittering ring. 


XXV. 


And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King 1" 


Tlie heart-sick lay was hardly said, ' 




The hsl'ner had not turn'd her head, 


XXVII. 


It triekied still, the starting tear, 


As wreath of snow, on mountain-breiist. 


When hght a footstep struek her ear, 


Slides from the rock that gave it rest, 


And Snowiloun's graceful knight was near. 


Poor EUen glided from her stay,' 


She turn'd the hastier, lest agjiin 


And al. the Monarch's feet she lay ; 


Tlie prisoner should renew his strain. — 


No word her choking voice commands, — 


" welcome, brave Fitz-James !" she said ; 


She show'd the ring, she clasp'd her hands. 


" How may an almo.^t orphan maid 


! not a moment could he brook. 


Pay the deep debt" " say not so ! 


The generous prince, that suppliant look ! 


To me no gratitude you owe. 


Gently he raised her ; and, the while. 


Not mine, alas ! the boon to give. 


Check'd with a glance the circle's smile ; 


And bid thy noble father live ; 


Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss'd, 


I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, 


And bade her terrors be dismiss'd : — 


With Scotland's king thy suit to aid. 


" Yes, Fair ; the wiindering poor Fitz-Jame." 


No tyrant he, though ire and pride 


The fealty of Scotland claims. 


May lay liis better mood aside. 


To liim thy woes, thy wishes bring ; 


Come, Ellen, come ! 'tis more than time, 


He will redeem his signet ring. 


He holds his court at morning prime." 


Ask naught for Douglas ; yester even, | 


With beating heart, and bosom wrung, 


His prince and he have much forgiven. | 


As to a brother's arm she clung. 


Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue. 


Gently he dried the falling tear. 


I, from his rebel kuismen, wrong. 


And gently wliisper'd hope and cheer ; 


We would not, to the vulgar crowd, 


Her faltering .steps half led, half staid. 


Yield what they craved with clamor loud ■ 


Through gallery fair, and high arcade, 


Calmly we heard and judged his cause, 


Till, at its touch, its wings of pride 


Our council aided, and our laws. 


A portal arch unfolded wide. 


I stauch'd thy father's death-feud stern, 




With stout De Vaux and Grey Glencairn ; 


XXVI. 


And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 


Witliin 'twas brilliant all and light,' 


The friend and bulwark of our Throne 


A thronging scene of figures bright ; 


But lovely infidel, how now ? 


It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight. 


What chmds thy misbeheving brow ? 


As when the setting sun has given 


Lord James of Douglas, lend tliine aid ; 


Ten thousand hues to summer even, 


Thou must confirm this doubting maid." 


And from their tissue, fancy fr.imes 




Aerial knights and fau-y dames. 


XXVIIL 


Still by Fitz-James her footing staid; 


Tlien forth the noble Douglas sprung, 


A few faint steps she forward made. 


And on his neck liis daughter hung. 


Then slow her drooping head she raised, 


The Monarch drank, that happy liour. 


And fearful round the presence gazed ; 


The sweetest, holiest draught of Powei', — 


For liini she sought, who own'd this state,' 


Wlten it can say, with godhke voice, 


The dreaded prince whose will was fate. 


Arise, sad Virtue, ;uid rejoice ! 


She gazed on many a prmcely port, 


Yet woidd not James the general eye 


Might well have ruled a royal court ; 


On Nature's raptures long shoidd pry ; 


On m.any a splendid garb she gazed, 


He stepp'd between — '' Nay, Douglas, nay. 


Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed, 


Steal not my proselyte away 1 


For all stood bare ; and, in the room. 


The riddle 'tis my right to read. 


' MS.— "Within 'twas brilliant all. and bright 


a See Appendix, Note 3 Y. 


The vision glow'd on Ellon's sight." 




* MS.—" For him wbo own'd thb royal slate." 


* MS. "shrinking, quits her stay ' 



238 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO Vt. 



Tliat brought tliis Iiappj' cliaiiee to speed. 

Yes, EUeu, when disguised I stray 

In life's more low but happier way,' 

'Tis under name which YeUs my power, 

Xor falsely veils — for Stirhng's tower 

Of vore the name of Snowdoun claims,* 

And Normans caU me James Fitz-Jamcs. 

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, 

Tims lejirn to right the injured cause." — 

Then, in a tone apai't and low, — • 

" Ah, little traitress ! none must know 

What idle dream, what hghter thought. 

What vanity full dearly bouglit, 

Join'd to tlune eye's dark witclicraft, drew 

ily spell-bound steps to Benvenue," 

In dangerous horn", and all but gave 

Thy Monarch's life to mountam glaive !" — 

Aloud he .spoke — " Thou still dost hold 

Tliat little talism;m of gold. 

Pledge of my faitli, Filz-James's ring — * 

What seeks fair Ellen of the Iving <" 

XXIX. 

Full well the conscious maiden guess'd 

He probed the weakness of her breast ; 

But, with that consciousness, there came 

A lightening of her fears for Grieme, 

Aud' more she deem'd the Mouarcli's u'e 

Kindled 'gainst liim, who, for her sire, 

Rebellious broadsword boldly drew ; 

And, to her generous feeling true, 

Slie craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. 

" Forbear thy suit : — the King of Kings 

Alone can stay life's parting wings, 

I know liis heart, I know liis hand. 

Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand ; 

ily fairest earldom would I give 

To bid Clan- Alpine's Cliieft:un live ! — 

1 MS. — " In lowly life's more !iapi)y way." 
3 See Ap)ieluli.\, Note 3 Z. 

3 MS.—" Tliy sovereign back 

Tliy sovereign's steps 

4 MS. — "Pledge of Fitz-Jaines's faith, the ring." 
" MS. — " And in lier breast strove maiden shame ; 

More deep she deem'd tlie monarch's ire 

Kindled 'gainst liim, who, lor her sire. 

Against his sovereign broadsword drew ; 

And, with a pleading, warm and true. 

She craved the grace ot" Roderick Dhti." 

<;" Malcolm Gramme has too insigniiicant a part assigned 

him, considering the favor m which he is held both by Ellen 

and the author ; and in bringing out the shaded and imperfect 

character ol' Roderick Dhu, as a contrast to the purer virtue of 

his rival, Mr. Scott seems to have fallen into the common error, 

of making him more interesting than him whose virtues he was 

intended to set off, and converted the villain of the piece in 

some measure into its hero. A modern poet, however, may 

perhaps be pardoned for an' error, of which Milton himself is 

'bought not to have kejtt clear, ahd for which there seems so 

natural a cau^e in the diflen?nce between poetical and amiable 

characters." — Jeffrey. 



J to Benvenue.' 



Hast thou no other boon to crave ? 
No other cajjitive friend to save V 
Blushuig, she ttn-n'd her from the King, 
And to the Douglas gave the ring. 
As if she wish'd her sii'e to speak 
The suit that sttiiu'd her glowing cheek. — 
" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, 
And stubborn justice holds her course. — ■ 
Malcolm, come forth !" — And, at the word, 
Down kneel'd the Gramme' to Scotland's Lord. 
" For thee, rash youth, no suppUant sues. 
From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, 
Who, nm*tured miderneath our smile, 
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile. 
And sought amid thy faithful clan, 
A refuge for an outlaw'd man. 
Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. — 

Fetters and warder for the Graeme I" 

His chain of gold the King unstrung. 
The Uidis o'er Malcolm's neck he flimg. 
Then gently drew the glittering b;md. 
And l.oid the clasp on Ellen's hand.' 

Haep of the North, farewell !' The hills grow dark, 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm Ughts her spark. 

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fount,ain lending. 

And the wilil breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; 
Thy numbers sweet with natm-e's vespers blending, 

'With distant echo from the fold and lea. 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing 
bee. 

Tet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp ! 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway. 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 

' " And now, waiving myself, let me talk to yon of 

the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at 
a ball ; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal 
lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your 
immortalities ; lie preferred you to every bard i)ast and present, 
and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a 
difficult question, t answered, I thought the 'Lay.' He said 
his own ojiinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, 
I told him that I thought yon more particularly the poet ol 
Pritices, as tkcy never appeared more fascinating than in 
'Marmion' and the ' Lady of the Lake.' He was pleased to 
coincide, and to dwell on the description of your James's as no 
less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and 
yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both," &c. — Lcltet 
fram Lord Byron to Sir Waller Scott, July 6, 3812.— By- 
ron's Life and IVorks, vol. ii. p. I5G. 

s MS. — To the Printer. — " I send the grand finale, and 60 
exit the Lady of the Lake from the head she has tormented for 
six months. In canto vi. stanza 21 , — stern and still, read f^rim 
and still ; sternly occuis four lines higher. For a similar reason, 
stanza 24 — (/u/i-deer, read ;Zee(-deer. I will probably call this 
morning. — Yonrs truly, 

W. S." 



CANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



239 



Mucli Iiave I owed tliy strains on life's long Tray, 
llirough secret woes the world has never known, 

AVlien on the weary night dawn'd \ye:irior day, 
And bitterer was the grief duvoiu"\l alouo. 

That I o'erlive such woes, Enchiuitress 1 is tliiue own. 

Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire. 
Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 

I " On a comparison of the merits ol' tliis Poem with the two 
former prothictions of tlic same imquestioned genius, we are 
inclined to bestow on it a very decitleti preference over both. 
It would perhaps be ditiicult to select any one passage of such 
genuine ins]iiration as one or two tliat might be pointed oot io 
the Lay of the Last Minstrel — and perhaps, in strength and 
discrimination of cliaraeter, it may fall short of Marniion ; al- 
though we are loth to resign either the rude and savage gen- 
erosily of Roderick, the romantic cliivalry of James, or the 
playful simplicity, the atfectionate tenilerness, the modest cour- 
age of Ellen Douglas, to the claims of any comjjetitors in the 
last-mentioned poem. But, for interest and artificial manage- 
ment in the story, for general ease and grace of versification, 
and correctness of language, the Lady of the Lake must be 
universally allowed, we think, to excel, and very far excel, 
eitlier of her predecessors," — Critical Review, 

" There is notiiing in Mr. Scott of the severe and majestic 
style of Milton — orof tlie terse and fine composition of Pope — 
or of the elaborate elegance and melody of Campbell — or even 
of the flowing and redundant diction of Sonthcy, — bat there is 
a medley of bright images and glowing, set carelessly and 
loosely together — a diction tinged successively with the careless 
richness of Shakespeare — the harshness and antique simplicity 
of the old romances — the homeliness of vulgar ballads and 
anecdotes — and the sentimental glitter of the most modern 
poetrj', — passing from liie borders of die ridiculous to those of 
the sublime — alternately minute and energetic — sometimes artL 
&cial, aal frequently negligent, but always full of spirit and 



'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 
'Tis now the brush of Fiiiry's frolic wing. 

Receding now, the dying numbers ring 
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 

And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 
A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 

And now, 'tis silent all ! — Enchantress, fare the« 
well I' 

vivacity — abounding in images that are striking at first sight to 
minds of every contexture — and never expressing a sentiment 
which it can cost the most ordinary reader any exertion to 
comprehend. Upon the wliole we are inclined to think more 
highly of the Lady of the Lake than of either of its author's 
former publications. VVe are more sure, however, that it has 
fewer faults than that it has greater beauties ; and as its beau- 
ties bear a strong resemblance to those with which the public 
has been already made familiar in these celebrated works, we 
should not be surprised if its popularity were less splendid ami 
remarkable. For our own parts, however, we are of opinion 
that it will be oftener read hereafter than either of them ; and 
that, if it had appeared first in the series, their reception would 
have been less favorable than that which it has experienced 
It is more polished in its diction, and more regular in its versi 
fication ; the story is constructed with infinitely more skill and 
address ; there is a greater proportion of pleasing and tender 
passages, witli much less antiquarian detail ; and, upon the 
whole, a larger variety of characters, more artfully and judi- 
ciously contrasted. There is nothing so fine, perhaps, as the 
battle in Marmion — or so picturesque as some of the scattered 
sketches in the Lay ; but there is a richness and a spirit in the 
whole piece whicii does not pervade either of these poems — a 
profusion of incident, and a slnfting brilliancy of coloring, that 
reminds ns of the witchery of Ariosto — and a constant elasticity 
and occasional energy, which seem to belong more peculiarly to 
the author now before tis," — Ji^ffrkt. 



APPENDIX, 



Note A. 

The heights of Uam-Var, 

Jind roused the cavern, where, 'tis told, 
A giant made his den of old. — P. 185. 

Ua-var, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaigh- 
mor, is a mountain to the northeast of the village of Callender 
in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den, 
or cavern, fi-om a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south 
side, said, by tradition, lo have been the abode of a giant. In 
latter times, it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have 
been only extirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly 
Epeaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would im- 
ply, but a sort of small enclosure, or recess, surrounded with 
large roeks, and open above head. It may have been originally 
designed as a toil for deer, wlio might get in from the outside, 
bat would find it difficult to return. This opinion prevails 
among the old sportsmen and deerstalkers in the neighborhood. 



Note B. 



Two dogs of black Saint HuberVs breed, 
Unmatch' d for courage, breath, and specd.- 



■P. 186. 



" Tiie hounds wliich we call Paint Hubert's hounds, are com- 
monly all blacke, yet neuerlheless, the race is so mingled at 
these days, that we find them of all colours. These are tlie 
hounds which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept some 
of their race or kind, in lionour or remembrance of the saint, 
which was a hunter with S. Eustace. Whereupon we may 
conceiue that (by the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall- 
follow them into paradise. To return vnto my former purpose, 
this kind of dogges iiath bene dispersed through the counties of 
Henault, Lorayne, Flanders, and Burgoyne. Tliey are mighty 
of body, neuertheless their legges are low and short, likewise 
they are not swift, althongli they be very good of sent, hunting 
chaces which are farre straggleil, fearing neithfr water nor cold, 
and doe more couet the chaces that smell, as foxes, bore, and 
such like, than other, because they find themselves neither of 
swiftness nor courage to hunt and kill the chaces that are fighter 
and swifter. The bloodhounds of this colour proue good, es- 
pecially those tliat are cole blacke, but I made no great account 
to breed on them, or to keepe the kind, and yet I found a book 
whit;!! a hunter did dedicate to a prince of Lorayne, which 
seemed to lone hunting much, wherein was a blason which the 
same hunter gave to his bloodhound, called Souyilard, which 
was white : — 

' My name came first from holy Hubert's race 
Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace. 

Whereupon we may presame that some of the kind proue 
white sometimes, but they are not of the kind of the Greffiers 
or Bouses, which we haue at these dayes."— TAc noble Mrt 
of Vcnerie or Hunting, translated and collected for the Use 
of ail J^oblcmen and Oe\tlemcn. Lond. 1611. 4to, p. 15. 



Note C. 

For the death-ioound and doath'halloo, 

Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew. — P. ISO. 

When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the 
perilous task of going in upon, and killing or disabling the des 
perate animal. At certain times of the year this was held par- 
ticularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag's horn being 
then deemed poisonous, and more dangerous than one from the 
tusks of a boar, as the old rhyme testifies : — 

" If thou be hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy bier. 
But barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thou 
need'st not fear." 

At all times, however, the task was dangerous, and to be ad- 
ventured upon wisely and warily, either by getting behind the 
stag while he was gazing on the hounds, or by watching an op. 
portunity to galloi) roundly in upon him, and kill lum with the 
sword. See many dircLtions to this purpose in the Booke of 
Hunting, chap. 41, Wilson the historian has recorded a prov- 
idential escape which befell Iiini in this hazardous sport, while 
a youth and follower of the Earl of Essex. 

'* Sir Peter Lee, of Lime, in Cheshire, invited my lord one 
summer to hunt the stagg. And having a great stagg in cha-e, 
and many gentlemen in the pui-suit, the stagg took soyle. And 
divers, whereof I was one, alighted, and stood with^words 
drawne, to have a cut at him, at his coming out of the wattT. 
The staggs there being wonderfully fierce and dangerous, made 
us youths more eager to be at him. But he escaped us all. 
And it was my misfortune to be hindered of my coming mre 
him, the way being sliperie, by a falle ; which gave occasion 
to some, who did not know mce, to speak as if I had falne 
through feare. Which being told mee, I Jeft the stagg, and 
followed the gentleman who [fir-t] spake it. But I found him 
of that cold temj)er, that it seems his words made an escajie 
from him ; as by his denial and repentance it appeared. But 
this made mee more violent in the pursuit of the stagg, to re- 
cover my reputation. And I happened to be the only hon-c- 
man in, when the dogs sett him up at bay ; and approaching 
near him at horsebacke, he broke tJirougb the dogs, and run at 
mee, and tore my horse's side with Iiis homes, close by my 
thigh. Then I quitted my horse, and grew more cunning (for 
the dogs had sette him up againe), stealing behind him with 
my sword, and cut his hamstrings ; and then got upon hi^; liavk, 
and cut his throate ; which, as I was doing, tlie companv vann' 
in, and blamed my rashness for running such a hazard."— 
Peck's Desiderata Curiosa, u. 464. 



Note D. 



Jind now to issue from the glen, 
JVo pathway jncets the wanderer^ s ken 
Unless he climb, with fuotiiig nice, 
A far projecting precipice. — P. 187. 

Until the present road was made through the romantic paa 
which I have presumptuously attempted to describe in the pre- 
ceding stanzas, there was no mode of i^^uing out of t)ie defile 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



241 



calU-d the Tit>sacl)s, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of 
ihe branches and roots of trees. 



Note E. 



To meet toitk Highland plunderers here, 
JVere worse than loss of steed or deer. — P. IHi). 

TJie clans who inhabited tlie romantic regions in the neigh- 
borhood of Loch Katrine, were, even until a late period, 
much addicted to predatory incursions upon their Lowland 
neiglibors. " In former limes, those parts of tiiis district, which 
are situated beyond the Grampian range, were reinlfred ahnost 
inacce>iible by strong barriers of rocks, and mountains, and 
lakes. It was a border country, am-, though on the very verge 
of the low country, it was almost totally sequestered from tiie 
world, and, as it were insulated with respect to society. 'Tis 
well known that in the HigUlands, it was, in former times, ac- 
counted not only lawful, but honorable, among hostile tribes, 
to commit depredations ou one another ; and these habits of the 
age Were perhaps strengthened in this diitriet, by the circum- 
stances which have been mentioned. It bordered on a country, 
the inhabitants of which, while they were richer, were less 
warhke than they, and widely differenced by language and man- 
ners." — Grauam's Sketches of Scertcry in Perthshire. Edin. 
18()G, p. 97. The reader will therefore be pleased to remem- 
ber, that the scene of this poem is laid in a time, 

" When looming faulds, or sweeping of a glen, 
Had still been held the deed of gallant men." 



Note F. 



^i gray-kair*d sire, whose eye intent, 
Was on the vision"" d future bent. — P. 189. 

If force of evidence could authorize us to believe facts incon- 
sisteni with the general laws of nature, enough might be pro- 
duced in favor of the existence of the Second-sight. It is called 
m G*lic Taishitaraugh, from Taisit, an unreal or shadowy 
appearance ; and those possessed of the faculty are called Taish- 
atriji, which may be aptly translated visionaries. Martin, a 
steady believer in the second-sight, gives the following account 
of it :— 

" The second-sight is a singular faculty, of seeing an other- 
wise invisible object, without any previous means used by the 
person that used it for that end : the vision makes such a lively 
impression upon the seers, that they neither see, nor think of 
any thing else, except the vision, as long as it continues ; and 
then they appear pensive or jovial, according to the object tliat 
was represented to them. 

"At the sight of a vision, the eyelids of the person are 
erected, and the eyes continue staring until the object vanish. 
Tiiis is obvious to others who are by, when the persons happen 
to see a vision, and occurred more than once to my own obser- 
vation, and to others that were with me. 

" There is one in Skie, of whom his acquaintance observed, 
that when he sees a vision, the inner part of his eyelids turns 
60 far upwards, that, after the object disappears, he must draw 
them down with his fingers, and sometimes employ others to 
draw them down, which he finds to be the much easier way. 

"This faculty of the second-sight does not lineally descend 
in a family, as some imagine, for I know several parents who 
are endowed with it, but their children not, and vice versa ; 
neither is it acquired by any previous compact. And, after a 
strict inf|uiry. I could never iearu that this faculty was com- 
municable any way whatsoever. 

"The -'<eer knows neither the object, time, nor place of a 
vision, before it appears ; and the same object is often seen by 
different persons living at a considerable distance from one an- 
3J 



other. The true way of judging as to the time and circum- 
stance of an object, is by observation ; for several persons ot 
judgment, without this faculty, are nmre capable to judge of 
the design of a vision, than a novice that is a seer. If an olf 
ject appear in the day or night, it will come to pass sooner ot 
later accordingly. 

" If an object is seen early in the morning (which is nnl fn- 
quent), it will be accomplished in a few hours afterwards. 1 1 
at noon, it will commonly be accomplished that very day. H 
in the evening, perhaps that night ; if after candles be liglii<il, 
it will be accomplished that night : tlie later always in aitcuiii- 
plishment, by weeks, months, and sometimes years, acconliTi^ 
to the time of night the vision is seen. 

" When a shroud is perceived about one, it is a su'* pro::- 
nostic of death ; the time is judged according to the height *>! 
it about the person ; for if it is seen above the middle, death is 
not to be expected for the space of a year, and perhaps some 
months longer ; and as it is frequently seen to ascend higher 
towards the head, death is concluded to be at hand within a 
tew days, if not hours, as daily experience confirms. Exam- 
ples of this kind were shown me, when the persons of whom 
the observations were then made, enjoyed perfect health. 

" One instance was lately foretold by a seer, that was a nov- 
ice, concerning the death of one of my acquaintance; this 
was communicated to a few only, and with great confidence ; 
I being one of the number, did not in the least regard it, uniil 
the death of the person, about the time foretold, did confirm 
me of the certainty of the prediction. The novice mentioned 
above, is now a skilful seer, as appears from many late instan 
ces ; he lives in the parish of St. Mary's, the most northern in 
Skie. 

"If a woman is seen standing at a man's left hand, it is a 
presage that she will be his wife, whether they be married to 
others, or unmarried at the time of the apparition. 

" If two or three women are seen at once near a man's left 
hand, she that is nest him will undoubtedly be his wife first, 
ami so on, whether all three, or the man, be single or married 
at the time of the vision or not; of which there are several 
late instances among those of my acquaintance. It is an ordi- 
nary thing for them to see a man that is to come to the house 
shortly after : and if he is not of the seer's acquaintance, yet 
he gives such a lively description of his stature, complexion, 
habit, &c. that upon his arrival he answers the character given 
him in all respects 

" If the person so appearing be one of the seer's acquaint- 
ance, he will tell his name, as well as other particulars, and he 
can tell by his countenance whether he comes in a good or bad 
humour. 

"I have been seen thus myself by seers of both sexes, at 
some hundred miles' distance ; some that saw me in this man- 
ner had never seen me personally, and it happened according 
to their vision, without any previous design of mine to go to 
those places, my coming there being purely accidental. 

" It is ordinary with them to see houses, gardens, and trees, 
in places void of all three ; and this in progress of time uses to 
be accomplished ; as at Mogshot, in the Isle of Skie, where 
there were but a few sorry cowhouses, thatched with straw, 
yet in a very few years after, the vision, which appeared often, 
was accomplished, by the building of several good houses on 
the very spot represented by the seers, and by the planting of 
orchards there. 

" To see a spark of fire fall upon one's arm or breast, is a 
forerunner of a dead child to be seen in the arras of those per- 
sons ; of which there are several fresh instances. 

" To see a seat empty at the time of one's sitting in it, is a 
presage of that person's death soon after. 

'* When a novice, or one that has lately obtained the second- 
eight, sees a vision in the night-time without-doors, and he be 
near a fire, he presently falls into a swoon. 

" Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of people, hav- 
ing a corpse which they carry along with them ; and after 
80ch visions, the seers come in sweating, and describe the peo- 



242 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



pie that appeared : if there be any of their acquaintance among 
*em, they give an account of their names, as also of the bearers, 
but tiiey know nothing concerning the corpse. 

"All tiiose wJio liave the second-sight do not always see 
tliese visions at once, though they be together at the time. 
But if one who lias this faculty, designedly touch his fellow- 
seer at the instant of a vision's appearing, then the second sees 
it as well as the first ; and this is sometimes discerned by those 
tliat are near them on sueli occasions." — Martin's descrip- 
tion of the IVestcrn Islands, 1716, 8vo, p. 300, et seg. 

To these particulars innumerahle examples miglit be added, 
all attested by grave and credible autlioi-s. But, in despite of 
evidence which neither Bacon, Boyle, nor Johnson were able 
to resist, the Taisch, with all its visionary properties, seems to 
be now universally abandoned to the use of poetry. The ex- 
quisitely beautiful poem of Lochiel will at ouce occur to the 
recollection of every reader. 



Note G. 



Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 

Some chief had framed a rustic bower. — P. 190. 

The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed 
to peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their domains, 
some place of retreat for the hour of necessity, which, as cip- 
cumslajices would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic 
hut, in a strong and secluded situation. One of these last 
gave refuge to the unfortunate Charles Edward, in his perilous 
wanderings after the battle of Culloden. 

"It was situated in the face of a very rough, high, and 
rocky mountain, called Letternilichk, still a part of Benalder, 
full of great stones and crevices, and some scattered wood in- 
terspersed. The habitation called the Cage, in the face of that 
mountain, was within a small thick bush of wood. There 
were first some rows of trees laid down, in order to level the 
floor for a habitation ; and as the place was steep, this raised 
the lower side to an equal Iieight with tlie other: and tliese 
trees, in the way of joists or planks, were levelled with earth 
and gravel. Tliere were betwixt the trees, growing naturally 
on their own roots, some stakes fixed in the earth, which, with 
the trees, were interwoven with ropes, made of heath and birch 
twigs, up to the top of the Cage, it being of a round or rather 
oval shape ; and the whole tliatched and covered over with 
fog. The whole fabric liung, as it were, by a large tree, which 
reclined from the one end, all along the roof, to the other, and 
which gave it the name of the Cage ; and by chance there 
happened to be two stones at a small distance from one anoth- 
er, in the side next the precipice, resembling the pillars of a 
chimney, where the fire was placed. The smoke had its vent 
out here, all along the fall of the rock, which was so much of 
the same color, that one could discover no difierence in the 
clearest day." — Home's History of the Rebellion, Lond. 
1802, 4to. p. 381. 



Note H. 



My sire's tall form might grace the part 
Of Ferragus or Ascabart. — P. 190. 

These two eons of Anak flourished in romantic fable. TJie 
first is well known to the admirers of Ariosto. by the name of 
Ferrao. He was an antagonist of Orlando, and was at length 
Glain by him in single combat. There is a romance in the 
Anchinleck MS., in which Ferragus is thus described : — 

" On a day come tiding 
Unto Charls the King, 

AI of a doughti knight 
Was comen to Navers, 



Stout he was and fers, 

Vernagu he hight. 
Of Babiloun the soudau 
Thider liim sende gan. 

With King Charls to fight. 
So hard he was to fond^ 
That no dint of brond 

No greued him, aplight. 
He hadde twenti men stiengthe 
And Ibrti fet of lengthe, 

Thilke [tainim hede,^ 
And four feet in the face, 
Y-meten3 in the place, 

And fifteen in brede.J 
His nose was a fot and more ; 
His brow, as bristles wore ;6 

He that it seighe it sede. 
He loked lotheliche, 
And was swart*^ as any piche, 

Of him men might adrede." 

Romance of Charlemagne, 1. 461-484. 
Auchinleck MS., folio 265. 

Ascapait, or Ascabart, makes a very material figure in the 
History of Bevis of Hampton, by whom he was conquered. 
His effigies may be seen guarding one side of a gate at South- 
ampton, while the other is occupied by Su- Bevis himself. 
The dimensions of Ascabart were little inferior to tho^e of Fer- 
ragus, if the following description be correct: — 

"They metten with a geaunt, 
With a lotheliche semblaunt. 
He was wonderliche strong, 
Rome' thretti fote long 
His herd was hot gret and rowe ;8 
A space of a fot betweene is' browe ; 
His clob was, to yeuei" a etiok, 
A lite bodi of an oak.n 

*' Beues hadde of him wonder gret, 

And askede him what a het,*^ 
And yaf '^ men of liis contre 
Were ase mecheH ase was he. 
' Me name,' a sede.^^ ' is Ascopard, 
Garei rae sent hiderward, 
For to bring this quene ayen, 
And the Beues her of-slen.'® 
Icham Garci isi' champioun. 
And was i-driue out of me'^ toun 
Al for that ich was so lite.i^ 
Eueri man me wolde smite, 
Ich was so lite and so merugh.s*-' 
Eueri man me clepede dwerugh,2i 
And now icham in this londe, 
I wax morS'^ich understonde, 
And stranger than other teoe ;23 
And that schel on us be sene." 

Sir Bevis of Hampton, 1. 2512. 
Auchinlcck MS. fol, 189. 



Note L 



Though all unasked his birth and name. — P. 191. 

The Highlanders, who carried hospitality to a pnnctihoaa 
excess, are said to have considered it as cliurlish, to ask 
a stranger his name or lineage, before he had taken refresh- 
ment. 

1 Found, proved. — 2 Hud. — 3 Measured.— 4 Breadth, — 5 Were, — 6 Block. 
— 1 Fully.— 8 Rough.— 9 His.- 10 Give.— U The 6lem of a little oak-lret. 
— I'jHe bight, WHS ailleii.- 13 If,~14 GreiU.— 15 He said.- leSlflv.- 
lT His —IS "Hy.-ia Little.— 20 Leau.— -21 Dwarf.— 22 Greater, taller.— 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



243 



Peoda were so frequent among them, Uiat a contrary rale would 
in many cases have produced the discovery of some circum- 
etaiu'e, which might Iiave txchided the guest from the benefit 
of tliK assistance he stood in need of. 



Note K. 

-and still a harp unseen^ 



Filt'd up the symphony between. — P. 191. 

" Tliey" (meaning the Highlanders) " delight much in mu- 
gicke, but chiefly in harps and clairschoes oF their own fa.«hion. 
The strings of the clairsclioes are made of brass wire, and the 
strings of the harps, of sinews; wliich strings lliey strike either 
with their nayles, growing long, or else with an instrument ap- 
pointed for that use. They take great pleasure to decke their 
harps and clairschoes with silver and precious stones ; the poore 
ones tliat cannot attayne hereunto, decke them with chrislall. 
Tht-y sing verses prettily compound, contayning (for the most 
parO prayses of valiant men. There ii not almost any other 
argument, whereof their rhymes intreal. They speak the an- 
cient French language altered a little."' — " The harp and 
clairschoes are now only heard in the Highlands in ancient song. 
At what period these instruments ceased to be used, is not on 
record ; and tradition is silent on this head. But, as Irish harp- 
ers occasionally visited the Highlands and Western Isles till 
lately, the harp might have been extant so late as the middle 
of the last century. Thus far we know, that from remote 
times down to the present, harpers were received as welcome 
guests, particularly in the Highlands of Scotland ; and so late 
as the latter end of the sixteenth century, as appears by the 
above quotation, the harp was in common use among the na- 
tives of the Western Isles. How it happened that the noisy 
and unharmonious bagpipes banished the soft and expressive 
harp, we cannot say ; but certain it is, that the bagpipe is now 
the only instrument that obtains universally in the Highland 
districts." — Campbell's Journey through. J^orth Britain. 
Lond. 1B08, 4to. I. 175. 

Mr. Gunn, of Edinburgh, has lately published a curious Es- 
say upon the Harp and Harp Music of the Highlands of Scot- 
land. That the instrument was once in common use there, is 
most certain. Clelland numbers an acquaintance with it among 
the few accomplishments which his satire allows to the High- 
landers : — 

" In nothing they're accounted sharp, 
Except in bagpipe or in harp." 



Note L. 



Martins genial influence roused a minstrel gray. — P. 193. 
Tliat Highland chieftains, to a late period, retained in their 
8er\'ii'e the bard, as a family officer, admits of very easy proof. 
Tlie author of the Letters from the North of Scotland, an offi- 
cer of engineers, quartered at Inverness about 1720, who cer- 
tainly cannot be deemed a favorable witness, gives the follow- 
ing account of the office, and of a hard whom he heard exer- 
cise his talent of recitation : — " The bard is skilled in the gene- 
alogy of all the Highland families, sometimes preceptor to the 
young laird, celebrates in Irish verse the original of the tribe, 
the famous warlike actions of the successive heads, and sings 
his own lyricfcs as an opiate to the chief when indisposed for 
Bleep ; but poets are not equally esteemed and honored in all 
conntries. I happened to be a witness of the dishonor done to 
the muse at the house of one of the chiefs, where two of these 
bards were set at a good distance, at the lower end of a long 
table, with a parcel of Highlanders of no extraordinary appear- 

t f^rf*. " C-^Ttayne Matters concerning tbe Rcaltne of ScolUml, Ac. aa 
ttey were Anno Dgmini 1591. Lond, 160S." 4t<). 



ance, over a cup of ale. Poor inspiration ! They wcr*? not 
asked to drink a glass of wine at our table, though the whole 
company consisted only of the ^rca( mayi, one of his near re- 
lations, and myself. After some little time, the chief ordered 
one of them to sing me a Highland song. The banl readily 
obeyed, and with a hoarse voice, and in a tune of few various 
notes, began, as I was told, one of his own lyricks ;s and when 
he had proceeded to the fourth or tifth stanza, I perceived, by 
the names of several persons, glens, and mountains, which I 
had known or heard of before, that it was an account ol' >onte 
clan battle. But in his going on, the chief (who pifjues him- 
self upon his school-learning), at some particular passage, bid 
him cease, and cried out, ' There's nothing like that in Virgil 
or Homer.' I bowed, and told him I believed so. This you 
may believe was very edifying and delightful." — Letters, ii 
167. 



Note M. 



The Qrame.—P. 194. 

The ancient and powerful family of Graham (which, for met- 
rical reasons, is here spelt after the Scottish pronunciation) 
held extensive possessions in the counties of Dumbarton and 
Stirling, Few families can boast of more historical renown, 
having claim to three of the most remarkable characters in the 
Scottish annals. Sir John the Grseme, the faithful and un- 
daunted partaker of the labors and patriotic warfare of Wal- 
lace, fell in the unfortunate field of Falkirk, m 1298. The cel- 
ebrated Marquis of Montrose, in whom De Retz saw realized 
his abstract idea of the heroes of antiquity, was the second of 
these worthies. And, notwithstanding the severity of his tem- 
per, and the rigor with which he executed the oppressive man- 
dates of the princes whom he served, I do not hesitate to name 
as a third, John Graeme of Claverhouse, Viscount of Dundee, 
whose heroic death in the arms of victory may be allowed to 
cancel the memory of bis cruelty to the non-conformists, during 
the reigns of Charles II. and James II. 



Note N. 



This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd. — P. 194. 

I am not prepared to show that Saint Modan was a per- 
former on the harp. It was, however, no onsaintty accom- 
plishmeni ; for Saint Dunstan certainly did play upon that 
instrument, which retaining, as was natural, a portion of the 
sanctity attached to its master's character, announced future 
events by its spontaneous sound. " Bat laboring once in 
these mechanic arts for a devout malrone that had sett him 
on work, his violl, that hung by liim on the wall, of its own 
accord, without anie man's helpe, distinctly sounded this an- 
thime : — Oaudent in emits aniiiKB sanctorum qui Christi 
vestigia sunt secuti ; ct quia pro eius amore sanguinem 
suum fuderunt, idco cum Christo gaudent (tternum. Where- 
at all the companie being much astonished, turned their eyes 
from beholding him working, to looke on that strange acci- 
dent." • • • " Not long after, manie of the court that 
bitberunto had borne a kind of fayned friendship towards Iiim, 
began now greatly to envie at his progress and rising in good- 
nes. using manie crooked, backbiting meanesto difTame his ver- 
mes with the black maskes of hypocrisie. And the better to 
authorize their calumnie, they brought in this that happened 
in the violl, affirming it to have been done by art magick. 
What more ? This wicked rnmour increased dayly, till the 
king and others of the nobilitie taking hould thereof, Dunstan 
grew odious in their sight. Tlierefore he resolued to leane tli£ 
court and go to Elphegus, surnamed the Bauld, then Bishop of 
Winchester, who was his cozen. Which his enemies under- 
standing, they layd wayt for him in the way, and hauiog 



244 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



throwne him off his horse, beate him, and dragged him in the 
durt in the most miserable manner, meaning to have slairie 
him, iiad not a companie of mastiue dogges that came unlookt 
Dp|)on them defended and redeemed hii2i frcm their crueltie. 
Wiien witli sorrow he was ashaciod to see dodges more hu- 
mane tlian they. And giuing tlisnkes to Almightie God, he 
sensibly againe perceiued that the tunes of his violl had giuen 
him a warning of future accidents." — Flower of the Lives of 
the most renowned Saincts of Eiigland, Scotland, and Ire- 
land, by the R. Father Hierome Porter. Doway, 1632, 
4to. tome i. p. 438. 

The same supernatural circumstance is alluded to by the 
anonymous author of " Grim, the Collier of Croydon." 

" \_Dunstan^ s harp sounds on the wnir\. 

" Forest. Hark, hark, my lords, the holy abbot's harp 
Sounds by itself so iianging on the wall ! 

" Dunstan. Unhallow'd man, that scorn'st the sacred rede, 
Hark, how the testimony of my truth 
Sounds heavenly music with an angel's hand, 
To testify Dunstan's Integrity 
And prove thy active boast of no effect." 



Note O. 



Ere Douglases, to ruin driven, 

JVere exiled from their native heaven. — P. 194. 

The ilownfall of the Douglases of the house of Angus during 
the reign of James V. is the event alluded to in the text. The 
Earl of Angus, it will be remembered, had married the queen 
dowager, and availed himself of the right which he thus ac- 
quired, as well as of his extensive power, to retain the king 
in a sort of tutelage, which approached very near to captivity. 
Several open attempts were made to rescue James from this 
thraldom, with which he was well known to be deeply dis- 
gusted ; but the valor of the Douglases and their allies gave 
theni the victory in every conflict. At length tlie King, while 
residing at Falkland, contrived to escape by night out of his 
own court and palace, and rode full speed to Stirling Castle, 
where the governor, who was of the opposite faction, joyfully 
receiveil him. Being thus at liberty, James speedily sum- 
moned around him such peers as he knew to be most inimical 
to the domination of Angus — and laid his complaint before 
them, says Pitscottie, "with great lamentation; showing to 
them how he was holden in subjection, thir years bygone, by 
the Enrl of Angus and his kin and friends, who oppressed the 
whole country and spoiled it, under the pretence of justice and 
his authority ; and had slain many of his lieges, kinsmen, and 
friends, because ihey would have had it mended at their hands, 
and put him at liberty, as he ought to have been, at the coun- 
sel of his whole lords, and not have been subjected and 
corrected with no particular men, by the rest of his nobles. 
Therefore, said he, I desire, my lords, that I may be satisfied 
of the paid earl, his kin, and friends ; for I avow that Scotland 
shall not hold os both while [z. e. till] I be revenged on him 
and his. 

*• The lords, hearing the king's complaint and lamentation, 
and also the great rage, fury, and malice that he bore towards 
the Earl of Angus, his kin and friends, they concluded all, and 
thought it best that he should be summoned to underly the 
law ; if he found no caution, nor yet compear himself, that 
he should be put to the horn, with all his kin and fnends, so 
many as were contained in the letters. And farther, the lords 
ordained, by advice of his majesty, that his brother and friends 
should be summoned to find caution to underly the law within 
a certain day, or else be put to the horn. But the earl ap- 
peared not, nor none for him ; and so he was put to the horn, 
with all his kin and friends: so many as wrre contained in 
the summons that compeared not were banished, and holden 
traitors to the king." 



Note P. 
In Huly-Rood a Knight he slew, — P. 195. 

This was by no means an uncommon occurrence in the 
Court of Scotland ; nay, the presence of the sovereign himself 
scarcely restrained the ferocious and inveterate feuds which 
were the i)erpetual source of bloodshed among the Scottish 
nobility. The following instance of the murder of Sir Wil- 
liam Slu;irt of Ochiltree, called The Bloody, by the celebrated 
Francis, Earl of Bothwell, may be produced among many ; 
but as the offence given in the royal court will hardly bear a 
vernacular translation, I shall leave the story in Johnstone's 
Latin, referring for farther particulars to the naked simplicity 
of Birrell's Diary, 30th July, 1588. 

" Mors imprahi horninis nan tarn ipsa immcrita, quam 
pessimo ezemplo in publicum, fmtle pcrpetrata. OuUrlmns 
Stuartus j^lkHtrius, Jlrani frater, naturd ac morihus, cu- 
jus stepius viemini, vulgo propter siicm sanguinis sangui- 
narias dictus, a Bothvelio, in SancttE Crucis Regid, cxarde- 
scente ird, viendacil probro lacessitus, obscanum osculum 
liberius rctorquehat ; Bothvelius hnnc contumcliam tacit i/s 
tulit, sed iitgcntum irarunt molcvi animo conccpit. Utriii- 
que postridie Edinburgi conventum, totidem numero comiti- 
bus armatis, prasidii causa, et acritcr pugnatum est ; ciFtc- 
ris amicis et clitntibus metu torpentibus, aut vi abstcrritis, 
ipse Stuartus fortissime dimicat ; tandem excusso gladio a 
Bothvelio, Scylhicd feritate transfoditur, sine cujusquam 
miscricordid ; habuit itaque quern debuit exitum. Dignus 
erat Stuartus qui patcretur ; Bothvelius qui faceret. yat' 
gus sangtiinem sanguine prcedicabit, et horum cruore iniioc- 
iiorum mnnibus egregie parcntntum.^'' — JouNSTONi Nistoria 
Rcrum Britannicarum, ab anno 1572 ad annum 1628. Am- 
itelodarai, 1655, fol. p. 135. 



Note Q. 
The Douglas, like a stricken deer. 
Disowned by every noble peer. — P. 195. 

The exile state of this powerful race is not exaggerated m 
this and subsequent passages. The hatred of James against 
the race of Douglas was so inveterate, that numerous as their 
allies were, and disregarded as the regal authority had usually 
been in similar cases, their nearest friends, even in the most 
remote parts of Scotland, durst not entertain them, aulefs un- 
der the strictest and closest disguise. James Dougl.as, son of 
the banished Earl of Angus, afterwards well known by the 
title of Earl of Morton, lurked, during the exile of his family, 
in the north of Scotland, under the assumed name of James 
Innes, otherwise James the Grieve ((. e. Reve or Bailiif). 
" And as he bore the name," says Godscrofi, " so did he ;dso 
execute the office of a grieve or overseer of the lands and 
rents, the corn and cattle of him with whom he lived." From 
the habits of frugality and observation which he acquired in 
his humble situation, the historian traces that intimate ac- 
quaintance with popular character which enabled him to rise 
so high in the state, and that honorable economy by which he 
repaired and established the shattered esiates of Angus and 
Morton. — History of the House of Douglas, Edinburgh, 
1743, vol. ii. p. ItiO. 



Note R. 
-Maromian's cell. — P. 195. 



The parish of Kilmaronock, at the eastern extremity of Loch 
Lomond, derives its name from a cell or chapel, dedicated to 
Saint Maronock, or Mamock, or Maronnan, abont whose 
sanctity very little is now remembered. There is a fountain 
devoted to him in the same parish ; but its virtues, likt» the 
merits of it" patron, have fallen into oblivion. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



245 



Note S. 
-BracklinrCs thundering- wave. — P. 195. 



Tliis 13 a beaoliful cascade made by a mountain stream 
called ilic Keltie, at a place called the Bridge of Brackliiui, 
abuiU a tnile from the village of Callender in Menteitli. Above 
a cliasm, where the brook precipitates itself from a height of 
at least fifty feet, there is thrown, for the convenience of the 
neighborhood, a rustic footbriilge, of about three feet in 
Iinadlh. and witliout ledges, which is scarcely to be crossed 
Sy a stranger wiliiout awe and apprehensiou. 



Note T. 



For Tinermnn forged by fairy lore. — P. 196. 

Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate 
in all his enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tine- 
man, because he tiiied, or lost, his followers in every battle 
which he fought. He was vanquished, as every reader must 
remember, in the bloody battle of Homildon-hill, near Wooler, 
wiiere he himself lost an eye, and was made prisoner by Hot- 
spur. He was no less unfoilunate when allied with Percy, 
being wounded and taken at the battle of Shrewsbury. He 
was so unsucces-sful in an attemjit to besiege Roxburgh CasUe 
that it was called the Foid Haid, or disgraceful expedition. 
Hifl ill fortune left him indeed at the battle of Beaugii in 
France ; but it was only to return with double emphasis at the 
subsequent action o'C Vernoil, tlie last and most unlucky of 
his encounters, in which he fell, with the flower of the Scot- 
tish chivalry, then serving as auxiliaries in France, and about 
two thousand common soldiers, a. d. 1434. 



Note U. 



Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 
The footstep of a secret foe. — P. 196. 

The ancient warriors, whose hope and confidence rested 
chiefly in their blades, were accustomed to deduce omens 
from them, especially from'such as were supposed to have 
been fabricated by enchanted skill, of which we have various 
iu>tarices in the romances and legends of the time. The won- 
derful sword Skofnuno, wielded by the celebrated Hrolf 
Kraka, was of this description. It was deposited in the tomb 
of the monarch at Iiis death, and taken from thence by Skeg- 
go. a celebrated pirate, who bestowed it upon his son-in-law, 
Kormak, with the following curious directions : — " ' The man- 
ner of using it will appear strange to you. A small bag is at- 
tached to it, which lake heed not to violate. Let not the rays 
of the sun touch the upper part of the handle, nor unsheathe 
it, unless thou art ready for battle. But when thou comest to 
the place of fight, go aside from the rest, grasp and extend the 
sword, and breathe upon it. Then a small worm will creep 
out of the handle ; lower the handle, that he may more easily 
return into it.' Kormak, after having received the sword, re- 
turned home to his mother. He showed the sword, and at- 
tempted to draw it, as unnecessarily as inelTectually, for he 
coulil not pluck it out of the sheath. His mother, Dalla, ex- 
claimed, ' Do not despise the counsel given to thee, my son.' 
Kormak, however, repeating his efforts, pressed rlown the han- 
dle with his feet, and tore off" the bag, wlien Skofnung emitted 
a hollow groan : but still he could not unsheathe the sword. 
Kormak then went out with Bessus, whom he had cliallenged 
to light with him, and drew apart at the place of combat. He 
sat down upon the ground, and ungirding the sword, which he 
bore above his vestments, did not remember to shield the hilt 
from the rays of the sun. In vain he endeavored to draw it, 
till he placed his foot against the hilt ; then the worm issued 
from it. But Kormak did not rightly handle tlie %veapon, in 



consequence whereof good fortune deserted it. As he un- 
sheathed Skofnung. it emitteil a hollow murmur." — Barlho- 
lini de Causis Contempt,/; a Danis adhuc Orntiiibus Mortis, 
Libri Trcs. Hofniir, 1689, 4to. p. 574. 

To the history of this sentient and prescient weapon, I beg 
leave to add, from memory, the following legend, for which I 
cannot produce any better authority. A young nobleman, of 
high hopes and fortune, chanced to lose Ids way in the town 
wliicfi he inhabited, the capital, if I mistake not. of a German 
province. He had accidentally involved himself among the 
narrow and winding streets of a suburb, inhabited by tlie low- 
est order of the people, and an approaching thunder-shower 
determined him to ask a short refuge in the most decent hab- 
itation that was near him. He knocked at the door, which 
was opened by a tall man, of a grisly and ferocious aspect, 
and sordid dress. The stranger was readily ushered to a cham- 
ber, where swords, scourges, and machines, which seemed to 
be implements of torture, were suspended on tlie wall. One 
of these swords dropped from its scabbard, as the nobleman, 
after a moment's hesitation, crossed the threshold. His host 
immediately stared at him with such a marked expression, 
that the young man could not help demanding his name and 
business, and the meaning of his looking at him so fixedly. 
" I am," answered the man, " the public executioner of this 
city ; and the incident you have observed is a sure augury 
that I shall, in discharge of my duty, one day cut off" your 
head with the weapon which has just now spontaneously un- 
sheathed itself." The nobleman lost no time in leaving his 
place of refuge ; but, engaging in some of the plots of the 
period, was shortly after decapitated by that very man and 
instrument. 

Lord Lovat is said, by the sothor of the Letters from Scot- 
land, to have affirmed, that a number of swords that hung np 
in the hall of the mansion-house, leaped of themselves out of 
the scabbard at the instant he was born. The story passed 
current among his elan, but, like that of the story I have just 
quoted, proved an unfortunate omen. — Letters from Scotland, 
vol. ii. p. 214. 



Note V. 



Those thrilling sounds that call the might 
Of old Clan-Mpine to theJtght.—P. 196. 

The connoisseurs in pipe-music affect to discover in a well- 
composed pibroch, the imitative sounds of march, conflict, 
flight, pursuit, and all the "current of a heady fight." To 
this opinion Dr. Beattie has given his suff'rage, in the following 
elegant passage : — " A pibroch is a species of tune, peculiar, 
I think, to the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland. It 
is performed on a bagpipe, and differs totally from all other 
music. Its rhythm is so irregular, and its notes, especially in 
the quick movement, so mixed and huddled together, that a 
stranger finds it impossible to reconcile his ear to it, so as to 
perceive its modulation. Some of these pibrochs, being in- 
tended to represent a battle, begin with a grave motion resem- 
bling a march ; then gradually quicken into the onset ; run off 
with noi.sy confusion, and turbulent rapidity, to imitate the 
conflict and pursuit ; then swell into a few flourishes of trium- 
phant joy ; and perhaps close with the wild and slow waitings 
of a funeral procession." — Essny on Laughter and Ludi- 
crous Cortposition, chap. iii. Note. 



Note W. 

Rodcrigh Vich Jllpinc dhu, ho! ieroc! — P 197 

Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly 
used in the intercourse with the Lowlands, every Highland 



246 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



chief had an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as 
bead of the clan, and which was common to all his predeces- 
Bors and successors, as Pharaoh to the kings of Egypt, or Ar- 
Bacfs 10 those of Parthia. This name was usually a patro- 
nymic, ex|iressive of his descent froifi the four.derof'the family. 
Thus the Duke of Argyle is called M'acCallum More, or the 
son of Colin the Great. Sometimes, however, it is derived 
from armorial distinctions, or the memory of some great feat ; 
thus Lord Sealbrth, as chief of the fliackenzies, or Clan-Kcii- 
net, hears thy epithet of Caber-fae, or BucVs Head, as repre- 
sentative of Colin Fitzgerald, founder of the family, who 
saved the Scottish king when endangered by a stag. But 
besides this liile, which belonged to liis office and dignity, the 
chieftain had usually another peculiar to himself, which dis- 
tinguished him from tlie chieftains of the same race. This 
was sometimes derived from complexion, as dhu or roy ; 
sometimes from size, as beg or more. ; at other times from some 
peculiar exploit, or from some peculiarity of habit or appear- 
ance. The line of the text therefore signifies, 

Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 

The song itself is intended as an imitation of the jorrams, 
or boat-songs, of the Highlanders, which were usually com- 
posed in lionor of a favorite chief. They are so adapted as 
to keep time with the sweep of the oars, and it is easy to dis- 
tinguish between those intended to be sung to the oars of a 
galley, where the stroke is lengthened and doubled, as it 
were, and those which were timed to the rowers of an ordi- 
nary boat. 



Note X. 



The best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. — P. 197. 

The Lennox, as the district is c.ilted, which encircles the 
lower extremity of Loch Lomond, was peculiarly exposed to 
t)ie incursions of the mountaineers, who inhabited llie inac- 
cessible fastnesses at the upper end of the lake, and the neigh- 
boring district of Loch Katrine. These were often marked by 
circumstances of great ferocity, of which the noted conflict of 
Glen-lruin is a celebrated instance. This was a claji-batlle, in 
which the Macgregors, headed by Allasler Macgregor, chief of 
the clan, encountered the sept of Colquhouns, commanded 
by Sir [luraphry Colquhoun of Luss, It is on all hands 
allowed that the action was desperately fought, and that the 
Colquhouns were defeated witli great slaughter, leaving two 
hundred of their name dead upon the field. But popular tra- 
dition has added other horrors to Uie tale. It is said that Sir 
Humphry Colquhoun, who was on liorseback, escaped to the 
castle oi" Benechra, or Banocbar, and was next day dragged 
out and murdered by the viciorious Macgregors in cold blood. 
Buclianau of Auchmnr, however, speaks of his slaughter as a 
subsequent event, and as perpetrated by the Macfarlanea. 
Again, it is reported that the >'acgregors murdered a number 
of youths, whom report of tlie intended battle had brought to 
be spectators, and whom the Cotquhouis, anxious for their 
safety, bad shut up in a barn to be out of danger. One ac- 
count of the MacgregoR denies this circumstance entirely : an- 
other ascribes it to the savage and blood-thirsty disposition of a 
single individual, the bastard brother of the Laird of Macgregor, 
who amused himself with this second massacre of the innocents, 
m express disobedience to their chief, by whom he was left 
their guardian during the pursuit of the Colquhouns. It is 
added, that Macgregor bitterly lamented this atrocious action, 
and prophesied the ruin which it must bring upon their ancient 
clan. The following account of the conflict, which is indeed 
drawn up by a friend of the Clan-Gregor, is altogether silent 
in the murder of the youths. " In the spring of the year 1602, 



there happened great dissensions and troubles between the laird 
of Luss, chief of the Colquhouns, and Alexander, laird of Mac- 
gregor. The original of these quarrels proceeded from injuries 
and provocations mutually given aiul received, not long before. 
Macgregor, however, wanting to have them ended in friendly 
conferences, marched at the head of two hundred of his clan 
to Leven, which borders on Luss, his country, with a view of 
settling mattei-s by the mediation of friends : but Luss had no 
such intention:?, and projected his measures with a different 
view ; for he privately drew together a body of 300 horse and 500 
foot, composed partly of his own clan and their followers, and 
partly of the Buchanans, his neighbors, and resolved to cut oft' 
Macgregor and his party to a man, in ease the issue of the con- 
ference did not answer his inclination. But matters fell other- 
wise than he expected ; and though Macgregor bad pre\ ious 
information of his insidious design, yet dissembling his resent- 
ment, he kept the appointment, and parted good friends in 
appearance. 

" No sooner was he gone, than Luss, thinking to surprise 
him and his party in full security, and without any dread or 
apprehension of his treachery, followed with all speed, and 
came np with him at a place called Glenfroon. Macgregor, 
upon the alarm, divided his men into two parties, the great- 
est part whereof he commanded himself, and the other be 
committed to the care of his brother John, who, by liis or- 
ders, led them about another way, and attacked the Colqu- 
houns in flank. Here it was fought with great bravery on 
both sides for a considerable time; and, notwithstanding the 
vast disprojiortion of numbers, Macgregor, in the end, ob- 
tained an absolute victory. So great was the rout, that 'JOO of 
the Colquhouns were left dead upon the spot, most of tbt 
leading men were killed, and a multitude of prisoners taken. 
But what seemed most surprising and incredible in this defeat, 
was, that none of the Macgregors were missing, except John, 
the laird's brother, and one common fellow, though indeed 
many of them we-e wounded." — Professor Ross's Hislonj of 
the famihj of Sutherland, 1631. 

The consequences of the battle of Glen-frnin were very 
calanfitous to the family of Macgregor, who had already been 
considered as an unruly clan. The widows of the slain Col- 
quhouns, sixty, it is said, in number, appeared in doleful pro- 
cession before the King at Stiriing, each riding upon a wi>ite 
palfrey, and bearing in her hand the bloody shirt of her hus- 
band displayed upon a pike. James VI. was so mucli moved 
by the complaints of this "choir of mourning dames." tl:3t 
ho let loose his vengeance against the Macgregors, vvithou) 
either bounds or moderation.- The very name of the clan 
was proscribed, and those by whom it had been borne wer* 
given up to sword and tire, and absolutely bunted down hj 
bloodhounds like wild beasts. Argyle and the Campbells, on 
the one hand, Montrose, with the Grahames and Bucbtmans, 
on the other, are said to have been the chief instruments in 
suppressing this devoted clan. The Laird of Macgregor sur 
rendered to the former, on condition thai he would take him 
out of Scottish ground. But. to use Birrtll's expression, he 
kept "a Highlandman's promise;" and, although he fulfilied 
his word to the letter, by carrying him as far as Berwii-k, he 
afterwards brought him back to Edinburgh, when- he W4a 
executed with eighteen of his clan." — BlRRKl^'s iJti.r)/. 2d 
Oct. 1603. The Clan-Gregor being thus driven to uiut «ie- 
spair, seem to have renounced the laws from the benefit of 
which they were excluded, and their depredations produced 
new acts of council, confirming the severity of their proscrifi- 
tion, which iiad only the effect of rendering them still more 
united and desperate. It is a most extraordinary proof of 
the ardent and invincible spirit of clanship, that, notwith- 
standing the repeated proscriptions providently ordained by 
the legislature, " for the tiineous preventing the disorders 
and oppression that may fall out by the said name and clap 
of Macgregors, and their followers," they were in 1715 and 
1745 a potent clan, and continue to subsist as a distinct and 
numerous race. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



24V 



Note Y. 

"The King^s vindictive pride 

Boasts to have tamed the Border-side. — P. 199. 

Fn 1529. James V. made a ronveiiUon at Edinburgh for the 
purpose of considfring tlie best mode of quelling the Border 
robbers, who, during the license of his miuority, and the 
Iroublea which followed, had committed many exorbitances. 
Accordingly, he assembled a flying army of ten tliousand 
nitn, consisting of his principal nobility and ihinr followers, 
wlio were directed to bring their liawks and dogs with them, 
that the monarch might refresh liimself witii sport during Uie 
intervals of military execution. With this array he swept 
tbrougli Ktlrick Forest, where he hanged over the gate of his 
own c:ustle, Piers Cockburn of Henderland, wlio had prepared, 
according to tradition, a feast for his reception. He caused 
Adam !?cott of Tushielaw also to be executed, who was dis- 
tinguisheti by the title of King of the Border. But the most 
noted vii^tim of justice, during iliat expedition, was John 
Armstrong of Gilnockie,* famous in ^'cottish song, who, con- 
fiding in his own supposed innocence, met the King, witli a 
retinue of thirty-six persons, all of whom were hanged at 
Carlenng, near Uie source of Uie Teviot. The effect of this 
severity was such, that, as tlie vulgar expressed it, " the rnsh- 
busli kept the cow," and, '•thereafter was great peace and 
rest a 'ong lime, wlieretiirougli tlie King had great profit ; for 
lie iiad ten thousand sheep going in the Ettrick Forest in 
keeping by Andrew Bell, who made the King as good count 
of liicm as iJiey had gone in the bounds of Fife." — FiscoT- 
tie'^ History, \t. 153. 



Note Z. 



IV hai grace for Bigluand Chiefs, judge ye 
ByfaXe of Border chivalry.— ?. 199. 

James was in fact equally attentive to restrain rapine and 
feudal oppression in every part of liis dominions. " The king 
past to the Isles, and Uiere held justice courts, and punished 
both thief and traitor according to their demerit- And also he 
caujcd great men to show their holdings, wherethrough he 
found many of the said lands in non-entry ; tlie which lie con- 
fiscate and brought home to his own u?.e, and afterwards an- 
nexed them to the crown, as ye shall hear. Syne brought 
many of the great men of the Isles captive with him, such as 
Mudyart, M'Connel, M'Loyd of the Lewes, M'Neil, M'Lane, 
M'lntosh, John Mudyart, M'Kay, M'Kenzie, with many other 
that I cannot rehearse at this time, fromc of them he put in 
ward and some in court, and some he took pledges for good 
rule in time coming. So he brought the Isles, both north and 
south, in good rule and peace ; whefL-lbre he had great profit, 
service, and obedience of people a long time thereafter ; and 
as long as lie had the heads of the country in subjection, they 
lived in great peace and rest, and there was great richee and 
policy by the King's justice."— Pitscottie, p. 152. 



Note 2 A. 



Rest safe till morning ; pity Hwere 

Such cheek should feel the midnight air. — P. 201. 

Hardihood was in every respect so essential to the charac- 
ter of a Highlander, that the reproach of effeminacy was the 
most bitter which could be thrown U|ion him. Yet it was 
■sometimes hazarded on what we might presume to think 
slight grounds. Ii is reported of Old ,-fir Ewen Cameron of 

1 See Border MinstTelsy, ■>o\. L \i. 392. 



Lochicl, when upwards of seventy, that he was surprised by 
night on a hunting or military expedition. He wrapped him 
in his plaid, and lay contentedly down upon the snow, with 
which the ground liappcned to be covered. Among his 
attendants, who were preparing to take their rest in the same 
manner, he observed that one of his grandsons, for his better 
accommodation, had rolled a large snow-hall, and placed it 
below his head. The wrath of the ancient chief was awakened 
by a symptom of what he conceived to be degenerate luxury. 
■ — ''Out ujion thee," said he, kicking the frozen bolf^tt^r from 
the head which it supporte<i ; "art thou so effeminate o^ to 
need a pillow ?" The officer of engineers, whose curious let- 
ters from the Highlands have been more than once quoted, 
tells a similar story of Macdonald of Keppoch, and subjoins 
the following remarks: — "This and many other stories are 
romantic ; but there is one thing, that at fir^t thought might 
seem very romantic, of which I have been credibly assured, 
that when the Highlanders are constrained to lie among the 
hills, in cold dry windy weather, they sometimes soak the 
plaid in some river or burn (i. e. brook), and then, holding up 
a corner of it a little above their heads, tliey turn themselves 
round and round, till they are enveloped by the whole man- 
tle. They then lay themselves down on the heath, upon the 
leeward side of some hill, where the wet and the warmth of 
their bodies make a steam like that of a boiling kettle. The 
wet, they say, keeps them warm by thickening the stuff, and 
keeping the wind from penetrating. I must confess I should 
have been apt to question this fact, had I not frequently seen 
them wet from morning to night, and even at the beginning 
of the rain, not so much as stir a few yards to shelter, but 
continue in it without necessity, till they were, as we say, wet 
through and Ihrough. And that is soon effected by the loose- 
ness and sjwnginess of the plaiding ; but the bonnet is fre- 
quently taken off and wrung hke a dish-clont, and then put 
on again. They have been accustomed from their infancy to 
be often wet, and to take the water like spaniels, and this is 
become a second nature, and can scarcely be called a hardship 
to tliem, insomuch that I used to say, they seemed to be of 
the duck kind, and to love water as well. Though I never 
saw this preparation for sleep in windy weather, yet, setting 
out early in a morning from one of the huts, I have seen the 
marks of their lodging, where the ground has been free from 
rime or snow, which remained all round the spot where they 
had lain." — Letters from Hcotland, Lond. 1754, 8vo. ii. 
p. 108. 



Note 2 B. 
- his henchman came. — P. 201. 



" This officer is a sort of secretary, and is to be ready, upon 
all occasions, to venture his life in delence of his master; and 
at drinking-bouts he stands behind his seat, at his haunch, 
from whence his title is derived, and watches the conversa- 
tion, to see if any one offends his patron. An English olHccr 
being in company with a certain chieftain, anil several oilier 
Highland gentlemen, near Killichumeu, had an argument with 
the great man ; and both being well warmed with usky,- at 
last the dispute grew very hot. A youth who was honchman, 
not understanding one word of English, imagined his chief was 
insulted, and thereupon drew his pistol from his side, and 
snapped it at the officer's head : bnt the pistol missed fire, 
otherwise it is more than probable he might have sufftred death 
from the hand of that little vermin. But it i'^ very disagree- 
able to an Englishman over a bottle, with the Highlanders, to 
see every one of them have his giUy. that is. his servant, stand- 
ing behind him all the while, let what will be the subject of 
conversation." — Letters from Scotland, ii. 159. 

a Wbiflky, 



Note 2 C. 

j^nd while the Ficrij Cross glanced, like a victcor, round. — 
P. 202. 

When a chieftain desired to snmmon his clan, upon any 
sufiden or important emergency, he sle\v a goat, and making 
a cross of any light wood, seared its extremities in tlie fire, 
and extinguished them in the blood of the animal. This was 
called tlie Fiery Cross, also Crean Tariffh, or the Cross of 
Shattte, because disobedience to what the symbol implied, in- 
ferred infamy. It was delivered to a swift and trusty messen- 
ger, who ran full speed with it to the next hamlet, where he 
presented it to the principal person, with a single word, imply- 
ing the place of rendezvous. He who received the symbol 
was bound to send it forward, with equal dispatch, to the 
next village ; and thus it passed with incredible celeritj' through 
all the district which owed allegiance to the chief, and also 
among his allies and neighbors, if tlie danger was common to 
them. At sight of the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen 
years old to sixty, capable of bearing arms, was obliged in- 
stantly to repair, in his best arms and accoutrements, to the 
place of rendezvous. He who failed to appear suffered the 
extremities of fire and sword, which were emblematically de- 
nounced to the disobedient by the bloody and burnt marks 
upon this warlike signal. During the civil war of 1745-6, the 
Fiery Cross often made its circuit; and upon one occasion it 
passed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of 
thirty-two miles, in three hours. The late Alexander Stewart, 
Esq., of Invernahyle, described to me his having sent round 
the Fiery Cross through the district of Appine, during the same 
commotion. The coast was threatened by a descent from two 
Englisli frigates, and the flower of the young men were with 
the army of Prince Charles Edward, then in England ; yet the 
summons was so effectual, that even old age and childliood 
obeyed it ; and a force was collected in a few hours, so numep- 
ous and so enthusiastic, that all attempt at the intended divei^ 
sion upon the country of the absent warriors was in prudence 
abandoned, as desperate. 

This j»ractice, like some others, is common to the Highland- 
ers with the ancient Scandinavians, as will appear by the fol- 
lowing extract from Olaus Magnus : — 

" Wlien the enemy is upon the sea-coast, or within the 
limits of northern kingdomes, then presently, by the command 
of the principal governours, with the counsel and consent of 
the old soldiers, who are notably skilled in such like business, 
a statf of three hands length, in the common sight of tliem 
all, is carried, by the speedy running of some active young 
man, unto that village or city, with this command, — that on 
the third, fourth, or eighth day, one, two, or three, or else 
every man in particular, from fifteen years old, shall come 
witli his arms, and expenses for ten or twenty days, upon 
pain that Ids or their houses shall be burnt (which is intimated 
by the burning of the staff), or else the master to be banged 
(which is signified by the cord lied to it), to appear speedily on 
such a bank, or field, or valley, to hear the cause he is called, 
and to liear orders from the said provincial governours what 
hf shall do. Wlterelbre that messenger, swifter than any 
post or waggon, having done his commission, comes slowly 
back again, bringing a token with liim that he hath done all 
legally, and every moment one or another runs to every village, 
and tells those places what they musi do." .... ''The 
messengers, therefore, of the footmen, that are to give warning 
to the people to meet for the battail, run fiercely and swiftly ; 
for no snow, no rain, nor heat can stop them, nor night hold 
th»m ; but they will soon run the race they undertake. The 
first messenger tells it to the next village, and that to the 
next; and so the hubbub runs all over till they all know it 

1 The MomtJon against tlio Hobbersof Tyncdale niid Redeedale, witli 
which I was favored by my frientl, Mr. Surtite, of MainEforlh, mny he 



in that stifi or territory, where, when, and wherefore they niusi 
meet."— Olaus IMaonus' History of the Qoths, Englished 
by J. S., Lond. 16.58, book iv. chap. 3, 4. 



L_, 



Note 2 D. 
That monk J of savage form and face. — P. SOU. 

The state of religion in the middle ages afforded considcnble 
facilities for those whose mode of life excluded them from 
regular worship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly assistance 
of confessors, perfectly willing to adapt the nature of their 
doctrine to the necessities and peculiar circumstances of their 
flock. Robin Hood, it is well known, had Iiis celebiati'd do- 
mestic chaplain. Friar Tuck. And that same curtal friar was 
probably matched in manners and appearance by the ghostly 
fathers of the Tynedale. robbers, who are thus described in an 
excommunication fulminated against their patrons by Richard 
Fox, Bishop of Durham, tempore Henrici VIII. " We have 
further understood, that there are many chaplains in tiie said 
territories of Tynedale and Redesdale, who are public and open 
maintainers of concubinage, irregular, suspended, excommuni- 
cated, and interdicted persons, and withal so utterly ignorant of 
letters, that it has been found by those who objected this to 
them, that there were some who, having celebrated mass for 
ten years, were still unable to read the sacramental serviee. 
We have also understood there are persons among them who. 
although not ordained, do take upon them the offices of prieil- 
hood ; and, in contempt of God, celebrate the divine and sa- 
cred rites, and administer the sacraments, not only in sacrerl 
and dedicated places, but in those which are profane and in- 
terdicted, and most wretchedly ruinous ; they themselves btin^ 
attired in ragged, torn, and most filthy vestments, altogether 
unfit to be used in divine, or even in temporal offices. The 
which said chaplains do administer sacraments and sacramental 
rights to the aforesaid manifest and infamous thieves, robbers, 
depredators, receivers of stolen goods, and plunderers, and that 
without restitution, or intention to restore, as evinced by the 
act ; and do also openly admit them to the rites of ecclesia^^i- 
cal sepulchre, without exacting security for restituiion. al- 
though they are prohibited from doing so by the sacred canons, 
as well as by the institutes of the saints and fathers. All 
which infers the heavy peril of tlieir own souls, and is a p-.r- 
nicious example to the other believers in Christ, as well as no 
sliglit, but an aggravated injury, to the numbers despoiled and 
plundered of their goods, gear, herds, and chattels."! 

To this lively and picturesque description of the confessors 
and churchmen of predatory tribes, there may be added some 
curious particulars respecting the priests attached to the sc-fc- 
ral septs of native Irish, during the reign of Q,ueen Elizabetli. 
Tliese friars had indeed to plead, that the incursions, \\'iiich 
they not only pardoned, but even encouraged, were made upon 
those hostile to them, as well in religion as fvom national an- 
tipathy ; but by Protestant writers they are uniformly alleged 
to be the chief instruments of Irish insurrection, the very well- 
spring of all rebellion towards the English government. Lith- 
gow, the Scottish traveller, declares the Irish wood-kerne, or 
predatory tribes, to be but the hounds of their hunting priests, 
who directed their incursions by their pleasure, partly for sus- 
tenance, partly to gratify animosity, partly to foment general 
division, and always for the better security and easier domina- 
tion of the friars.- Derrick, the liveliness and minuteness ol 
whose descriptions may frequently apologize for his doggerel 
verses, after describing an Irish feast, and the encouragement 
given, by the songs of the bards, to its termination in an incur- 
sion upon the parts of the coontry more immediately undet 

found in tbo origin.il Latin, in tlie Appendix to the IntroductioD to the 
Border MinstVelay, N'o. VH. vol. t. p. Sl-l. 
5 Lilhgow'8 Trnvels, tirat edition, p. 431. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



249 



ihL* dominion of the English, rvconls tlie no le^a powerful argu- 
aienlfi ased by the friar to excite tlieir animosity ; — 

• And more t' augment llie flame, 

and rancour of their liarte, 
Tlic frier, of his counsetU vile, 

to rehelles doth iiiiparte, 
Affirming that it is 

an atmose decde to God, 
To make the English suhjectes taste 

the Irish rebells' rodde. 
To spoile, to kill, to burne 

this frier's counsell is ; 
And for the doing of the same, 

he warrantes lieavenlie blisse. 
He tells a hohe tale ; 

the white he tournes to black ; 
And through the pardons in his male, 

he workes u knavishe knacke." 

The wreckful invasion of a part of tlie English pale is then 
aescribed with some S|)irit ; the burning of houses, driving off 
cattle, and all pertaining to such predatory inroads, are illus-" 
iraled by a rude cut. The defeat of the Irish, by a party of 
Ku^'lish soldiers from the next garrison, is then commemorated, 
Bnd in like manner adorned witli an engraving, in which the 
frier is exhibited mourning over the slain chieftain ; or, as the 
rubric expresses it, 

'• The frier then, that treacherous knave ; with ough ough- 

hone lament. 
To see his cousin DeviU's-son to have so foul event." 

The matter is handled at great length in the text, of which 
the following verses are more than sufficient sample : 

" The frier seyng this, 

laments that lucklesse parte, 
And curseth to the pitle of hell 

the death man's sturdie hearts ; 
Yet for to quight them with 

the frier taketh paine, 
For all the synnes that ere he did 

remission to oblaine. 
And therefore serves his booke, 

the candell and the bell ; 
But thinke you that such apishe toiea 

bring damned souls from hell ? 
It 'longs not to my parte 

iiifernall things to knowe ; ^ 

But I beleve till later daie, 

tliei rise not from beiowe. 
Yet hope that friers give 

to this rebellious rout. 
If that their souU should chaunce in hell, 

to bring them quicklie out, 
Doeth make them lead suche lives, 

as neither God nor man. 
Without revenge for their desartes, 

permitte or suffer can. 
Thus friers are the cause, 

the fountain, and the spring. 
Of huHeburles in this lande, 

of eche unhappie thing. 
Thei cause Uiem to rebell 

against their soveraigne quene, 
And through rebellion often tymes, 

their lives do vanish clene. 
So as by friers meanes, 

I Tht« corioot picture of Irvland waa inwrled by the author in the re- 
publication of Somers' Tract*, vol. i., in which the platei have been nlto 
32 



in whom all folHo swimme. 
The Irishe kame doe often lose 
the life, witli hedile and limme."* 

As the Irish tribes, and those of the Scottish Highlands, 
are much more intimately allied, by language, mannen, dresa, 
and customs, than the antiquaries of either cotmtry ban- l.-ern 
willing to admit, I flatter myself I have here produced a slroni 
warrant for the character sketched in the text. The fallow.. . 
picture, though of a different kind, serves to establish the t c 
istence of ascetic religionists, to a comparatively late perioii n 
the Highlands and Western Isles. There is a great dcil o' 
simplicity in the description, for which, as for much similar i:- 
formation, I am obliged to Dr. John Martin, who visitL'd lln- 
Hebrides at the suggestion of Sir Robert Sibbald, a Scottivh 
antiquarian of eminence, and early in the eighteenth century 
published a description of them, which procured him adniis-siou 
into the royal society. He died in London about 1710. lii^ 
work is a strange mixture of learning, observation, and gro vs 
credulity, 

" I remember," says this author, " I have seen an old lay- 
capuchin here (in the island of Benbecula), called in their lan- 
guage Brahir-bockt, that is. Poor Brother ; which is literally 
true ; for he answers this character, having nothing but what 
is given him ; he holds himself fully satisfied with food and 
rayment, and lives in as great simplicity as any of his order ; 
his diet is very mean, and he drinks only fair water; his habit 
is no less mortifying than that of his bretliren elsewhere : he 
wears a short coat, which comes no farther than his middle, 
with narrow sleeves like a waistcoat : he wears a plad above 
it, girt about the middle, which reaches to his knee : the jilad 
is fastened on his breast with a wooden pin, his neck bare, and 
Ids feet often so too: he wears a hat for ornament, and the 
string about it is a bit of a fisher's line, made of horse-hair. 
This plad he wears instead of a gown worn by those of hi^ or- 
der in other countries, I told him he wanted the flaxen girdle 
tliat men of his order usually wear : he answered me, that he 
wore a leathern one, which was the same tiling. Upon the 
matter, if he is spoke' to when at meat, lie answers again ; 
which is contrary to tlie custom of his order. This poor man 
frequently diverts himself with angling of trouts ; he lies upon 
straw, and has no bell (as others Iiave) to call him to his devo- 
tions, but only his conscience, as he told me." — Martin's 
Description of the fVcstern HiglUands, p. 82, 



Note 2 K. 

Of Brian's birth stravgc tales were told. — P. 203. 

The legend which follows is not of the author's invention. 
It is possible he may differ from modern critics, in supposing 
that the records of human superstition, if peculiar to, and char^ 
acteristic of, the country in which the scene is laid, are a legit- 
imate subject of poetry. He gives, however, a ready assent to 
the narrower proposition which condemns all attempts of an 
irregular and disordered fancy to excite terror, by accumulating 
a train of fantastic and incoherent Iiorrors, whether borrowed 
from all countries, and patched upon a narrative belonging ro 
one which knew them not, or derived from the author's own 
imagination. In the present case, therefore, I appeal to the 
record wliich I have transcribed, with the variation of a very 
few words, from the geographical collections made by the 
Laird of Macfarlane. I know not whether it be necessary to 
remark, that the miscellaneous concourse of youths and maid 
ens on the night and on the spot where the miracle is said to 
have taken place, might, even in a credulous age, have some- 
what diminished the wonder which accompanied the concep- 
tion of Gilli-Doir-M;igrevollich. 

inierted, from th« only impreaaions known to exist, belonging to th« «opy 
in the Advocat«s' library. See Somers' Tracta, vol, i. pp. 691, fiM. 



250 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" There is bot two myles from Inverloghie, the church of 
Kilmalee, in Lochyeld. In ancisattymes there was ane church 
builiied upon ane hill, which was above tliis church, which 
tloeih now stand in this toune ; and ancient men doeth say, 
tliat there was a baLtell foughten on ane Hlle hil) not the tenth 
part of a niyle from this church, be certaine men which tiiey 
did not know what they were. And long tyme thereafter, 
ccrtaine herds of that toune, and of the next toune, called Un- 
nati, both wenches and youlhes, did on a tyme conveen with 
others on that bill ; and the day being somewhat cold, did 
gallierthe bones of the dead men tliat were slayne long tyiue 
liefore in that place, and did make a fire to warm them. At 
last they did all remove from the fire, except one maid or 
wench, which was verie cold, and she did remaine there for a 
space. She being cjuyetlie her alone, without anie other cora- 
pariie, took up her cloaths above her knees, or thereby, to 
warm her ; a wind did corae and caste the ashes upon her, and 
she was conceived of ane man-chyld. Severall tymes there- 
after she was verie sick, and at last she was knowne to be with 
chyld. And then her parents did ask at her the matter heirofl", 
which the wench could not wee! answer which way to satisfie 
them. At last she resolved tliem with ane answer. As for- 
tune fell upon her concerning this marvellous miracle, the 
chyld being borne, his name was called Oili-doir Jilagkrevol- 
lick, that is to say, the Black Child, Son to the Bones. So 
called, his grandfather sent him to school, and so he was a 
good scbollar, and godlie. He did build this church wliich 
doeth now stand in Lochyeld, called Kilmalie." — Macfar- 
LA.NE, ut supra, ii. 188. 



Note 2 F. 



Yet ne^er again to braid her hair 

The virgin snood did Alice wear. — P. 203. 

The snood, or riband, with which a Scottish lass braided 
her hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her 
maiden character. It was exchanged for the cnrvh, toy, or 
coif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. 
But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to 
the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of mat- 
ron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced 
to the graver dignity of the curch. In old Scottish songs there 
occur many sly allusions to such misfortune; as in the old 
words to the popular tune of " Ower the muir aman^ the 
heather :" 

' Down amang the broom, the broom, 
Down amang the broom, ray dearie, 
The lassie lost her silken snood, 

That gard her greet till she was wearie." 



Note 2 G. 



The desert gave him visions jcild, 

Such as might suit the spcctre^s child. — P. 204. 

In adopting the legend concerning the birth of the Founder 
of the Church of Kilmalie. the author has endeavored to trace 
the effects which such a belief was likely to produce, in a bar- 
barous age, on the person to whom it rdated. It seems likely 
that he must have become a fanatic or an impostor, or that 
mixture of both which forms a more frequent character than 
either of them, as existing separately. In truth, mad persons 
are frequently more anxious to impress upon others a faith in 
thtf-ir visions, than they are themselves confirmed in their real- 
ity ; as, ou the other hand, it is difBeult for the most cool- 
headed impostor long to personate an enthusiast, without in 
Borae degree believing what he is so eager to have believed. 
It was a natural attribute of such a cliaracter as the' supposed 



hermit, that he should credit the numerous superstitions with 
which the minds of ordinary Highlanders are almost always 
imbued. A few of these are slightly alluded to in this stanza. 
The River Demon, or Rivei^horse, for it is that form which ha 
commonly assumes, is the Kelpy of the Lowlands, an evil and 
malicious spirit, deligJiting to forebode and to witness calamity. 
He frequents most Highland lakes and rivers; and one of his 
most memorable exploits was performed upon the banks ol 
Loch Vennachar, in the very district which forms the sceno 
of our action : it consisted in the destruction of a funeral pro- 
cession with all its attendants. The "noontide hng," called 
in Gaelic Olas'lich, a tall, emaciated, gigantic ft^male figure, 
is supposed in particular to haunt the district of Knoidart. A 
goblin, dressed in antique armor, and having one hand covered 
with blood, called from that circumstance, Lham-dcarg, or 
Red-hand, is a teiiant of the forests of Glenmore and Rothie- 
murcus. Other spirits of the desert, all frightful in shape and 
malignant in disposition, are believed to frequent different 
mountains and glens of the Highlands, where any unusual 
appearance, produced by mist, or the strange ligiits that are 
sometimes thrown upon particular objects, never fails to pre- 
sent an apparition to the imagination of the solitary and mel- 
ancholy mountaineer. 



Note 2 H. 



The fatal Ben'Shie's boding scream. — P. 904. 

Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have 
a tutelar, or rather a domestic spirit, attached to them, who 
took an interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its wail- 
ings, any approaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant was 
called May Moullack, and appeared in the form of a girl, who 
had her arm covered with hair. Grant of Rothiemurcus had 
an attendant called Bodach-an-dun, or the Ghost of the Hill ; 
and many other examjiles might be mentioned. The Ban- 
Schie implies a female Fairy, whose lamentations were olten 
supposed to precede the death of a chieftain of particular fam- 
ilies. When she is visible, it is in the form of an old woman, 
with a blue mantle and streaming hair, A superstition of the 
same kind is, I believe, universally received by the inferior 
ranks of the native Irish. 

The death of the head of a Highland family is also some- 
times supposed to he announced by a chain of lights of differ- 
ent colors, called Dr^evg, or death of the Druid. Tiie direc- 
tion which it takes, marks the jilace of the funeral. [See the 
Essay on Fairy Superstitions in the Border Minstrelsy.] 



Note 2 I. 



Sounds, too. had come in midnight blast. 
Of charging steeds, careering fast 
Along Bejiharrow's shingly side, 
ff'here mortal horsemen ne^er might ride. — P. 2U4. 

A presage of the kind alluded loin the text, is still believed 
to announce death to the ancient Highland family of M'Lean 
of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle is heard 
to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around 
th» family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intima- 
ting the approaching cal:itnity. How easily the eye, as well 
as the ear, may be deceived upon such occasions, is evident 
from the stories of armies in tlie air, and other spectral pho- 
noraena with which history abounds. Such an apparition is 
said to have been witnessed upon the side of Soutlifell moun- 
tain, between Penrith and Keswick, upon the 23d June, 1744, 
by two persons, William Lancaster of Blakehills. and Daniel 
Stricket, his servant, whose attestation to the fact, with a full 
account of the apparition, dated the 21st July, 1745, is printed 
in Clarke's Survey of llie Lakes. The apparition consisted of 



APPENDIX TO THE LAUV OF THE LAKE. 



251 



*<-veml troops of horse moving in regular order, with a steady 
rn|)i'l iDution, making a curved sweep around the fell, and 
BCuriiiii'i to the speetalors to disappear over the ridgo of the 
inouiitaiii. Many persons witnessed tliis phenumeaon, and 
ol)<»erved tlie last, or last but one, of the supposed troou, oc- 
casionally leave his rank, and pass at a gallo,. to th« iront, 
when lie resumed the i^ame steady pace. This curious appear^ 
unce, making the necessary allowance foriniagination, may be 
pi-rhaps sufficiently accounted for by optical deception. — Sur- 
vtij of the I^akcs, p. 25, 

Supernatural intimationfl of approaching fate are not, 1 be- 
Jieve, confined lo Highland families. Howel mentions having 
seen at a lapidary's, in 1632, a monumental stone, prepared 
for four persons of the name of Oxonham, before the death of 
each of « horn, the inscription stated a white bird to have ap- 
peared and fluttered around the bed wliile the patient was in 
the last -jgony.— Familiar Letters, edit. 172G. 247. Glanville 
mentions one family, the members of which received this sol- 
emn sign by music, the sound of which floated from the family 
residence, and seemed to die in a neighboring wood ; another, 
that of Captain Wood of Hampton, to whom the signal was 
given by knocking. But the most remarkable instance of the 
kind occurs in the MS. Memoirs of Lady Fanshaw. so exem- 
plary fur her conjugal aflection. Her husband, Sir Richard, 
and she, chanced, during their abode in Ireland, to visit a 
friend, the head of a sept, who resided in his ancient baronial 
castle, surrounded with a moat. At midnight she was awa- 
kened by a ghastly and supernatural scream, and, looking out 
of bed, beheld, by the moonlight, a female face and part of 
the I'orra, hovering at the window. The distance from the 
ground, as well as the circumstance of the moat, excluded the 
possibility that what she beheld was of this world. The face 
was that of a young and rather handsome woman, but pale ; 
and the hair, which was reddish, was loose and dishevelled. 
The dress, which Lady Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her 
remarking accurately, was that of the ancient Irish. This ap- 
parition continued to exhibit itself for some lime, and then 
vanished with two shrieks, similar to that which had first ex- 
cited Lady Fanshaw's attention. In the morning, with infinite 
terror, she communicated to her host what she had witnessed, 
and found him i)repared not only to credit but to account for 
tile apparition. " A near relation of my family," said he, 
"expired last night in this castle. We disguised our certain 
expectation of the event from you, lest it should throw a cloud 
over the cheerful reception which was due you. Now, be- 
fore such an event happens in this family and caslle, the fe- 
male spectre whom you have seen always is visible. She is 
believed to be the spirit of a woman of inferior rank, whom 
one of my ancestors degraded himself by marrying, and whom 
afterwards, to expiate the dishonor done his family, he caused 
lo be drowned in the castle moat.*' 



Note 2 K. 



Whose parents in Inch'Cailliack wave 

Tkeir shadows o'er Clan-Jilpinc's grave. — P. 204. 

Inch-Cailiiach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most 
beautiful island at the lower extremity of Loch Lomond. The 
church belonging to the former nunnery was long used as the 
place of worship for the parish of Buchanan, but scarce any 
vestiges of it now remain. The burial-ground continues to be 
used, and contains the family jtlaces of sepulture of several 
neighboring clans. The monuments of the lairds of Mao- 
gregor, and of othpr families, claiming a descent from the old 
Scottish King Aipip^, are most remarkable. The Uighland- 
eis are as zealooi of their rights of sepulture as may be ex- 
pected from a pe^jplc whose whole laws and government, if 



clanship can be called so, turned upon the single principle of 
family descent. " May his ashes be scatlercJ on the watt-r," 
was one of the deepest and most solemn imprecations whieh 
they Dsed against an enemy. [See a detailed description of 
the funeral ceremonies of a Highland chieftain in the Fair Maid 
of Perth. fVavcrlctf JVovcls, vol, 43, chaps, x. and xi. Kdit. 
1834.] 



Note 2 L. 



• the dun-deer*s hide 



On fleeter foot was never tied. — P. 205. 
The present brogue of the Highlanders is made of half-dried 
leather, with holes to admit and let out the water ; for walk- 
ing the moors dry-shod is a matter altogether out of the ques- 
tion. The ancient buskin was still ruder, being made of un- 
dressed deer's hide, with the hair outwards; a circumstance 
which procured the Highlanders the well-known epithet of 
Red-skanlis. The process is very accurately described by one 
Elder (himself a Highlander) in the project for a union between 
England and Scotland, addressed to Henry Vlll. " We go 
a-honting, and after that we have slain red-deer, we Hay off 
the skin, by-and-by, and setting of our bare-foot on the inside 
thereof, for want of cunning shoemakers, by your grace's par- 
don, we play the cobblers, compassing and measuring so much 
thereof as shall reach up to our ankles, pricking the upper 
part thereof with holes, that the water may rejiass where it 
enters, and stretching it up with a strong thong of the same 
above our said ankles. So. and please your noble grace, we 
make our shoes. Therefore, we using such manner of shoes, 
the rough hairy side outwards, in your grace's dominions of 
England, we be called Roughfooted Scots.'' — Pinkkrton's 
Histonj, vol. ii. p. 397. 



Note 2 M. 



The dismal coronach.—'?. 206. 

The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the Ulalatus of the 
Romans, and the Vtuloo of the Irish, was a wild expression of 
lamentation, poured forth by the mourners over the body of a 
departed friend. When the words of it were articulate, they 
expressed the praises of the deceased, and the loss the clan 
would sustain by his death. The following is a lamentation of 
this kind, literally translated from the Gaelic, to some of the 
ideas of which the text stands indebted. The tune is so popu- 
lar, that it has since become the war-march, or Gathering of 
the clan. 

Coronach on Sir Lauchlan, Chief of Maclean. 
" Which of all the Senachies 
Can trace thy hue from the root up to Paradise, 
But Macvuirih, the son of Fergus? 
No sooner had thine ancient stately tree 
Taken tirm root in Albion, 
Than one of thy forefathers fell at Harlaw. — 
'Twas then we lost a chief of deathless name. 

*' 'Tis no base weed — no planted tree, 
Nor a seedling of last Autumn ; 
Nor a sapling planted at Beltain ;^ 
Wide, wide around were spread its lofty branches — 
But the topmost bough is lowly laid ! 
ThoQ hast forsaken us before Sawaine.^ 

" Thy dwelling is the winter house ; — 
Loud, sad, sad, and mighty Is thy death-song I 



1 2»U*i firo, or WhiUunday. 



3 HalloweVo. 



252 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Oil ! courteons champion of Montrose ! 
Oh ! stately warrior of the Celtic Isles ! 
Thou shall buckle thy harness on no more t" 

The coronach has for some years past been superseded at 
funerals by the use of the bagpipe ; and that also is, like many 
other Highland peculiarities, falling into disuse, unless in remote 
districts. 



Note 2 N. 



Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 

It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. — P. 207. 

Inspection of the provincial map of Perthshire, or any large 
map of Scotland, will trace the progress of the signal through 
the small district of lakes and mountains, which, in exercise of 
my poetical privilege, I have subjected to the authority of my 
imaginary chieftain, and which, at the period of my romance, 
was really occupied by a clan who claimed a descent from 
Al])ine ; a clan the most unfortunate, and most persecuted, but 
neither the least distinguished, least powerful, nor least brave, 
of the tribes of the Gael. 

" Slioch non rioghridh dochaisach 
Bha-shios an Dun-Staiobhinish 
Aig an roubh crun iia Halba othus 
'Stag a cheil duchas fast ris." 

The first stage of the Fiery Cross is to Duncraggan, a place 
near the Brigg of Turk, where a short stream divides Loch 
Achray from Loch Vennachar. From thence, it passes to- 
wards Callendcr, and then turning to the left up the pass of 
Leny, is consigned to Norman at the Chapel of Saint Bride, 
which stood on a small and romantic knoll in the middle of 
the valley, called Strath-Ire. Tombea and Arnandave, or 
Ardmandave, are names of places in the vicinity. The alarm 
is then supposed to pass along the lake of Lubnaig, and 
through the various glens in the district of BaUjuidder, in- 
cluding the neighboring tracts of Glenfinlas and Strathgartney. 



Note 2 0. 

J^ot faster o^er thy heathery braes, 
Balguiddcr, speeds the midnight blaze. — P. 203. 

It may be necessary to inform the southern reader, that the 
lieatli on the Scottish moorlands is often set fire to, that tlie 
sheep may have the advantage of the young herbage produced, 
in room of tlie tough old heatiier plants. This custom (e.\e- 
crated by sportsmen) produces occa-sionally the most beautiful 
nocturnal appearances, similar almost to the discharge of a 
volcano. This simile is not new to poetry. The charge of a 
warrior, In the fine ballad of Hardyknute, is said to be " like 
fire to heather set." 



Note 2 P. 



JWj oath, hut by his chieftain's hand, 

Jv'o law, but Roderick Dhu's command. — P. 208. 

The deep and implicit respect paid by the Highland clans- 
men to their chief, rendered this both a common and a solemn 
oath. In oilier respects they were like most savage nations, 
capricious in their ideas concerning the obligatory power of 
oaths. One solemn mode of swearing was by kissing the dirk, 
imprecating upon themselves death by that, or a similar weapon. 



if they broke their vow. But for oaths in the nsnal foim. thej 
are said to have little respect. As for the reverence due to the 
chief, it may be guessed from the following odd example of a 
Highland jioint of honor : — 

"The clan whereto the above-mentioned tribe belongs, is 
the only one I have hoard of, which is without a chief; that 
is, being divided into families, under several chiel'tiiiiis, with- 
out any particular patriarch of the whole name. And llija is 
a great reproach, as may appear from an affair thai fell out at 
my table in the Highlands, between one of tliat name and a 
Cameron. The provocation given by the latter was — 'Name 
your chief.' — The return of it at once was — ' You are a fool.' 
They went out next morning, but having early notice of it, 1 
sent a small party of soldiers after them, whicli, in all proba- 
bility, prevented some barbarous mischief that mighl have en- 
sued ; for the chiefless Highlander, who is himself a petty cliiel- 
tain, was going to the place appointed with a small-:?word and 
pistol, whereas the Cameron (an old man) took witii liim only 
his broadsword, according to the agreement. 

" When all was over, and I had, at least seemingly, recon- 
ciled them, I was told the words, of which I seemed to lliink 
but slightly, were, to one of the clan, the greatest of all provo- 
cations." — Letters from Scotland, vol. ii. p. 221. 



Note 2 Q. 



—a low and lonely cell. 



By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, 
Has Coir-nan- Uriskin been sung.- 



■P. 209. 



This is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the moun- 
tain of Benvenue, overhanging the southeastern extreniily of 
Loch Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and 
overshadowed with birch-trees, mingled %vith oaks, with spon- 
taneous production of the mountain, even where its cHfis ap- 
pear denuded of soil. A dale in so wild a situation, and amid 
a people whose genius bordered on the romantic, did not re- 
main without appropriate deities. The name literally implies 
the Corri, or Den, of the Wild or Shaggy men. Perhaps this, 
as conjectured by Mr. Alexander Campbell,' may have origi- 
nally only implied its being the haunt of a ferocious b:inditli. 
But tradition has ascribed to the Urisk, who gives name to 
the cavern, a figure between a goat and a man ; in short, bow- 
ever much the classical reader may be startled, precisely that 
of the Grecian Satyr. The Urisk seems not to have inherilctl. 
with the form, the petulance of the silvan deity of the classics : 
his occupation, on the contrary, resembled those of Milton's 
Lubbar Fiend, or of the Scottish Brownie, though he dilfL-red 
from both in name and appearance. " The Urisks,^* says 
Dr, Graham, " were a set of lubberly supernaturals, wlio. like 
the Brownies, could be gained over by kind attention, to per- 
form the drudgery of the farm, and it was believed that many 
of the families in the Higlilands had one of the order attached 
to it. They were supposed to be dispersed over the Highl.iniU. 
each in his own wild recess, but the solemn stated meetinirs of 
the order were regularly held in this Cave of Benvenue. This 
current superstition, no doubt, alludes to some circumstance in 
the ancient history of this country." — Scenery on the Southern 
Confines of Perthshire, p, 19, 1806.— It must be owned that 
the Coir, or Den, does not, in its present state, meet our ideas 
of a subterraneous grotto, or cave, being only a small and 
narrow cavity, among huge fragments of rocks rudely piled 
tcetber. But such a scene is liable to convulsions of nature, 
whica a Lowlander cannot estimate, and which may have 
choked up what was originally a cavern. At least the name 
and tradition warrant the author of a fictitious tale to assert iu 
having been such at the remote period in which this scene it 
laid. 

1 Journey from Edinburgh, 1802, p. 109. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



253 



Note 2 R. 

The wild pass of Beal-nam-bo.—P. 209. 

Bealafh-iiam-l)o, or tlie pa-'!s of cattle, is a most magnificent 
glade, ovorliung with ageil bircli-lret-s, u little higher up tlie 
uiouiitain than the Coir-nan-Uriskiii, treated of in a former iioir. 
The whole composes the most sublime piece of scenery that 
tniuginalion can conceive. 



Note 2 S. 



.^ single page, to bear his sword, 
Alone attended on his Ivrd.—V. ^OO 

A Highland chief, being as absolute in his patriarchal au- 
ihority as any prince, bad a eorrespoTiding number of uflicers 
attached to his person. He had liis body-guards, called 
I.uichttach, picked from his clan for strength, activity, and 
entire devotion to liis person. These, according to their de- 
serts, were sure to share abundantly in the rude profusion of 
his hospitality. It is recorded, for example, by tradition, that 
Allan MacLean, chief of that clan, happened upon a lime to 
hear one of these favorite retainers observe to liis comrade, 
that their chief grew old. — *' Whence do you infer that ?" re- 
plied the oilier. — " When was it," rejoined the first, " tliat a 
soldier of Allan's was obliged, as I am now, not only to eat 
the Hesh from the bone, but even to tear off the inner skin, or 
filament ?" The hint was (juite sutlicient, and MacLean next 
murning, to relieve his followers from such dire necessity, un- 
dertook an inroad on the mainland, the ravage of which alto- 
gether effaced the memory of his former expeditions for the like 
purpose. 

Our officer of Engineere, so often quoted, has given os a 
distinct list of the domestic otfictrs who, independent of 
Lnickttach, or gardes de corps, belonged to the establishment 
of a Highland Chief. These are, 1. The Unichman. See 
these Xotes, p. 247. 2. The Bard. See p. 2-13. 3. Bladier, 
or spokesman. 4. Qillie-more, or sword-bearer, alluded to in 
the text. 5. Oiltie-casjiue, who carried the chief, if on foot, 
over the fords. 6. QiUic-comstrntnc, who leads tlie chief's 
horse. 7. Oi/lie-Trusheinnrinsk, the baggage man. 8. The 
piprr. 9. The piper's gillie or attendanl, who carries the 
bagpipe. I Although this appearcii, naturally enough, very 
ridicnious to an English officer, who considered the master of 
such a retinue as no more than an English gentleman of X.jOO 
a-year, yet in the circumstances of the chief, whose strength 
and importance consisted in the number and attachment of his 
followers, it was of the last consequence, in point of policy, lo 
have in his gift subordinate ollices, which called immediately 
round his person those who were most devoted to him, and, 
being of value in their eslimation, were also the means of re- 
warding them. 



Note 2 T. 



The Taghairm enlCd ; by which, fifar, 

Our sires foresaw the events of war. — P. 211. 

The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various super- 
stitious modes of inquiring into futurity. One of the most 
notfd was the Taghairm, mentioned in the text. A person 
was wrapped up in the skin of a newly-slain bullock, and de- 
posited beside a waterfall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or 
in some other strange, wild, anti unusual situation, where the 
scenery aroand him suggested nothing but objecla of horror. 
In this situation, be revolved in liis mind the question |)ro- 
posed ; and whatever was impres-^ed uj)on him by his exalted 
imagination, passed for the inspiration of the disembodied 

1 T^ltera from Scotland, toI. ii. p IS. 

) Tho reader may have nirt wilL the rtory of the " King of tho Cala," 



spirits, who haunt the desolate recesses. In some of these 
Hebrides, they attributed tlie same oracular power to a large 
black stone by the sea-shore, which Ihoy approached witli cer- 
tain solemnities, and considered the first fancy which came t.to 
their own minds, after they did so, to be the undoubted dictate 
of the tutelar deity of the stone, and, as such, to be, if possi 
ble, punctually complied with. Martin has recor'.'ed the fol- 
lowing curious modes of Highland augury, in which tho 
Taghairm, and ils etfects upon the person who was subjecto^ 
to it, may serve lo illustrate the text. 

" It was an ordinary thing among the over-curiott lo cot>- 
snlt an invisible oracle, concerning the fate of families and 
battles, &c. This was performed three different ways : the 
first was by a company of men, one of whom, being detached 
by lot, was afterwards carried to a river, which was the boun- 
dary between two tillages; four of the company laid hold 
on him, and. having shut his eyes, they took him by the legs 
and arms, and then, tossing liim to and again, struck his htps 
with force against the bank. One of them cried out, Wliat 
is it you have got Iiere ? another answers. A log of birch- 
wood. The other cries again. Let his invisible friends appear 
from all quarters, ami let them relieve him by giving an answer 
to our present demands ; and in a few minutes after, a number 
of little creatures came from the sea, who answered the ques- 
tion, and disappeared suddenly. The man was then set al 
liberty, and they all returned home, to take their measures 
according to the prediction of their false prophets ; but the 
poor deluded fools were abused, for their answer was still am- 
biguous. This was always practised in the night, and may 
literally be called the works of darkness. 

" I had an account from tlie most intelligent and judicious 
men in the Isle of Skie, that about sixty-two years ago, the 
oracle was thus consulted only once, and that was in the pa- 
rish of Kilmartin, on the east side, by a wicked and mischie- 
vous race of people, wlio are now extinguished, both root and 
branch. 

" The second way of consulting the oracle was by a party 
of men, who first retired to solitary places, remote from any 
liouse, and there they singled out one of their number, and 
wrapt him in a big cow's hide, which they folded about him ; 
his whole body was covered with it, except his head, and so 
left in this posture all night, until his invisible friends relieved 
him, by giving a proper answer lo the question in hand ; which 
he received, as he fancied, from several persons that he found 
about him all that time. His consorts returned to him at iliei 
break of day, and then he communicated his news to tliem ; 
which often proved fatal to those concerned in such unwar- 
rantable inquiries. 

" There was a third way of consolting, which was a confir- 
mation of the second above mentioned. Tlie same company 
who put the man into the hide, took a live cat, and put him 
on a spit ; one of the number was employed lo turn the spit, 
and one of his consorts inquired of him, What are you doing ? 
he answered, I roast this cat, until his friends answer the ques- 
tion ; which must be the same that was proposed by the man 
shut up in the hide. And afterwards, a very big cat^ comes 
attended by a number of lesser cats, desiring to relieve th» 
cat turned upon the spit, and then answers the question. II 
this answer proved the same that was given to the man in the 
hide, then it was taken as a confirmation of the other, which, 
in this case, was believed infallible. 

" Mr, Alexander Cooper, present minister of North-Vist, 
told me, that one John Erach, in the Isle of Lewis, assured 
him, it was his fate to have been led by his curiosity with 
some wlio consulted this oracle, and that he was a night within 
the hi<le, as above mentioned ; during which time he felt and 
heard such terrible things, that he could not express them ; the 
impression it made on him was such as conid never go off, anc 
he said, for a thousand worlds he would never again be con 

in Lord LitUoton'o Letters. It la well known in the Higl.lamls lu a ourau"* 



254 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



cerned in the like performance, for this had disordered him to a 
high degree. lie confessed it iiigenuoiisty, and with an air of 
great remorse, and seemed to be very i)enitent under a just 
sense of so great a crime : he declared this about five years 
eince, am] Is still living in the Lewis for any thing 1 know." — 
Description of the IVcstcrn Isles, p. 110. See also Pen- 
nant's Scottish Tour, vol. ii. p. 3G1. 



Note 2 IT. 

The choicest of the -prey ice had. 

When swept our merry-men Oallangad. — P 211. 

I know not if it be worth observing, that this passage is 
taken almost literally from the mouth of an old Highland 
Kern or Ketteran, as they were called. He used to narrate 
the merry doings of the good old time when he was follower 
of Rob Roy MacGregor. This leader, on one occasion, thought 
proper to make a descent upon the lower part of the Loch 
Lomond district, and summoned all the heritors and farmers 
to meet at the Kirk of Drymen, to pay him black-mail, i. e. 
tribute for forbearance and protection. As this invitation was 
supported by a band of thirty or forty stout fellows, only one 
gentleman, an ancestor, if I mistake not. of the present Mr. 
Graliame of Gartmore, ventured to decline compliance. Rob 
Roy instantly swept his land of all he could drive away, and 
among the spoil was a bull of the old Scottish wild breed, 
whose ferocity occasioned great plague to the Ketterans. " But 
ere we had reached the Row of Dennan," said the old man, 
" a child might have scratched his ears."i The circumstance 
is a minute one, but it paints the limes when the poor beeve 
was compelled 



' To hoof it o*er as many weary miles, 
With goading pikemen hollowing at his 
As e'er the bravest antler of the woods. 



heels, 



Note 2 V. 



That huge cliff, ichose ample verge 

Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.— P. 211. 

There is a rock so named in the Forest of Glenfinlas, by 
which a tumultuary cataract takes its course. This wild place 
is said in former times to have afforded refuge to an outlaw, 
who was supplied with provisions by a woman, who lowered 
them down from the brink of the precipice above. His water 
he procured for himself, by letting down a flagon tied to a 
string, into the black poo! beneath the fall. 



Note 2 W. 



Thaty tontching while the deer is broke. 

His morsel claims with sullen croak ? — P. 211. 

Broke — Quartered. — Every tiling belonging to the chase was 
matter of solemnity among our ancestors; but nothing was 
nore so than the mode of cutting up, or, as it was technically 
(ailed, breaking, the slaughtered stag. The forester had his 
allotted portion ; the hounds had a certain allowance ; and, to 
make the division as general as possible, the very birds had 
their share also. " There is a little gristle," says Tnrberville, 
" which is upon the spoone of the brisket, which we call the 
raven's bone ; and I have seen in some places a raven so wont 
and accustomed to it, that she would never fail to croak and 
cry for it a., the time you were in breaking up of the deer, 
and would not depart till she had it." In the very ancient 



metrical romance of Pir Tristrem, that peerless knight, who is 
said to have been the very deviser of all rules of chase, did 
not omit the ceremony : — 

" The rauen he yaue his yiftes 
Sat on the fourched tre." 

Sir Tristrem. 

The raven might also challenge his rights by the Book of St, 
Albans ; for thus says Dame Juliana Berners : — 



The bely to the side, from the corbyn bone ; 
That is corbyn's fee, at the death he will be.' 



Jonson, in "The Sad Shepherd,' 
count of the same ceremony l 



gives a more poetical ac 



" Marian. — He that undoes him. 

Doth cleave the brisket bone, upon the spoon 

Of which a little gristle grows — you call it — 

Robin Hood. — The raven's bone. 

Marian. — Now o'er head sat a raven 
On a sere bough, a grown, great bird, and hoarse, 
Who, all the while the deer was breaking up. 
So croak'd and cried for't, as all the huntsmen, 
Especially old Scathiock, thought it ominous." 



Note 2 X. 



Which spills the foremost foeman* s life. 

That party conquers in the strife. — P. 212. 
Though this be in the text described as a response of the 
Taghairm, or Oracle of the Hide, it was of itself an augury 
frequently attended to. The fate of the battle was often an- 
ticipated in the imaginatioii of the combatants, by observing 
which party first shed blood. It is said that the Highlanders 
under Montrose were so deeply imbued with this notion, that, 
on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor, they murdered a 
defenceless lierdsman, whom they fonnd in the fields, merely 
to secure an advantage of so much consequence to tlieir 
party. 



Note 2 Y. 



1 This nnocdote was, in formor eilitimis, ii 
Macgregnr of Glciigyle, called Gltlurie D>i 



rtci'iiniti'ly jLwribed to George 
I, OT liliLck-knee, & Telation of 



JIUu Brand.— V. 213. 
This little fairy tale is founded npon a very curious Danish 
ballad, wliich occurs in the Eempe Viser, a collection of 
Jieroic songs, first |iublislied in 1591, and reprinted in lli'Jr), 
inscribed by Anders Sofrensen, the collector and editor, to 
Sophia, aueen of Denmark. I have been favored with a 
literal translation of the original, by my learned friend Mr. 
Robert Jamieson, whose itee|) knowledge of Scandinavian an- 
tiquities will, 1 hope, one clay lie displayed in illustration of 
the history of Scottish Ballad and Song, for which no man 
pos.se!ses more ample materials. The story will remind ih. 
readers of the Border iMinstrtlsy of the tale of Young Tani- 
lane. But this is only a solitary and not very marked ij.staii. c 
of coincidence, whereas several of the other ballad- in tlic 
same collection find exact counterparts in the K,rmp,- risvr. 
Which may have been the originals, will be a question for 
future antiquaries. Mr. Jamieson, to secure the power ol 
literal translation, has adopted the old Scottish idiom, which 
approaches so near to that of the Danish, as almost to give 
wonl for word, as well as line for line, and indeed in many 
verses the orthoiraphy alone is altered. As IVcster Ilrf. 
mentioned in the first stanzas of the ballad, means the IVesl 
Sea, in opposition to the Baltic, or East Sea, Mr. Jamieson 



Rob Roy, but. ns I li;i 
ceases.— .V" e to TAif 



BSSwred, not addjcte4 to his predatory ex- 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKR, 25.'i 


inclines to be of opinion, that tlie scene of the disenchantment 


They nighcd near the hasband's house ; 


is laiil in one of tlie Orknt-y, or Heljride Islands. To each 


Sae lang their tails did hing. 


veree in the original is addt-d a burden, having a kind of mean- 




*xiR of its own, hut not apjdicuble, at least not nnifoniily ap- 


9. 


plicable, to the sense of the stanza to which it is subjoined : 


Tlie hound he yowls i' the yard, 


'hi<i 19 very common both in Danish and Scottish song. 


The henl tool-s in hi« horn ; 




The earn scraighs, and the cock craws, 
As the husbande h;is gi'en him his cora.t 




THE KLFIN GRAY. 


10. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH K^MPE VISER, p. 143, 


The Elfen were five score and seven, 


ANI> FIRST I'UBMSHKP IN 1591. 


Sae laidly and sae grim ; 




And they the husbande's guests maun be, 


Der ligger en void i Vester Haf, 


To eat and drink wi' him. 


Der agtcr en bonde at bygge : 


11. 
The husbande, out o' Villenshaw, 


Hand furer did baade hvg og hund, 
Og ngter der om vt'ntereji at ligge. 


(Da VILDK DIUR GO DIURENE UDl SKOFVEN.) 


At his winnock the Elves can see: 




" Help me, now, Je^u, Mary's son ; 


I. 


Thir Elves they mint at me !" 


There ligss a wold in Wester Haf, 


12. 


There a hnsbande means to btgg. 


And tliither lie carries haiih iiawk and honnd. 


In every nook a cross he coost, 


Tiiere meaning the winter to ligg. 
{The wild dtxr and dacs V the shaw out.) 


In his chalmer maist ava ; 
The Elfen a' were fley'd thereat, 
And flew to the wild-wood shaw. 


He taks wi' him baith Iioand and cock, 


13. 


Tlie liinger he means to slay, 


And some flew east, and some flew west, 


The wild deer in the sliaws that are 


And some to the norwart flew ; 


IMay sairly rue the day. 
(The wild deer, ^-c.) 


And some they flew to the deep dale down, 
There still they are, I trow.a 


3. 


14. 


He's hew'd the beecli, and he's fell'd the aik, 


It was then the weiest Elf, 


Sae ha?< lie the poplar gray ; 


In at tlie door braids he ; 


And grim in mood was the grewsome elf, 


Agast was the hnsbande, for that Elf 


That be sae biald lie may. 


For cross nor sign wad flee. 


4. 

He hew'd him kipjiles, he hew'd him bawks. 


15. 
The hoswife she was a canny wife. 


Wi' niickle moil and haste, 


She set the Elf at the board ; 


Syne speer'd Uie Elf i' the knock that bade, 


She set before him baith ale and meat, 


*' Wha's hacking here sae fast ?" 


Wi' mony a weel-waled word. 


5. 


16. 


Syne up and spak the weiest Elf, 


" Hear thou, Gtideman o' Villenshaw, 


Crean'il as un irnmert sma : 


What now I say to thee ; 


'* It's her? i> come a Christian man ; — 


Wlia bade thee bigg within our bounda, 


I'll fley him or he ga." 


Without the leave o' me? 


G. 


17. 


It's op syne started the firsten Elf, 


" But, an' thon in our bounds will bigg 


And gtower'd about sae grim : 


And bide, as well may be. 


"It's we'll awa* to the husbande's honse, 


Then thou thy dearest huswife maun 


And bald a court on him. 


To me for a lemman gie." 


7. 


18. 


" Here hews he down baith skngg and shaw, 


Up spak the luckless hnsbande then. 


And works us skaith and scorn : 


As God the grace him gae ; 


His huswifp he sail gie to me ;— 


'* Eline she is to me sae dear, 


They's rue the day tliey were born I" 


Her thou may nae-gate hae." 


a. 


19. 


The Ellen a' i' the knock that were, 


Till the Elf he answer'd as he couth : 


Gaed dancing in a string ; 


" Let but my huswife be. 


1 This ttn^lar quatrain stands thus in ike original :— 


1 /ntfte Danish :- 


" Huiiil«ii hand giOr i gaarden ; 

Hiordeii titdi iiit honi; 
(Emeu »krigtr, og haoen galer, 

8oni bondea hafdfi gifvet sitkom." 


" SonimS fliiyS oster, og Bonim& fifiyft veit«r 

Nogl6 floyA n&r paa ; 
Noglft flLiye ned i dybenft dalft, 

Jeg troer de eri) der endnu." 



256 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And tak whate'er, o* gode or gear, 
Is mine, awa wi' thee." — 

20. 
" Then I'll thy Eline lak and thee, 

Aneath my feet to tread ; 
And hide thy goud and white monie 

Aneath my dwalling stead." 

21. 
The hnsbande and his hoosehold a* 

In sary rede they join : 
" Far bettet that she be now forfaira, 

Nor that we a' should tyne." 

22. 

Up, will of rede, the Iiosbande stood, 

Wi' heart fu' sad and sair ; 
And he has gien his huswife Eline 

Wi' the young Elfe to fare. 

23. 

Then blyth grew he, and sprang aboot: 

He took her in his arm : 
The rud it left her comely cheek, 

Her heart was clem'd wi' harm. 

24. 
A waefu' woman then she was ane, 

And xhe moody tears loot fa' : 
*' God rew on me, unseely wife, 

How hard a weird I fa' ! 

25. 
"My fay I plight to the fairest wigbt 

That man on mold mat see ; — 
Maun I now mell wi' a laidly El, 

His light leraman to be?" 

26. 

He minted ance — he minted twice, 
Wae wax'd her heart that syth : 

Syne the laidjiest fiend he grew that e'er 
To mortal ee did kyth. 

27. * 
When he the thirden time can mint 

To Mary's son she pray'd, 
And the laidly Elf was clean awa, 

And a fair knight in his stead. 

28. 
This fell under a linden green, 

That again his shape he found, 
O' wae and care was the word nae mair, 

A' were sae glad that stound. 

29. 
" O dearest Eline, hear thou this, 

And thou my wife sal! be. 
And a' the goud in merry England 

Sae freely I'll gi'e thee ! 

30. 
" Whan I was but a little wee bairn, 

My mither died me fra ; 
My stepmither sent me awa* fra her ; 

I turn'd till an E/Jin Gray. 

31. 

" To thy hnsbamlc I a gift will gie, 
Wi* roickle state and gear. 



As mends for Eline his huswife; — 
Thou's be my heartis dear." 

32. 
"Thou nobil knyght, we thank now God 

That has freed us frae skaith ; 
Sae wed thou tliee a maiden free. 

And joy attend ye baitli ! 

33. 

" Sin' I to thee nae maik can be 

My dochter may be thine ; 
And thy gud will right to fulfill, 

Lat this be our propine." — 

34. 
" I thank thee, Eline, thou wise woman; 

My praise thy wortli i^all ha'e ; 
And iliy love gin I fail to win, 

Thou here at hame sail stay." 

35. 

The husbande biggit now on his 6e, 
And nae ane wrougiit him wrang ; 

His dochter wore crown in Engeland, 
And happy lived and lang. 

36. 

Now Eline, the husbande's huswife, has 
Cour'd a' her grief and harms ; 

She's mither to a nobte queen 
That sleeps in a kingis arms. 



GLOSSARY. 

1. Wold, a wood ; woody fastness. 

Husbande, from the Dan. hos, with, and hondc, a 
villain, or bondsman, who was a cultivator of tiie 
ground, and could not quit the estate to which he 
was attached, without tlie permission of his lord. 
This is the sense of the word, in the old Scotli?h 
records. In tlie Scottish " Burghe Laws," trans- 
lated from the Reg. Majest. (Auchinleck MS. in 
the Adv. Lib.), it is used indiscriminately with the 
Dan. and Swed. bunde. 

Bigg, build. 

Ligg. lie. 

Daes, does. 

2. Shaw, wood, 
Sairly, sorely. 

3. jiik, oak. 
Qrcwsome, terrible. 
Bald, bold. 

4. Kipplcs (couples), beams joined at the top, for suj>- 

porting a roof, in building. 
Bawks, balks ; cross-beams. 
J^Ioil, laborious industry. 
Spccr^d, asked. 
Knock, hillock. 

5. Wciest, smallest. 

Crcan'd. shrunk, diminished ; from the Gaelic, crtan, 
very small. 

Ivimcrt, emmet ; ant. 

Christian, used in the Danish ballads, &c. in contra- 
distinction to demoniac, as it is in England in con- 
tradistinction to bTutc ; in which sense, a person of 
the lower class in England, would call a Jcio or ■ 
Turk a Christian. 

Fley, fn'ghten. 

6. Olowcr''d, stared. 
Hold, hold. 

7. Skugg, shade. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



.'57 





Skaith, harm. 


ciple ; an intelligence; a spirit; an angel. In the 


8 


J^'igfted, approached. 


Hebrew it hears the same import. 


9 


Yowls, howls. 


26. Minted, attempted; meant; showed a mind, or in- 




Toots.—ln the Dan. tude is appUeil hotli to the 


tention to. The original is — 




howling of a dog, and the sound of a horn. 


'* Hand mindte heride forst— og anden gang ;— 




Scraighs, screams. 


Hun giordis i hiortet sa vee : 


10 


Laidiy, loathly ; disgnstinglj vgly. 


End hlef hand den Icdiste deif-vel 




Qrim, fierce. 


Mand kunde nied i)yen see. 


11 


Winnock, window. 


Der hand vilde minde den tredie gang," S:c. 




Mint, aim at. 


Syth, tide ; time. 


12 


Coost, cast. 


Kyth, appear. 




Chalmcr, chamber 


28. Stound, hour; time; moment. 




.Mni$f, most. 


29. Merry (old Tent, mere), famous ; renowned , an- 




jiva, of all. 


swering, in its etymological meaning, exactly to the 


13 


JK'orwart, northward. 


Latin mactus. Hence merry-men, as the address of 




Trow, believe. 


a chief to Iiis followers ; meaning, not men of mirth, 


14 


Braids, strides (laickly forward. 


but of renown. The term is found in its original 




ff^ad, would. 


sense in the Gael, vtara, and tlie Welsh maicr. great ; 


15 


Canny, adroit. 


and in the oldest Teut. Romances, mar, mcr, and 




Jiloinj, many. 


mere, have sometimes the same signification. 




IVeel-waled, well chosen. 


Jl. Mends, amends ; recompense. 


17 


An, if. 


33. Maik, match; peer; equal. 




Bide, abide. 


Propine, pledge; gift. 




Lcvtman, mistress. 


35. Oc, an island of the second magnitade; an island of 


18 


JK'ai-gati'. nowise. 


ihe first magnitude being called a land, and one of 


19 


Couth, could, knew how to. 


the third magnitude a holm. 




Lat be, let alone. 


36. Cour'd, recover'd. 




Oade, goods ; property. 




20 


Ancaih, beneath. 
Dwalling-stcad, dwelling-place. 








21 


Sary, sorrowful. 






Rede, counsel ; consultation. 


THE GHAIST'S WARNING. 




Forfairn, forlorn ; lost; gone. 






Tyne, (verb, neut.) be lost ; perish. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH KJEMPE VISER, p. r2\ 


22. 


iViU of rede, bewildered in thooght ; in the Danish 


By the permission of Mr. Jamicson, this ballad js added 




original ^' vildraadagc ;*' Lat. "inops consilii ;'* 


from the same curious Collection. It contains some 




Gr. affoptiiv. This expression is left among tlie de- 


passages of great pathos. 




siderata in tiie Glossary to Ritson's Romances, 






and has never been explained. It is obsolete in the 






Danish as well as in English. 


Svend Dyring hand rider sig op under we. 




Fare, go. 


{Vare jeg selvcr ung) 


23. 


Rud, red of the cheek. 


Der ficste hand sig saa vcn en mue. 




Ciem'd, in the Danish, ktcmt ; (which in the north 


(Mig lystcr udi lunden at ride,) iS'C. 




of England is still in use, as the word starved is 






with us ;) brought to a dying slate. It is used by 


Child Dyring has ridden him up under cie,* 




our old comedians. 


(.,ind gin I were young .') 




Harm, grief; as in the original, and in the old Teu- 


There wedded he him sae fair^ a may. 




tonic, English, and Scottish poetry. 


(/' the greenwood it lists me to ride.) 


a4. 


Waefu\ woeful. 






Moody, strongly and wilfully passionate. 


Thegither they lived for seven lang year, 




Rew, take ruth ; pity. 


(And 0, &c.) 




Vnsee/y, unhappy ; unblest. 


And they seven bairns hae gotten in lere. 




Weird, fate. 


(/' the greenwood, «$-c.) 




Fa, (Isl. Dan. and Swed.) take ; get ; acqoire ; pro- 






cure ; have for my lot. — This Gothic verb answers. 


Sae Death's come there intill that stead, 




in its direct and secondary significations, exactly to 


And that winsome lily flower is dead. 




the Latin capio ; and Allan Ramsay was right in 






hisdeliiiitiuM of It. It is quite adiflerent word from 


That swain he has ridden him up under 6e, 




fa\ an abbreviation of 'fail, or bpfall ; and is the 


And syne he has marrie<i anither may. 




principal root in fanqen, to fang, take, or lay hold 






of. 


He's married a may, and he's fessen her hame ; 


25. 


Pay, faith. 

Moldy mould ; earth. 


But she was a grim and a laidiy dame. 




Mat, mot(; ; might. 


When into the castell court drave she, 




Maun, must. 


The seven bairns stood wi' the tear in their e* 



Mcll, mix. 

El, an elf. This term, in the Welch, signifies what 

A(M in itself the power of motion ; a moving prin- 

1 " Uiirtcr Oe," — Tho ori^Dal cxpreaBion has been preser\'ed here and else- 
wh'Tfi. bi'cHiiBo nooihorcmild be found Ig supply ila place. There iajiiBl 03 
inn.-hinrnnini; m itiD the transtaticin as in the original; but it iaastandard 
Danish ballad phmtt- ; and as such it Uboped, it will be altower) to pass. 



The bairns they stood wi* dule and doubt; — 
She up wi' her foot, and she kick'd them out. 

2 " fair.*'— The X>aa. nnd Swed. ven, van, or venne, and Ibe OnBl. Ban, 
tu the oblique cases bki'm (ran), is tho origin of the Scottish bonny, 
which has so much puzzled oU the etymologists. 



258 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Nor ale nor mead to the baimies she gave : 


" I left ahind me braw bowsters blae ; 


" But hunger and hate I'rae me ye's have." 


My bairnies are Uggin' i' the bare strae. 


She took frae them the bowster blae, 


" I left ye sae mony a groff wax light ; 


And said, " Ye sail ligg i' the bare Btrae !" 


My bairnies ligg i' the mirk a' night. 


She took Crae them the groff wax light ; 


" Gin aft I come back to visit thee, 


Says, " Now ye sail ligg i' the mirk a* night!" 


Wae, dowy, and weary thy luck shall be." 


'Twas lang i' the night, and the bairnies grat: 


Up spak little Kirstin in bed that lay : 


Their mither she under the mools heard that ; 


" To thy bairnies I'll do the best I may." 


That heard the wife under the eard that lay ; 


Aye when they lieard the dog nirr and bell. 


" For sooth maun I U) my bairnies gae !" 


Sae ga'e they the bairnies bread and ale. 


That wife can stand up at our Lord's knee, 


Aye whan the dog did wow, in haste 


And ' ' May 1 gang and my bairnies see V * 


They cross'd and gain'd tbemsells frae the ghaist. 


She prigged sae sair, and she priggeo sae lang, 


Aye whan the little dog yowl'd, with fear 


That he at the last ga'e her leave to gang. 


(And gin I were young!) 




They shook at the ihought the dead was near.' 


*' And thou sail come back when the cock does craw, 


(/' ikr grecntcood it lists me to ride.) 


For thoo nae langer sail bide awa." 


or, 




(Fair words sac mony a heart they cheer > 


Wi' her banes sae stark a bowt she gae ; 




She's riven baith wa' and marble gray.* 


GLOSSARY. 


Whan near to the dwalling she can gang, 


St. 1. May, maid. 


Tiie dogs they wow'd till the lift it rang. 


Lists, pleases. 




2. Stead, place. 


When she came till the castell yett, 


3. Bairns, children. 


Her eldest dochter stood thereat. 


In fere, together. 




JViusome, engaging; giving joy, (old Teat.) 


" Why stand ye here, dear dochter mine t 


4. Sijne, then. 


How are sma' brithers and sisters thine ?"— 


5. Fcsscn, fetched; brought. 




6. Draue, drove. 


" For sooth ye're a woman baith fair and fine ; 


7. Dulc, sorrow. 


But ye are nae dear mither of mine." — 


Doitt, fear. 




8. Bowster, hohier; cushion; bed. 


" Och ! how should I be fine or fair ? 


Blae, blue. 


My cheek it is pale, and the ground's my lair."— 


Strae, straw. 




10. Oroff, great ; large in girt 


" My mither was white, wi' cheek sae red ; 


Mark, mirk ; dark. 


Bat thoa art wan, and Hker ane dead." — 


11. Lang V the night, late. 




Orat, wept. 


" Och ! how should I be white and red, 


Mools, moald ; earth. 


Sae lang as I've been cauld and deadi" 


12. Eard, earth. 




Oae, go. 


Wlien she cam till the chalraer in, 


14. Prigged, entreated earnestly and perseveringly. 


Down the bairns' cheeks the tears did rin. 


Oang, go. 




15. Craw, crow 


She buskit the tane, and she brush'd it there ; 


16. Banes, bones. 


She kem'd and plaited the tither's hair. 


Stark, strong. 




Bowt. bolt ; elastic spring, like thai of a bdt or ar- 


Tlie thirden she doodlM upon her knee, 


row from a bow. 


And the fourthen she dichted sae cannilie. 


Riven, spilt asunder. 




Wa', waU. 


She's ta'en the fifthen upon her lap, 


17. WowU, howled. 


And sweetly suckled it at her pap. 


Lift, sky, firmament ; air. 




18. Yett, gate. 


Till her eldest dochter syne said die, 


19. Sma\ small. 


** Ye bid Child Dyring come here to me." 


22. Lire, complexion. 




23. Cald, cold. 


Whan he cam till the chalmer in, 


24. Till, to. 


Wi' angry mood she said to him : 


Rin, run. 




25. Buskit, dressed. 


'* I left yoa ronth o' ale and bread : 


Kcvi'd, combed. 


My bairnies quail for hunger and need. 


Tithcr, the other. 


1 The original of this and the following stanza it very fine. 


Der hun gik Lngeimem deo by. 


" Hun sk&d op Bini. modige been. 


f)e hunde de ludi aaa \oJt i sky.'* 


Der rcvenaiio mi:«r og graa mannorsteen. 





APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



259 



38. RoiHh, plenty. 

Quail, are <iuellcd ; des. 
jVVerf, want. 
jlhind, behinct. 
Uraw, brave ; fine. 
Dowy, sorrowful. 
33. JV'irr, snarl. 
Belt, bark. 

Sained, blessed ; literally, signed with the sigii of 
the (.TOSS. Before the introduction of Christianity, 
Runes were used in saining, as a spell against the 
power of enchantment and evil genii. 
Ohaist, ghost. 



1*9. 



31 



34 



Note 2 Z. 



-the moody Elfin King.— P. 214. 



In a long dissertation upon the Fairy Superslitions, publish- 
ed in the Minstrelsy of the Scoltisii Border, the most valuable 
part of which was supplied by my learned and indefatigable 
friend. Dr. John Leyiien, most of the circumstances are collect- 
ed which can throw light upon the popular belief which even 
yet prevails respecting Ihem in Scotland. Dr. Grahame, au- 
thor of an entertaining work upon the Scenery of the Perth- 
shire Highlands, already frequently quoted, has recorded, with 
great accuracy, the peculiar tenets held by the Highlanders on 
this topic, in the vicinity of Loch Katrine. The learned author 
is inclined to deduce the whole mythology from the Druidical 
system, — an opinion to which there are many objections. 

"The Daoiae Shi', or Men of Peace of the Highlandera, 
though not absolutely malevolent, are believed to be a peevish, 
repining race of beings, who, possessing themselves but a scanty 
portion of happiness, are supposed to envy mankind their more 
complete and substantial enjoyments. They are supposed to 
enjoy in their subterraneous recesses a sort of shadowy Iiappi- 
ness^ — a tinsel grandeur ; which, however, they would willing- 
ly exchange for the more solid joys of mortality. i 

" They are believed to inhabit certain round grassy eminen- 
ces, where they celebrate their nocturnal festivities by the light 
of the 'moon. About a mile beyond the sourc-e of the Forth 
above Lochcon, there is a place called Coirshi'an, or the Cove 
of the Men of Peace, which is still supposed to be a favorite 
place of their residence. In the neighborhood are to be seen 
many round conical eminences ; particularly one, near the head 
of the lake, by the skirts of which many are still afraid to pass 
after sunset. It is believed, that if, on Hallow-eve, any person, 
llone, goes round one of these hills nine times, towards iJie left 
taand (siHistrorsum) a door sliall open, by which he will be 
admitted into their subterraneous abodes. Many, it is said, of 
mortal race, have been entertained in tlieir secret recesses. 
There they have been received into the most splendid apart- 
ments, and regaled with the most sumptuous banquets, and 
delicious wines. Their females surpass tlie daughters of men 
IQ beauty. The secminglij happy inhabitants pa^s their time 
in festivity, and in dancing to notes of the softest music. But 
unhappy is the mortal who joins in their joys, or ventures to 
partake of their dainties. By this indulgence, he forfeits for- 
ever the society of men, and is bound down irrevocably to the 
condition of SkVich, or Man of Peace. 

"A woman, as is reported in the Highland tradition, was 
conveyed, in days of yore, into the secret recesses of the Men 
of Peace. There she was recognised by one who had formerly 
been an onlinary mortal, but who had, by some fatality, be- 
come associated with the Shi'ichs. This acquaintance, still 
retaining some portion of human benevolence, warned her of 
her danger, and counselled her, as she valued her liberty, to 
abstain from eating and drinking witli them for a certain space 
of time. She complied with the counsel of her friend ; and 
when the period assigned was elapsed, she found herself again 



npon earth, restored to the society of mortals. It is added, 
that when she examined the viands which had been presented 
to her, and which had appeared so tempting to the eye, they 
were found, now that the enchantment was lemoved. to con- I 
si.st only of the refuse of the earth." — P. 107-111. ; 



Note 3 A. 

Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 

Our moonlight circlets screen 1 
Or who comes here to chase the deer, 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen .?— P. 214. 

It has been already observeil. that fairies, if not positively 
malevolent, are capricious, and easily offended. They are, like 
other proprietors of forests, peculiarly jealous of their rights ol 
vert and venison, as appears from the cause of offence taken, 
in the original Danish ballad. This jealousy was aUo an attri- 
bute of the nortliern Ducrgar. or dwarfs; to many of whose 
distinctions the fairies seem to have succeeded, if. indeed, they 
are not the same class of beings. In the huge metrical record 
of German Chivalry, entitled the Helden-Buch, Sir Hildebrand, 
and the other heroes of whom it treats, are engaged in one of 
their most desperate adventures, from a rash violation of the 
rose-garden of an Elfin, or Dwarf King. 

There are yet traces of a belief in this worst and most mali- 
cious order of fairies, among the Border wilds. Dr. Leyden has 
introduced such a dwarf into his ballad entitled the Cout of 
Keeldar, and has not forgot his characteristic detestation of the 
chase. 

" The third blast that young Keeldar blew, 
Still stood the limber fern, 
And a wee man, of swarthy hue. 
Upstarted by a cairn. 

*' His russet weeds were brown as heath 
That clothes the upland fell ; 
And the hair of his head was frizzly red 
As the purple heather-bell. 

" An urchin clad in piickles red, 
Clung cow'ring to his arm ; 
The hounds they liowl'd, and backward fled 
As struck by fairy ciiarm. 

" 'Why rises high the stag-hound's cry, 
Where stag-lionrid ne'er should be? 
Why wakes that horn the silent mom. 
Without the leave of me V — 

" ' Brown dwarf, that o'er the moorland strays, 
Thy name to KeelJar tell !' — 
' The Brown man of the Moors, who stays 
Beneath the heather-bell. 

*' ' 'Tis sweet beneath the heather-bell 
To live in autumn brown ; 
And sweet to hear the lav'rock'a swell, 
Far, far from tower and town. 

" * But woe betide the shrilling horn, 
' The chase's surly cheer ! 
And ever that hunter is forlorn. 
Whom first at mom I hear.' " 

The poetical picture here given of the Dnergar correspond* 
exactly with the following Northumbrian legend, with which 
I was lately favored by my learned and kind frien-l Mr. Snr- 
tees of Mainsforth, who has bestowed indefatigable labor ujM'n 
the antiquities of the English Border counties. Tho subject if 



260 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



in itself so conous, that the length of the note will, 1 hope, be 
pardoned. 

" 1 Iiave only one record to offer of the ap|>earance of our 
Norllmnibrian Duergar. My iiarratrix is Elizabtth Cockburn, 
an old wife of OHertoa. in this conntj , whose credit, in a ease 
of this kind, will not, 1 liope. be much impeaclied, when I add, 
tliat she is, by her dull neiglibors, supposed to be occasionally 
insane, but, by herself, to be at those times endowed with a 
faculty of seeing visions, and spectral appearances, which shun 
the common ken. 

" In the year before the great rebellion, two young men from 
Newcastle were sporting du the high moors above Eltiden, and 
after pursuing their game several hours, sat down to dine in a 
ereen glen, near one of llie mountain streams. After their re- 
past, tlie yovingerlad r:iii lothe brook for water, and after stoop- 
ing to drink, was surprised, on lifting his head again, by the ai>- 
pearanee of a brown dwarf, who stood on a crag covered witli 
brackens, across the burn. This extraordinary personage did 
not appear to be above half the stature of a common man, but 
was uncommonly stoul and broad-built, having the appearance 
of vast strength. His dress was entirely brown, the color of 
the brackens, and his head covered with frizzled red hair. His 
countenance was expressive of the most savage ferocity, and 
bis eyes glared like a bull. . It seems he addressed the young 
man first, threatening him with his vengeance, for having tres- 
passed on his demesnes, and asking him if he knew in whose 
presence he stood ? Tlie youth replied, that he now supposed 
him to be the lord of the moors; that he offended through ig- 
norance ; anil offered to bring him the game he had killed. 
The dwarf was a little mollified by this submission, but re- 
marked, that nothing could be more offensive to him than such 
an offc;r, as lie considered the wild animals as his subjects, and 
never failed to avenge their destruction. He condescended fur^ 
ther to inform him, that iie was, like himself, mortal, though 
of yeai-sfar exceeding the lot of common humanity ; and (what 
I should not have hail an idea of) that he hoped for salvation. 
He never, he added, fed on any thing that had life, but lived 
in the summer on whorlle-berries, and in winter on nuts and ap- 
ples, of which he had great store in the woods. Finally, he in- 
vited liis new acquaintance to accompany him home and par- 
take his liospitality ; an offer which the youth was on the point 
of acce|iling. and was just going to spring across the brook 
(which, if he had done, says Elizabeth, the dwarf would cei^ 
tainly have torn him in pieces), v/hen bis foot was arrested by 
the voice of his companion, who thought he had tarried long ; 
and on looking round again, ' llie wee brown man was fled.* 
The slory adds, that he was imprmlent enough to slight the ad- 
monition, and to s|)orl over the moors otr his way homewards ; 
but soon after hi^ return, he fell into a lingering disorder, and 
died within the year." 



Note 3 B. 



Who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal green ?— P. 214. 

As the Daoine Shi\ or Men of Peace, wore green habits, 
tli.y weri? supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured 
it> a-^>:uine their favorite color. Indeed, from some reason 
wliich .las been, perhaps, originally a general supei^tition, 
trrnrn is held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular tribes and 
counties. The Caitliness men, who hold this belief, allege as 
a r< ason, that iheii bands wore that color when they were cut 
off at the buttle of Flodden ; and for the same reason they 
avoid crossing the Ord on a Monday, being the day of the week 
on which their ill-omened array set forlli. Green is also dis- 
liked by those of the name of Ogilvy ; but more especially is it 
held fatal to the whole clan of Grahame. It is rememberetl of 
an aged gentleman of that name, that when his liorse fell in a 
fox-chase, he acconntcd for it at once by observing, that f,he 
whipcord attached to his lash was of tliis unlucky color. 



Note 3 C. 

Far thou wert christeti'd man. — P. 214. 
The elves were supposed greatly to envy the privileges ac- 
quired by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortals 
who had fallen into their power a certain precedence, founded 
upon this advantageous distinction. Tamlane, in the old bal- 
lad, describes his own rank in the fairy procession: — 

'* For I ride on a milk-white steed, 
And aye nearest the town ; 
Because I was a christen'd knight, 
They gave me tiiat renown." 

1 presume that, in the Danish ballad of the Elfoi Gray (see 
Appendix, Note 3 A), the obstinacy of the " Weiest Elf," 
who would not flee for cross or sign, is to be derived from the 
circumstance of his having been " christen'd man." 

How eager the Elves were to obtain for their offspring the 
prerogatives of Christianity will be proved by the following 
story : — " In the district called Haga, in Iceland, dwelt a no- 
bleman called t^igward Forsler. who had an intrigue with one 
of the subten-anean females. The elf became pregnant, and 
exacted from her lover a tirra promise that he would procure 
the baptism of the infant. At the appointed time, the mother 
came to the churchyard, on the wall of which she placed a 
golden cuj), and a stole for the priest, agreeable to the custom 
of making an offering at baptism. She then stood a little apart. 
When the priest left the church, he inquired the meaning of 
what he saw, and demanded of Sigward if he avowed himself 
the father of the child. But Sigward, ashamed of the connec- 
tion, denied the paternity. He was then interrogated if he de- 
sired that the child should be baptized ; but this also he an- 
swered in the negative, lest, by such request, he should admit 
himself to be the father. On which the child was left un- 
touched and unbaptized. Whereupon the mother, in extreme 
wrath, snatched up the infant and the cup, and retired, leaving 
the priestly cope, of which fragments are still in preservation. 
But this female denounced and imposed upon Sigward and his 
po'>teiity, to the ninth generation, a singular disease, with which 
many ol" his descendants are afflicted at this day." Thus wrote 
Einar Dudmond, pastor of the parish of Garpsdale, in Iceland, 
a man profoundly versed in learning, from whose manQscrii)t it 
was extracted by the learned TorfiEUs. — Historia Hrolfi, Kra- 
/iU, Ilafnia:, 1715, prrfatio. 



Note 3 D. 



And gayly shines the Fairy-land — 
But all is glisteniiig shoio. — P. 214. 

No fact respecting Fairy-land seems to be better ascertained 
than the fantastic and illusory nature of their apparent pleasure 
and splendor. It has been already noticed in the former quo- 
tations from Dr. Grahame's entertaining volume, and may be 
confirmed by thcfoHowing Highland tradition : — " A woman, 
whose new-born child had been conveyed by them into iheir 
secret abodes, was also carried Ihither herself, to remain, iiow- 
ever, only until she should suckle her infant. She one day, 
during this period, observed the Shi'ichs busily employed in 
mixing various ingredients in a boiling caldron : and, as soon as 
the composition was prepared, she remarked that they all care- 
fully anointed their eyes with it, laying the remainder aside 
for future use. In a moment when they were all absent, she 
also attemi)ted to anoint her eyes with the precious drug, but 
had lime to ajjply it to one eye only, when the Daoine Shi' re- 
turned. But with that eye she was henceforth enabled to seo 
every thing as it really passed in their secret abodes, ^=ile saw 
every object, not as she hitherto had done, in decejiiive splen- 
lor and elegance, but in its genuine colors and form. The 
gaudy ornaments of Ihe apartment were reduced to the walla 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



261 



of a gloomy cavern. Soon after, having discharged her office, 

she was dismissed to hi,T own hoini*. Still, however, slie re- 
tained tlic l':icuUy of seeing. wiiK liur mediciled eye, every 
tiling that was done, anywhere in her presence, by the dece[>- 
tive art of the onlor. One day, amidst a throng of people, she 
chanced to observe the Shi'ich, or man of peace, in whose pos- 
session she had left her child ; ihongh to every other eye invisi- 
ble. Prompted by maternal art'ection, she inarlvertently accosted 
him, and began to inquire after the welfare of ber child. The 
man of peace, astonished at being thus recognized by one of 
mortal race, demanded bow she bad been enabled to discover 
hira. Awed by the terrible frown of liis countenance, she ac- 
knowledged what she had done. He spat in her eye, and ex- 
tinguislied it fort-'ver." — (Jrahame's Sketches, p. 116-118. 
It is very remarkable, that this story, translated by Dr. Gra- 
hamc from popular Gaelic tradition, is to be found in the Otia 
Xmperialia of Gervase of Tilbury.' A work of great interest 
might be compiled upon the origin of popular fiction, and the 
transmission ofsimilar tales from age to age, and from country 
to country. The mythology of one period would then appear 
to pass into the romance of the next century, and that into the 
nursery tale of the subsequent ages. Sucb an investigation, 
while it went greatly to diminish our ideas of the richness of 
human invention, would also show, that these fictions, how- 
ever wild and childish, possess snch charms for the populace, 
as enable them to penetrate into countries unconnected by man- 
ners and langnago, and having no apparent intercourse to af- 
ford the means of transmission. It would carry me far beyond 
my bound?, to [)roduce instances of this community of fable 
among nations who never borrowed from each oilier any thing 
intrinsically worth learning. Indeed, the wide difi'nsion of 
popular fictions may be compared to the facility with which 
straws and feathers are dispersed abroad by the -wind, while 
valuable metals cannot be transported without trouble and la- 
bor. There lives, I believe, only one gentleman, whose unlim- 
ited acquaintance with this subject might enable him to do it 
justice ; I mean my friend, Mr. Francis Douce, of the British 
Museum, whose usual kindness will, I hope, pardon my men- 
tioning his name, while on a subject so closely connected with 
his extensive and curious researches. 



Note 3 E. 



T sunk down in a sinful f Toy, 

^.'ind, ^Ucixt life and death, was snatched away 
To the joyless E/Jin bower. — P. 214. 

The subjects of Fairy-land were recruited from the regions 
of humanity by a sort o^ crimping system, which extended to 
adults as well as to infants. Many of those wlio were in this 
world supposed to have discharged the debt of nature, iiad 
only become denizens of the " Londe of Faery." In the 
beautiful Fairy Romance of Orfee and Heurodiis (Orpheos 
and Eruydice) in tlie Auchinleck MS. is the following striking 
(numeration of persons thug abstracted from middle earth. 
Mr. Ritson unfortunately published this romance from a copy 



1 [This Btory is atill current in the nioore of Staffordsbire, and adapted 
ly the [H^na&Dtry to their ovm meridian. I have repeatedly beurd it told, 
fiaetly as lier^, by rusti'-ft who could not read. My Inst authority wna a 
nailer near Cheadle. — R. Jamibson.] 

" On« other legend, in a similnr strain, lately communicated by a very 
Intelligent young lady, ia given, principaUy because il furnishes an oppor- 
tunity of pursuing an ingenious idea suggested by Mr. Scolt, in one of hia 
learned notes to the Lady of the Lake :^ 

[" A young man, roaming one day through thti forest, ohserred n num- 
ber (if person! all dreued in green, itAiiing from one of those round emi- 
nenct;> which are coniniouly accounted fair}- hills. Each of them in sue- 
ci-Mion cftll.'d upon a person by name Kf fetch his horee. A caparisoned 
it/-.d inatanlly appeared ; they all mojnted, and sallied furth into the re- 
fionj 3f air. The young man, like Ali Baba in the Arabian Xights, ven- 



in which the following, and many other highly poetical pw 
sages, do not occur :— 

"Then he gan biholde about al, 
And seiglie ful liggeand with in the wal 
Of folk that were thiddcr y-brought. 
And tbonghl dedc and nire nouglii 
Some stode wilhouten hadde ; 
And sum non amies nade ; 
And some thurcb the bodi hadde wounde; 
And some lay wode y-bounde ; 
And sum armerl on hors sete ; 
And sum astrangled as thai ele; 
And sum war in water adreynt ; 
And sum with fire al forschreynt ; 
Wives ther lay on ciiilde bedde ; 
Sum dede. and sum awedde ; 
And wonder fele ther lay besides. 
Right as thai slepe her undertides ; 
Eche was tbun in the warl y-nome. 
With fairi thider y-come." 



;Note 3 F. 



Jfho ever recked, where, how, or when. 

The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? — P. 219. 

St. John actually used this illustration when engaged in con- 
fating the plea of law proposed for the tinfortunate Earl ot 
StraiTord : " It was true, we gave laws to hares and deer, be- 
cause they are beasts of chase ; but it was never accounted 
either cruelty or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on the 
head as they can he found, because they are beasts of prey. 
In a word, the law and humanity were alike ; the one being 
more fallacious, and the other more barbarous, than in any 
age had been vented in such an authority." — Clahendon's 
History of the Rebellion. 0.\ford, 1702, fol. vol. p. 183. 



Note 3 G. 

—his Highland cheer. 



The harden^ d flesh of mountain-deer. — P. 219 

The Scottish Highlanders, in former times, had a concise 
mode of cooking their venison, or rather of dispensing with 
cooking it, which appears greatly to have surprised the French 
whom cfiance made acquainted with it. Tlie Vidame of Char- 
ters, when a hostage in England, during the reign of Edward 
VI., was permitted to travel into Scotland, and penetrated as 
far as to tlie remote Highlands (au fin fond des Sauvages). 
After a great hunting party, at which a most wonderful quan- 
tity of game was destroyed, he saw these Sc/itfish Sarages 
devour a part of their venison raw, without any farther prepa- 
ration Uian compressing it between two batons of wood, so aa 



tured to pronounce the same name, nnd called for his horse. Tlie stc^d 
immediately appeared ; he mounted, and was soon joined to the fair^- choir. 
Ho remained with th»m for a year, going about with them to fnirs and 
weddings, and feasting, though tmsecn by mortal eyes, on the victuals that 
wereeshibiled on those occasions. They had one d«y gone to a w^diling 
whore the cheer was abundant. During the feast the bridegroom aneexed. 
The young man, according lo the usual custom, said, ' God bless you 1* 
Thu fairies were offended at the pronunciation of the sacred name, nnd as- 
sured liim, that if lie dared to "ri-pcat il, they would punish him. The 
bridr-KTOom tneezed a Kecond time. He repeated hia hleating ; they threat- 
ened more tremendous vengeance. He aneesed a third time ; he blessed 
him as before, The fairies were enraged ; they lunibk-d him from a pre- 
cii'ice ; but he found himself unhurt, nnd was restored to the society of 
mortals.'* — Dr. Grahame's Sktichet, lecond edit. p. 265-1. — See Xota, 
*' Fairy Superstitions," Uob Roy, \. edit.] 



262 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



to force ont the bloo<l, and render it extremely hard. This 
ihey reckoned a great delicacy ; and when the Viilanie par- 
took of it, his eom|ilinnce with llieir taste rendered Iiim ex- 
tremely popular. This ourious trail of manners was com- 
municated by Mens, de Montmorency, a great friend of the 
Vidame, to Brantome, by wiiom it is recorded in Virs ties 
Hoiumes Illastres, Discours Ixxxix. art. 14. The process 
bv wliich the raw venison wa_s rendered eatable is described 
very minutely in the romance of Perceforest, where Estonne, a 
Scottish kniglit-errant, having slain a deer, says to his com- 
piinion (Claudius: "Sire, or mangerez voiis et moy aussi. 
\'oire si nous auions de feo, dit Claudius. Pur Tame de mon 
pere, dist Estonne, ie vous atourrier;iy et cuiray a la maniere 
de nostre pays comme pour cheualier errant. Lors tira son 
espee, et sen vint a ia branclie dung arbre, et y fait vng grant 
trou, et puis fend la branche bien dieux piedx, et boute la 
cuisse du serf entredeux. et puis prent le licol de son cheval, 
et en lye la branche, et destraint si fort, que le sang et les hu- 
meurs de la chair saillent hors, et demeure la chair doulce et 
eeiche. Lors prent la chair, et oste ius le cuir, et la chaire 
deinenre aussi blanche comme si ce fenst dung chappon, 
Dont dist a Claudius, Sire, ie la vous aye cuiste a la guise de 
man pays, vous en pouez manger hardyement, car ie mange- 
ray premier. Lors met sa main a sa selle en vng lieu quil y 
auoit, et tire hors sel et poudre de poiure et gingembre, mesle 
ensemble, et le iecte dessus, et le frote sus bien fort, puis le 
conppe a moylie, et en donne a Claudius Tune des pieces, el 
puis mort en I'autre aussi sauoureussement quil est aduis que 
il en feist la pouldre voller. Unant Claudius veit quil le nian- 
geoit de tel gousl, il en print grant faim, et commence a man- 
ger tresvoulL-nliers, el dist a Estonne: Par Tame de moy, ie 
ne mangeay oncquesmais de chair atournee de telle guise: 
mais doresenauant ie ne me retourneroye pas hors de mon 
chemin par auoir la cuite. Sire, dist Estonne. quant is suis 
en desers d'Ecosse, dont ie suis seigneur, ie cheuaucheray huit 
iours ou quinze que ie n'entreray en chastel ne en maison, et 
si ne verray feu ne personne viuant fors que bestes sauuages, 
et de celles mangeray atournees en ceste maniere, et mieulx 
me plaira que la viande de I'empereur. Aiiisi sen vont man- 
geant et cheuauchant iusques adonc quilz arriuereot snr une 
moult belle fontaine que estoit en vne valee. Q,nant Estonne 
la vit il dist a Claudius, allons boire a ccste fontaine. Or beu- 
nou':. dist Estonne, du boir que le grant dieu a pourueu a 
loites gens, et que me plaist mieulx que les ceruoises d'An- 
gleterre." — La Tres^Uganfe Hystoirc dii iTCsnoble Roy 
Perceforcst. Paris, 1531, fol. tomi- i. fol. Iv. vers. 

After all, it may be doubted whether la chaire nostree, for 
60 the French called the venison thus summarily prepared, was 
any thing more than a mere rude kind of deeHiam. 



Note 3 H. 

J^ot then dnivi'd sovercig;-nty his due 

While .Slbnny, with feeble hand. 

Held borrowed truncheon of command. — P. 221. 

There is scarcely a more disorderly period in Scottish his- 
tory tiian that which succeeded the battle of Flodden. and 
occu]iii^(l the minority of James V. Feuds of ancient stand- 
ing broke out like old wounds, and every quarrel among the 
intlepetident nobility, which occurred daily, and almost hour- 
V. gave rise to fresh bloodshed. "There arose," says Pits- 
cottie. " great troul)le and deadly feuds in many parts of Scot- 
lanil, both in the north and west part';. The Master of Forbes, 
n the north, slew the Laird of Meldrum, under tryst ;" (i. e. 
at. an nirrrnl and. srcurr. meeting.) " Likewise the Laird of 
Druminelzier slew the Lord Fleming at the hawking * and 
likewise there was slaughter among many other great lords," 
— P. 12L Nor was the matter much mended under llie gov- 
ernment of the Earl of Angus ; for though he caused the 



King to ride through all Srotland, " nnder the pretence and 
color of justice, to punish thief and traitor, none were found 
greater than were in their own company. And none Pt that 
lime durst strive with a Douglas, nor yet a Douglas's mar. 
for if they would, they got tlie worst. Therefore, none durst 
plainzie of no extortion, theft, rpitf, nor slaughter, done to 
them by the Douglases, or their men ; in that cause they were 
not heard, so long as the Douglas had the court in guiding.** — 
Jhid. p. 133. 



Note 3 I. 

The Oael, of plain find rirer lirir. 

Shall, with strung hand, redeem his share. — P. 221. 

The ancient Highlanders verified in their practice the lines 
of Gray : — 

" An iron race the mountain cliffs maintain, 
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain ; 
For where unwearied sinews must be found, 
With side-long plough to quell the flinty ground ; 
To turn the torrent's swift descending flood ; 
To tame the savage rushing from the wood ; 
What wonder if, to patient valor train'd. 
They guard with spirit what by strength they gain'd : 
And while their rocky ramparts round they see 
The rough abode of want and liberty 
(As lawless force from confidence will grow), 
Insult the plenty of the vales below ?" 

Fragment on the ./illiance of Kdacation 
and Oovernment. 

So far, indeed, was a Crengh, or foray, from being held dis- 
graceful, that a young chief was always expected to show his 
talents for command so soon as he assumetl it, by leading his 
clan on a successful enterprise of this nature, either against a 
neighboring sept, for which constant feuds usually furnished 
an apology, or against the Sassenach, Saxons, or Lowlanders, 
for which no ajjology was necessary. The Gael, great tradi- 
tional historians, never forgot that the Lowlands had, at some 
remote period, been the property of their Celtic forefathers, 
which furnished an ample vindication of all the ravages that 
tliey could make on the unfortunate districts which lay within 
their reach. Sir James Grant of Grant is in possession of a 
letter of apology from Cameron of Lochiel, whose men had 
committed some depredation upon a farm called Moines, 
occupied by one of the Grants. Lochiel assures Grant, that, 
however the mistake had happened, his instructions were pre- 
cise, that the party should foray the province of Moray (a 
Lowland district), where, as he coolly observes, " all men take 
their prey." 



Note 3 K. 



-I only meant 



To show the reed on which you leant. 
Deeming this path you might purs-ir 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. — P, 222. 

This incident, like some other passages in the poem, illss- 
trative of the character of the ancient Gael, is not imaginary, 
but borrowed from fact. The Highlanders, with the incon- 
sistency of most nations in the same state, were alternately 
capable of great exertions of generosity, and of cruel revenge 
and perfidy. The following story I can only quotf from tra- 
dition, but with such an assurance from those by wliom it was 
communicated, as permits me little doubt of its nuthcnticity. 
Early in the last century, John Gunn, a noted Oiteran, or 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



20c 



Highland robber, infested Inverness-shire, and levied black- 
mail lip to the walls of the provincial capital. A garrison was 
nen nuiinlaiMfd in llu* caslle of that town, and thuir pay 
(coiuury banks being nnknown) was usually transinitted in 
e])ecie, under tlie guard ol' u small escort. U ciianced that 
the officer who commanded tliis little party was unexpectedly 
obliged to halt, about thirty miles from Inverness, at a miser- 
able inn. About night-fall, a stranger, in the Highland dress, 
and of very prepossess! ni* appearance, entered ihe ^^anie house. 
Separate accommodations being impossible, the Englishman 
olfen.'il the newly-arrived guest a part of his supper, which 
was accepted with reluctance. By the conversation lie foum. 
his new acquaintance knew well all tlie passes of the country, 
which induced him esigerly to ret|ucst his company on the en- 
suing morning. He neither disguised his business and charge, 
nor his apprehensions of that celebrated freebooter, John 
Gunn. — The Highlander hesitated a moment, and then frank- 
ly consented to Tie his guide. Forth they set in the morning ; 
and, in travelling through a solitary and dreary glen, the dis- 
course again turned on John Gunn. " Would you like to see 
him ?'* said the guide ; and, without waiting an answer to 
this alarming question, he whistled, and the English officer, 
with his small party, were surrounded by a body of High- 
landers, whose numbers put resistance out of question, and 
who were all well armed. " Stranger," resumed the guide, 
" I am that very John Gunn by wiiom you feared to be inter- 
cepted, and not without cause : for I came to the inn last night 
with the express purpose of learning your route, thai I and ray 
followers miglit ease you of your charge by the road. But I 
am incapable of betraying the trust you reposed in me, and 
having convinced you that you were in my power, I can only 
dismiss you unplundercd and uninjured." He then gave the 
officer directions for his journey, and disappeared ;vith his 
parti- as suddenly as they had presented themselves. 



Note 3 L. 

Ob Bochastle the mouldering lines 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
Of yore her eagle-wings unfurVd. — P. 223. 

The torrent which dischar;ges itself from Loch Vennachar, 
the lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which form the 
ecenery adjoining to the Trosachs, sweeps through a Hat and 
extensive moor, called Bochastle. Upon a small eminence, 
called the Dun of Bochastle, and indeed on the plain itself, 
are some inlrenchraents, which have been thought Roman. 
There is, adjacent to Callender, a sweet villa, ti»e residence of 
Captain Fairfoul, entitled the Roman Camp. 

[■• One of the most entire and beautiful remains of a Roman 
encampment now to be found in Scotland, is to be seen at 
Ardoidi, near Greenloaning, about six miles to the eastward 
of Dunblane. Thi.'i encampment is supposed, on good grounds, 
to have been constructed during the fourth campaign of Agri- 
cola in Britain ; it is lOGO feet in length, and 900 in breadth ; 
it could contain 20.000 men, according to the ordinary distri- 
bution of the Roman soldiers in their encampments. There 
appears to have been tliree or four ditches, strongly fortified, 
surrounding tlie camp. Tlie four entries crossing the lines 
are Mill to be seen distinctly. The generni's quarter rises 
above the level of the camp, but is not exactly in the centre. 
It is a regular square of twenty yards, enclosed with a stone 
wall, and containing the foundations of a hou-ie, 30 feet by 5J0. 
There is a subterraneous communication with a smaller en- 
campment at a little distance, in whicli several Roman helmets, 
•pears, &c., have been found. From this camp at Ardoch, 
the great Roman highway runs east to Bertha, about 14 miles 
distant, where tlie Roman army is believed to have passed over 
the Tay into Sirathmore." — Grab awe."] 



Note 3 M. 

See, here, all v^antagelcss I stand, 
JSrm'd, like thyself, with single brand.— P. 223. 
The duellisbi of former times did not always stand upon 
those punctilios respecting equality of arms, which are now 
judged essential to fair combat. It ia true, that in former 
combats in the lists, the parties were, by the judges of the 
field, put as nearly as possible in the same circumstances. 
But in private iluel it was often otherwise. Li that desperate 
combat which was fought between Cluehis, a minion of Henry 
III. of France, and Antragnet, witli two seconds on eacli side, 
from wliieh only two persons escaped alive, Q,uelu8 complained 
that his antagonist had over Iiim the advantage of a ponianl 
which he used in paiTying, while his left Iiand, which he was 
forced to employ for the f^arne purpose, was cruelly mangled. 
When he charged Artraguet with this odds, " Thou hast don* 
wrong," answered he, '• to forget thy dagger at horae. We are 
here to fight, and not to settle punctilios of arms." In a.'?imilar 
duel, liowever, a younger brother of the house of Aubanye, in 
Angoulesme, behaved more generously on the like occasion, 
and at once threw away his dagger when his enemy challenged 
it as an undue advantage. But at this time hardly any thing 
can be conceived more horribly brutal and savage than the 
mode in which private quarrels were conducted in France. 
Those who were most jealous of the point of honor, and 
acquired the title of Rujinis, did not scruple to lake every 
advantage of strength, numbers, surprise, and arms, to ac- 
complish their revenge. The Sieur de Brantome, to %vliose 
discourse on duels I am obliged for these particulars, gives 
the following account of the death and principles of his friend 
tlie Baron de Vitaux : — 

" J'ay oui conter a un Tireur d'armes, qui ajqirit a Millaud 
a en tirer, lequel s'appelloit Seigneur le Jacques Ferron, de la 
ville d'Ast, qui avoit est^ a moy, il fut desjmi-; tu6 a Saincte- 
Basille en Gascogne, lors que Monsieur du Mayne I'assiegea 
lui servant d'Ingenieur; et de malheur, je I'avois address^ 
audit Baron quelques trois mois auparavant, pour I'exercer & 
tirer, bien qu'il en sceust prou ; mais il ne'en fit compte ; et le 
laissant, Millaud s'en servit, et le remiit fort adroit. Se Seig- 
neur Jacques done me raconta. qn'il s'estoit mont6 sur un 
noyer, assez loing, pour en voir le combat, et qu'il ne vist 
jamais homme y aller plus hravement, ny plus resolumenl, 
ny de grace plus jisseurte ny diitermin^e. II commenca de 
marcher de cinquante pas vers son ennemy, relevant souveiit 
ses moustaches en haut d'une main ; et estant a vingt pas de 
son ennemy (non plustost), il init la main i\ I'espi^e qu'il tenoil 
en la main, non qu'il I'eust tiree encore ; mais en niarchant, il 
fit voUer le fourreau en Fair, en le secouant, ee qui est le beau 
de cela, et qui monstroit bien un grace de combat bien as- 
seur6e et froide. et uullement tt;niOraire, comme il y en a <iui 
lirent leurs esp6es de cinq cents pas de rennemy, voire de 
mille, comme j'en ay veu aucuns. Ainsi mourut ce brave 
Baron, le parogon de France, qu'on nommoit tel, a bien ven- 
ger ses querelles, par graniles et determinees resolutions. II 
n'estoit pas seuleraent estimfi en France, mais en Itjiie, 
Espaigne, Allemaigne, en Boulogne et Angleterre ; et de»ii- 
roient fort les Etrangers, venant en France, le voir; car je 
I'ay veu, tant sa renommee volloit. II estoit fort petit de 
corps, mais fort grand de courage. Ses ennemis disoient (|n'il 
ne tuoit pas bien ses gens, ([ue par advantages et superclieries. 
Certes, je tiens de grands capitaines, et mesme d'ltaliens, qui 
ont estez d'autres fois !es premiers vengeurs du monde. in 
ogni modo, disoient-ils, qui ont tenu cette maxime, qu'une 
supercherie ne se devoit payer que par semblable monuuye, 
etn'y alloit point la de d6shonneur." — Oeuvres de Brantume, 
Paris, 1787-8. Tome viii. p, 90-92. It may be necessary to 
inform the reader, that this paragon of France was the most 
foul assassin of his time, and had committed many desperate 
murdere. chiefly by the assistance of 'is hired banditti ; Irorn 
which it may be conceived how litt.e the point of honor ot the 
period deserved its name. I have chosen to give my heroe* 



264 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



who are indeed of an earlier period, a stronger tincture of tlie 
spirit of chivalry. 



Note 3 N. 



Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw. 
For train'd abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-JaTiifs's blade was swurd and shield. — P. 223. 

A ronnd target of light wood, covered with strong leather, 
and studded with brass or iron, was a necessary part of a 
Flighbnder's equipment. In charging regular troops, they 
received the thrust of the bayonet in this buckler, twisted it 
aside, and used the broadsword against the encumbered 
soldier. In the civil war of 1745, most of the front rank of 
the clans were thus armed : and Captain Grose informs us, 
that, in 1747. the privates of the 42d regiment, then in Flan- 
ders, were, for the most part, permitted to carry targets. — 
Military .finttqiiitics, vol. i. p. 164. A person thus armed 
had a considerable advantage in private fray. Among verses 
between Swift and Sheridan, lately published by Dr. Barret, 
there is an account of such an encounter, in wliich the cir- 
cumstances, and consequently the relative superiority of the 
combatants, are precisely the reveise of those in the text : — 

" A Highlander once fonglit a Frenchman at Margate, 
The weapons, a rapier, a backsword, and target; 
Brisk Monsieur advanced as fast as he could, 
But all his fine pushes were caught in the wood. 
And Sawney, with backsword, did slash him and nick him, 
While t'other, enraged that he could not once prick him, 
Cried, ' Sirrah, you rascal, you son of a whore. 
Me will fight you, be gar ! if you'll come from your door.' " 

The use of defensive armor, and particularly of the buckler, 
or target, was general in Q,ucen Elizabeth's time, although that 
of the single rapier seems to have been occasionally practised 
much earlier.i Rowland Yorke, however, wlio betrayed the 
fort of Zutphen to the Spaniards, for which good service he 
was afterwards poisoned by them, is said to iiave been the first 
who brought the rapier fight into general use. Fuller, speak- 
ing of the swash-bucklers, or bullies, of Q,npen Elizabeth's 
time, says, — "West ?mithfield was formerly called Ruffians' 
Hall, where such men usually met, casually or otherwise, to 
try masteries with sword and buckler. More were fright- 
ened than hurt, more hurt than killed therewith, it being 
accounted unmanly to strike beneath the knee. But since that 
liesperate traitor Rowland Yorke first introduced thrusting 
with rapiers, sword and buckler are disused." In " The Two 
Angry Women of Abingdon," a comedy, printed in 1599, we 
have a patlictic complaint: — "Sword and buckler fight be- 
gins to grow out of use. I am sorry for it : 1 shall never see 
good manhood again. If it be once gone, tliis [loking fight of 
rapier and dagger will come up ; then a tall man, and a good 
«word-aiid-buckler man, will be sjiitted like a cat or rabbit." 
But tiie rapier had ujion the continent long superseded, in 
private duel, the use of sword and shield. The masters of 
the noble scientie of defence were chiefly Italians. They made 
gre.1t mystery of tlieir art and mode of instruction, never suf- 
fered any person to be present but the scliolar who was to be 
tauglit, and even examined closets, beds, and other places "of 
possible concealment. Their lessons often gave the most 
treacherous advantages ; for the challenger, having the right to 
choose his weapons, frequently selected Kome strange, unusual, 
and inconvenient kind of arms, the use of which he practised 
under these instructors, and thus killed at his ease his antago- 
nist, to whom it was presented for the first time on the field of 
batt.e. See Brantomk's Discourse on Duels, and the 

: See Deuce's IlioGtratloDS of SbakBpeare, toI. ii. y. fit. 



work on the same subject, " si gcntement ecrit,*^ by the 
venerable Dr. Paris de Puteo. The Highlanders continued to 
use broadsword and target until disarmed after the affair ot 
1745-6. 



Note 3 0. 



Thy threats, thy mercy I defy ! 

Let recreant yield, who fears to die. — P. 224. 

I have not ventured to render this duel so savagely dcspe 
rate as that of the celebrated Sir Ewan of Lochiel, chief ot 
the clan Cameron, called, from his sable comj)lexion, Ewan 
Dhu. He was the last man in Scotland who maintained the 
royal cause during the great Civil War, and his constant 
incursions rendered him a very unpleasant neighbor to the 
republican garrison at Inverlochy, now Fort-William. The 
governor of the fort detached a party of three hundred men 
to lay waste Lochiel's possessions, and cut down his ti;fs ; 
but, in a sudden and desperate attack made upon them by 
the chieftain with very inferior numbers, they were almost all 
cut to pieces. The skirmish is detailed in a curious memoir ol 
Sir Ewan's life, printed in the Appendix of Pennant's Scot- 
tish Tour. 

" In this engagement, Lochiel himself liad several wonder- 
ful escapes. In the retreat of the Engligli, one of the strong- 
est and bravest of the officers retired behind a bush, when he 
observed Lochiel pursuing, and seeing him unaccompanied 
with any, he leapt out, and thought him Ins prey. They met 
one another with ecjual fury. The combat was long -aiu] 
doubtful : the English gentleman had by far the advantage in 
strength and size; but Lochiel, exceeding him in nimhleuess 
and agility, in the end tript the sword out of hb hand : they 
closed and wrestled, till both fell to the ground in each other's 
arms. The English officer got above Lochiel, and pressed him 
hard, but stretching forth his neck, by attempting to discngtigo 
himself, Lochiel, who by this time had his hands at libeiiy, 
with his left hand seized him by the collar, and jumping at his 
extended throat, he bit it willi his teeth quite through, ami 
kept such a hold of his grasp, that he brought away his 
mouthful : this, he said, was the sweetest bit he ever had in 
his tifetime."~Vo\. i. p. 375. 



Note 3 P. 



Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 
Ji Douglas by his sovereign hied; 
And thou, O sad and fatal viound! 

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. — P. 225. 

An eminence on the northeast of the Castle, where sttitf? 
criminals were executed. Stirling was often polluted wuli 
noble blood. It is thus apostrophized by J. Johnston : — 

" Discordia tristis 

Hen quotics procerum sanguine tinxil humum ! 
Hoc uno mfclix, et felix cetera ; nusqoam 
Lstior aut cicli frons geniusve soli." 

The fate of William, eigiith earl of Douglas, whom Jair).-* 
II. stabbed m Stirling Caslle with his own hand, and wliiU 
under his royal safe-conduct, is familiar to all who read Slu'- 
tish history. Murdack Duke of Albany, Duncan Earlof Lin- 
nox, his father-m-law. and his two sons, Walter and AlexancKr 
Stuart, were executed at Stiriing, in 1425. They were be- 
headed upon an eminence without the castle walls, bat making' 
part of the same hill, from wlicnce they could behold their 
strong castle of Doune, and their extensive possessions. Thi;- 
"heading hill," as it was sometimes termed, bears conmionly 
the less terrible name of Hurly-hacket, from its having been 
the scene of a courtly amusement alluded to hy Sir David 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



:G5 



IJiidsay, who says of the pasuinca in wliich the young King 
was engagt.'d, 

" Some harlcii Iiira lo the Iliiik-y-Imcket ;" 

.vhich consisted in sliding, in some sort of chair it may be 
supposed, tram top to bottom of a smoolh barilt. The boys of 
Miiinburgh, about iwenty years ago, used to play at llie liurly- 
hacket, on the Calton-hill, using for their seat a horse's skull. 



Note 3 Q. 
The burghers hold their sports to-day. — P. 225. 

Every burgh of Scotland, of the least note, but more espe- 
cially the considerable towns, had their solemn p/ay, or fes- 
tival, wlien feats of archery were exhibited, and prizes disirib- 
Dted to those who excelled in wrestling, hurling the bar, and 
the other gymnastic exercises of the period. Stirling, a usual 
place of royal residence, was not Hkely to be deficient in pomp 
upon such occasions, especially since James V. wus very par- 
tial to them. His ready participation in tiiese popular amuse- 
ments was one cause of his acquiring the title of King of the 
Commons, or Rex Plebeiorum, as Lesley has latinized it. The 
usr.al prize to the best shooter was a silver arrow. Such a one 
is preserved at Selkirk and at Peebles. At Dumfries, a silver 
f.un was substituted, and the contention transferred to fire- 
anus. The ceremony, as there performed, is the subject of an 
excellent Scottish poem, by itfr. John Mayne, entitled the 
Sillcr Gun, 1808, which surpasses the efforts of Fergusson, and 
comes near to those of Burns. 

Of James's attachment to archery, Pitscottie, the faithful, 
though rude recorder of the manners of that period, Jias given 
us evidence : — ■ 

"In this year there came an embassador out of England, 
named Lord William Howard, with a bishop with him, with 
many other gentlemen, to the number of threescore horse, which 
were all able men and waled [pieked] men for all kinds of 
games and pastimes, shooting, looping, running, wrestling, 
and casting of the stone, but they were well 'sayed [essayed 
or tried] ere they passed out of Scotland, and that by their own 
provocation ; hut ever they tint : till at last, the Q.ueen of 
Si-olland, the King's mother, favoured the English-men, be- 
cause she was the King of England's sister ; and therefore she 
look an enterprise of archery upon the English-men's Jiands, 
contrary her son the king, and any six in Siotlanrl that he 
would wale, cither gentlemen or yeomen, that the English-incn 
should shoot against them, either at pricks, rever.s, or buts, as 
thi- Scots pleased. 

•• The king, hearing this of his mother, was content, and 
gart her pawn a hundred crowns, and a tun of wine, upon the 
Englisli-nien's hands; and he incontinent laid down as much 
for the Scottish-men. The field and ground was chosen in 
St. Andrews, and three landed men and three yeomen chosen 
to shoot against the English-men, — to wit, David Wcmyss of 
tlint ilk. David Arnot of that ilk. and Mr. John Wedderbura, 
vicar of Dundee ; the yeomen, John Thompson, in Leith, Ste- 
ven TaburiHT, with a piper, called Alexander Bailie ; they 
shot very near, and warred [worsted] the English-men of the 
enterprise, and wan the hundn-d crowns and the tun of wine, 
which made the king very meiry that his men wan the vic- 
tory."— P. 147. 



Note 3 R. 
Robin Hood.— P. ^6. 
The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and his band was 
a favorite frolic at such festivals aa we are describing. This 

1 B.xils cf III" Universal Kirk, p. 414. 

2 fine ScotLisli IlisloricAl nnd Roauntic Ballads. Gtsagoir, IgOtt, vol. 



Sporting, in which kings did not disdain to ho actors,, was pro- 
liibited in ^'cotland upon the Reformation, by a statnt." of the 
6lh Parliam.nt of aueen Mary, c. 61, A. D. IS'j.'i, wh.rh or 
dercil, undtT heavy penalties, that " na manner of per.iuu be 
chosen Robert Hude, nor Little John, Abbot of Unr: :ison, 
Q,ucen of May, nor otherwise.*' But in 1561, the '• rascal 
multitude," says John Knox, "were stirred up to m:ike a 
Rohiii Hude, whilk enormity was of many years I< !i and 
damned by statute and act of Parlianu^nt ; yet would tliLy not 
be forbidden." Accordingly, they raised a very scriiUis tu- 
mult, and at length made prisoners the magistrates v.'lio en- 
deavored to suppress it, and would not release them tiil they 
e.xtorled a forma! promise that no one should be punilied for 
his share of the disturbance. It would seem, from l!iu com- 
plaints of the General Assemby of the Kirk, that these profane 
festivities were continued down to 1592.' Bold Robin was, to 
to say the least, equally successful in maintaining hi> ground 
against the reformed clergy of England : for the sinijile and 
evangelical Latimer complains of coming to a country church, 
where the people refused to hear him, because it was Robin 
Hood's day ; and his mitre and rochet were fain to give way 
to the village pastime. Much curious information on this sub- 
ject may be found in the Preliminary Dissertation to the late 
I^fr. Ritson's e<lition of the songs respecting this memorable 
outlaw. The game of Robin Hood was usually acted in May ; 
and he was assoeiated with the morrice-dancers, on whom so 
much illustration has been bestowed by the commentators on 
Shakspeare. A very lively picture of these festivities, con- 
taining a great deal of curious information on the subject of the 
private life and amusements of our ancestors, was thrown, by 
the late ingenious Mr. Strult. into his romance entitled Queen- 
hoo Hall, published after his death, in 1808. 



Note 3 S. 



Indifferent as to archer wight, 

The monarch gave the arrow bright. — P. 226. 

The Douglas of the poem is an imaginary person, a supposed 
uncle of the Eari of Angus. But the King's behavior during 
an unexpected interview with the Laird of Kilspindie, one of 
the banished Douglases, under circumstances similar to those 
in the text, is imitated from a real story told by Hume of 
Godscroft. I would have availed myself more fully of the 
simple and affecting circumstances of tlie old history, had they 
not been already woven into a pathetic ballad by my friend 
Mr. Finlay.i 

" His (the king's) implacability (towards the family of 
Douglas) did also appear in his carriage towards Archibald of 
Kilspindie, whom he, when he was a ehiM, loved singularly 
well for his ability of body, and was wont to call him his 
Gray-Steill.3 Archibald, being banished into England, could 
not well comport with the humor of that nation, which he 
thought to be too proud, and that they had too high a conceit 
of themselves, joined with a contempt and despising of all 
olliers. Wherefore, being wearied of that life, and remem- 
bering the king's favor of old towards him, he determinf-ii to 
try the king's mercifulness and clemency. So he comes into 
Scotland, and taking occasion of the king's hunting in the parK 
at Stirling, he casts him.self to be in his way. .'w he was coming 
home to the castle. So soon as the king saw him afar off, ere 
he came near, he gues.'^ed it was he, and said to one of his 
courtiers, yonder is my Gray-?^teill, Archibald of Kilspindie, 
if he be alive. The other answered, that it could not be he, 
and that he durst not come into the king's presence. The king 
approaching, he fell upon his knees antl craved pardon, and 
promised from thenceforward to abstain from meddling in 
public affaire, and to lead a quiet and private life. The king 

3 A champion of populAr romancu. See Ellis's RomanctB,\9\. iii. 



2(56 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



we:it by without giving him any answer, and trotted a good 
roiiml pace up llie hill. Kilspindie followed, and though he 
wore on liim a secret, or sliirt of mail, for his particular ene- 
mies, was as soon at the castle gate as tlie king. There he sat 
liim down upon a stone williout, and entrL^ated some of the 
king's servants for a cup of drink, being weary and thirsty ; 
but they, fearing tbe king's displeasure, durst give him none. 
When the king was set at his dinner, he asked wliat he liad 
lioiii?, what he had said, and whither he* liad gone? It was 
l(jld liini liiat he had desired a cup of drink, and liad gotten 
nuiu"'. The king reproved thera very sharply for their discour^ 
tp-ij-, and told them, that if he had not taken an oath that no 
lloi:::las should ever serve him, he would have received him 
into his service, for he had seen him sometime a man of great 
aiii'iiy. Then lie sent him word to go to Leith, and expect 
hi; further pleasure. Then some kinsman of David Falconer, 
tliL- L-annonier, that was slain at Tantallon, began to quarrel 
with Archibald about the matter, wherewith the king showed 
hiul^L-l^not well pleased when he heard of it. Tiien he com- 
manded him to go to France for a certain sjiacc, till he heard 
farliior from him. And so he did, and died shortly after. 
Tliis gave occasion to the King of England (Henry VIII.) to 
blame his nepiiew, alleging the old saying, That a King's face 
should give grace. For this Archibald (whatsoever were An- 
gus's or Sir George's fault) had not been principal actor of any 
tliitiL'. nor no counsellor nor stirrer up, but ordy a Ibllowcr of 
his IViiMids. and that noways cruelly disposed." — Hume of 
Qodscroft, ii. 107. 



Note 3 T. 



Prize of the itrcstliv^ match, the E^tnjr 
To Douglas gave a golden ring. — P. '226. 
The usual prize of a wrestling was a ram and a ring, but the 
animal would have embarrassed my story. Thus, in the Cokes 
Tale ol' Gamelyn, ascribed to Chaucer : 

" There happed to be there beside 
Tryed a wrolUiig: 
And therefore there was y-setten 
A ram and als a ring." 

Again the Litil Geste of Robin Hood : 

" By a bridge was a wrestling, 

And there taryed was he, 
And there was all the best yemen 

Of all the west countrey. 
A full fayre game there was set op, 

A white bull up y-pighl, 
A great courser with sadiile and brydle, 

With gold burnished full bryght ; 
A payre of gloves, a red golderinge, 

A pipe of wynf , good fay ; 
What man berctli him best, I wis. 

The prize shall bear away." 

Ritson's Robin Hood, vol. i. 



Note 3 U. 

These drew not for their fields the sword, 
Like tenants of a feudal lord, 
.Vur oxcn^d the patriarchal claim 
Uf Chieftain in their leader^ s name ; 
.■hiocntarcrs they P. 230. 

The Scottish armies consisted chiefly of the nobility and 
barons, with their vassals, who held lands under thera, for mil- 

1 Thoiij;-Ii !•■*« lo my purpose, I niimot Iielp nolictng n eircumalftnue re- 
BpecUng iiin ;tn.T of tbis Mt. Reid's uUcDilmile, which occurred during 



itary service by themselves and their tenants. The patriarcnal 
influence cvercised by the heads of clans in tne Higblands and 
Borders was of a different nature, and sometimes at vari;uir« 
with feudal principles. It flowed from the Patria Polcstas, 
exercised by the chieftain as representing the original father of 
the whole name, and was often obeyed in contradiction to the 
feudal superior. James V. seems first to have introduced, in 
addition to tiie militia furnished from these sources, the scrvii*'; 
of a small number of mercenaries, who formed a body-guarii, 
called the Foot-Band. The satirical poet. Sir David Lindsay 
(or the person who wrote the prologue to his play of the 
"Three Estaites"), has introduced Finlay of the Foot-Band, 
who, after much swaggering upon the stage, is at length put 
to flight by the Fool, who terrifies liim by means of a sheep's 
skull upon a pole, I have rather chosen to give thera the 
harsh features of the mercenary soldiers of the period, than of 
this Scottish Thraso. These partook of the character of the 
Adventurous Companions of Froissart or the Condottieri 
Italy. 

One of the best and liveliest traits of such manners is the 
last will of a leader, called Geffrey Tete Noir, who having 
been slightly wounded in a skirmish, his intemperance brought 
on a mortal disease. When he found himself dying, he sum- 
moned to his bedside the adventurers whom he commanded, 
and thus addressed them ; — 

" Fayre sirs, quod Geffray, I knowe well ye have alwayes 
served and honoured me as men ought to serve their soveraygne 
and capitayne, and I shal be the gladder if ye wyll agre to 
have to your ca[iitayne one that is discended of my blode. 
Beholde liere Aleyne Roux, my cosyn, and Peter his brother, 
who are men of amies and of my blode, I require yon to 
make Aleyne your capitayne, and to swere to hym faythe, 
obeysaunce, love, and loyalte, here in my presence, and also 
to his brother : howe be it, I wyll that Aleyne have the sove- 
rayne charge. Sir. quod they, we are well content, for ye 
hauve ryght well chosen. There all the companyons made 
them breke no poynt of that ye have ordayned and com- 
raaunded." — Lord Bernerb' Froissart. 



Note 3 V. 



Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp ! 
Oct thee an ape, and trudge the land. 
The leader of a juggler band. — P. 231. 

The jongleuK, or jugglers, as we learn from the elaborate 
work of the late Mr. Strutt, on the sports and pastimes of the 
people of England, used to call in the aid of various assist- 
ants, to render these performances as cajitivating as possible. 
The glee-maiden was a necessary attendant. Her dniy was 
tumbling and dancing; and therefore the Anglo-Saxon ver- 
sion of Saint Mark's Go3[ieI states Herodias to have vaulted 
or tumbled before Jving Herod. In Scotland, these poor crea- 
tures seem, even at a late period, to have been bondswomen 
to their masters, as appears from a case reported by Fountain- 
hall : — " Reid tbe mountebank pursues Scott of Harden and 
his lady, for stealing away from him a little girl, tailed the 
tumbling-lassie, that danced upon his stage ; and he elaimed 
damages, and produced a contract, whereby he bought her 
from her mother for £30 Scots. But wc have no slaves in 
Scotland, and mothers cannot sell their bairns ; and physicians 
attested the em|)loyment of tumbling would kill her; and her 
joints were now grown stiff, and she declined to return ; 1 hough 
she was at least a 'prentice, and so could not ruiiaw.iy from her 
master : yet some cited Moses's law, that if a servant shelter 
himself with thee, against his master's cruelty, thou .Hhalt 
surely not deliver him up. The Lords, renitrnfc canccllario, 
assoilzied Harden, on the 27th of January (1687)."— FoUN- 
tainhall's Decisions, vol. i. p. 439.^ 

Jmnes II.'s Toal for Cfttliolio proseiytiBiii, and is ti.Id by Founfalnhnll, 
with ury Soutcli icoity :—" January I'tth, 1687.— Reid tho mountebanli 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



267 



The facetioQ!) qaalities of the ape soon rendered him an ac- 
ceptable addition to the strolling hand of the jongleur. Ben 
Jonson, in his splenetic introduction to the comt:dy oC " Bar- 
(lioloinew Fair," is at pains to iiit'orin the audience " that he 
h;is ne'er a sword-and-huckler man in his Fair, nor a juggler, 
with a well-educated ape, to come over the chaine for the 
King of England, and back again lor the Prince, and sit stilt 
on his haunches for the Pope and the King of Spaine." 



Note 3 W. 

That stirring air that peals on high, 
O'er Dermitl's race onr victory. — 
Strike it /—P. 233. 

There are several instances, at least in tradition, of persons 
8o much attached to particular tunes, as to require to hear 
them on their deathbed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by 
the late Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel, in his collection of Border 
tunes, respecting an air called the '* Dandling of the Bairns," 
lor which a certain Gallovidian laird is said to have evinced 
this strong mark of partiality. It is popularly told of a fa- 
mous freebooter, that he composed the tune known by the 
name of Maejiberson's Rant, while under sentence of death, 
and ])layed it at the gallows-tree. Some spirited words have 
been adapted to it by Burns. A similar story is recounted 
of a Welsh bard, who composed and played on his deathbed 
the air called Dafxjddy Gnrrcgg Wtn, But the most curious 
example is given by Brantome, ol a maid of honor at the 
court of France, entitled. Mademoiselle de Limeuil. " Du- 
rant sa maladie, dont elle trespassa, jamais elle ne cessa, ains 
causa tousjours ; car elle estoit fort grande parleuse, brocai^ 
deuse, et tres-bien et fort fl propoR, et tres-belle avec cela. 
Q,iiand I'heure de sa fin fut venue, elle fit venir a soy son valet 
(ainsi que le filles de la cour en ont chacune un), qni s'ap- 
pelloit Julien, et scavoit tres-bien joiier du violon. ' JuHen,' 
luy dit elle, ' prenez vostre violon, et sonnez moy tou=jours jus- 
qiies a ce que vous me voyez morie (car je m'y en vais) la 
tk'faite des Suisses, et le mieux que vous pourrez, et quaitd 
vous serez sur le mot, " Tout est perdu," sonnez le par quatre 
ou cing fois le plus piteusement que vous pourrez,' ce qui fit 
I'autre, et elle-mesme luy aidoit de la voix, et quand ce vint 
' tout est perdu,' elle le rtitera jiar deux fois ; et se toornant de 
I'autre cosle du chevet, elle dil ^ ses compagties : ' Tout est 
perdu a ce coup, et ^ bon escient ;' et ainsi dtrcOda. Voila one 
morte joyeuseet plaisante. Je tiens ce contededeux de ses com- 
pagnes, dignes de foi, qui virerit jour ce mystere." — Oeuvres 
dc Brantome, iii. 507. The tune to which this fair lady chose 
to make her final exit, was composed on the defeat of the 
Pwiss at Marignano. The burden is quoted by Panurge, in 
Rabelais, and consists of these words, imitating the jargon of 
the Swiss, which is a mixture of French and German : 

" Tout est verlore, 

La Tintelore, 

Tool est verlore, bi Got !" 



Note 3 X. 

Battle of Beal^ an Duine,—T. 233. 

A skirmish actoally took place at a pass thus called in the 
Tro'^achs, and closed with the remarkable incident mentioned 
in the text. It was greatly posterior in date to the reign of 
James V. 

is received into tho FopiBh church, and one of bis blacVnmorei waa persu*- 
dtd toa«Cf[it of baptism from the Popish priests, and to turn ChrUtLtD 
papist ; whiiih woB a great trophy : ho was called Jnmes, after the king 
Mil chftDCcPor, and rUg .\postle James." Jbul, p. 440. 



"In this roughly-wooded island, * the country people sp- 
creted their wives and children, and their most valuable ef- 
fect.?, from the rapacity of Cromwell'; soldiers, during th^tr 
inroad into this country, in the time of the republic. Tliese 
invader*, not venturing to ascend by the laddere, along the 
side of the lake, took a more circuitous road, through the 
lieart of the Trosachs, the most frequented path at that time, 
which penetrates the wihlerness about half way between Bi- 
nean and the lake, by a tract called Yea-chiUeach, or the Old 
Wife's Bog. 

" In one of the defiles of this by-road, the men of the coun- 
try at that time hung upon the rear of the invading enemy , 
and shot one of Cromwell's men, whose grave marks the scene 
of action, and gives name to that j)ass.2 In revenge of this 
insult, the soldiers resolved to plunder the island, to violate 
the women, and pot the children to death. With this brutal 
intention, one of the party, more expert than the rest, swam 
towards the island, to fetch the boat to his comrades, which 
had carried the women to their asylum, and lay moored in one 
of the creeks. His companions stood on the shore of the main- 
land, in full view of all that was to pass, waiting anxiously for 
his return with the boat. But just as the swimmer had got to 
the nearest point of the island, and was laying hold of a black 
rock, to get on shore, a heroine, who stood on the very ])oint 
where he meant to land, hastily snatching a dagger from be- 
low her apron, with one stroke severed his head from the 
body. His party seeing this disaster, and relinquishing all fu 
ture Iiope of revenge or contiuest, made the best of their way 
out of their perilous situation. This amazon's great-grandson 
lives at Bridge of Turk, who, besides others, attests the anec- 
dote. — Sketch of the Scenery near Callendar, Stirling, 1806, 
p. 20. I have only to add to this account, that the heroin**' 
name was Helen Stuart. 



KOTE 3 Y. 
And Snotcdoun^s Knight is Scotland's King. — P. 237. 

This discovery will probably remind the reader of the beauti- 
ful Arabian tale of U Bondocani. Yet the incident is not 
hon'owed from that elegant story, but from Scottish tradition. 
James V.. of whom we are treating, was a monarch whose 
good and benevolent intentions often rendered his romantic 
freaks venial, if not respectable, since, from his anxious at 
tention to the interests of the lower and most oppressed class 
of his subjects, he was, as we have seen, popularly tenned 
the King of the Commons. For the purpose of seeing that 
justice was regularly administered, and frequently from the 
less justifiable motive of gallantry, he used to traverse the 
vicinage of his several palaces in various disguises. The two 
excellent comic songs, entitled, "The Gaberlunzie man," and 
'* We'll gae nae mair a roving," are said to have been founded 
upon the success of his amorous adventures when travelling 
in the disguise of a beggar. The latter is perhaps the best 
comic ballad in any language. 

Another adventure, which had nearly cost James his life, 
is said to have taken place at the village of Cramond, near 
Edinburgh, where he had rendered his addresses acceptable 
to a pretty girl of the lower rank. Four or five persons, 
whether relatione or lovers of his mistress is uncertain, beset 
the disguised monarch as he returned from his rendezvous. 
Naturally gallant, and an admirable master of his weapon, 
the king took post on the high and narrow bridge over the 
Almond river, ard defended himself bravely with his sword. 
A peasant, who was thrashing in a neighboring barn, came 
out upon the noije, and whether moved by compassion or by 

1 That At the eastern extremity of Loch Katrine, so often mentioned in 
the text. 

3 Benllncli an dnine. 



268 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



natural gallantry, took tlie weaker side, and laid abont with 
his flail so effectually, as to ilisperae the assailants, well 
thrashed, even according to the letter. He then conducte'^ 
the king into his barn, where his guest requested a basin and 
a towel, to remove the stains of the broil. This being i>ro- 
cured with difficulty, James employed himsell' in learning 
what was tlie summit of his deliverer's earthly wishes, and 
found that they were bounded by the de*^ire of jiossessing. in 
property, the farm of Braehead, upon which he labored as 
n bondsman. The lands chanced to belong to the crown ; 
and James directed him to come to the palace of Holyrood, 
and inquire for the Guidman (i. e. fanner) of Ballengiech, a 
name by which he was known in his excursions, and wliich 
answered to the H Londocani of Haroun Alraschid. He 
presented himself accordingly, and found, with due astonish- 
ment, that he had saved his monarch's life, and that he was 
to he gratified with a crown charter of the lands of Braehead, 
under the service of presenting a ewer, basin, and towel, for 
the king to wash Ids hands wlien he shall happen to pass the 
Bridge of Cramond. Thia person was ancestor of the Howi- 
sons of Braehead, in Mid-Lothian, a respectable family, who 
cuiitiaue to hold the lands (now passed into the female line) j 
under the same tenure.' 

Another of James's frolics is thus narrated by Mr. Camp- 
bell from the Statistical Account :— " Being once benighted 
when out a-hunting, and separated from liis attendants, lie 
happened to enter a cottage in the midst of a moor at the foot 
of the Ochil hills, near Alloa, where, unknown, he was kindly 
received. In order to regale their unexpected guest, the gudc- 
man {i. e. landlord, farmer) desired the gudcwifc to fetch the 
hen that roosted nearest the cock, which is always the plump- 
est, for the stranger's supper. The king, highly pleased with 
his night's lodging and hospitable entertainment, told mine 
host at parting, that he should be glad to return liis civility, 
and requested that the first time he came to Fliiling, lie would 
call at the castle, and inquire for the Qudcman of Batlen- 
giiich. 

Donaldson, the landlord, did not fail to call on the Oudcman 
of Ballcvguich, when his astonishment at finding that the king 
had been his guest afforded no small amusement to the merry 
monarch and his courtiers; and, to carry on the pleasantry, 
he was henceforth designated hy James with the title of King 
of the Mooi-s. which name and designation have descended 
from lather to ton ever since, and they have continued in pos- 
Bt'ssioii of the identical spot, the property of Mr. Erskine of 
Mar. till very lately, when this gentleman, with reluctance, 
turned out the descendant and representative of the King of 
the Moors, on account of his majesty's invincible indolence, 
and great dislike to reform or innovation of any kind, ahhough, 
from the spirited example of his neighbor tenants on the same 
estate, he is convinced similar exertion would promote his ad- 
vantage." 

The author requests permission yet farther to verify the sul>- 
jpct of Ids poem, by an extract from the genealogical work of 
Buchanan of Auchmar. upon Scottish surnames : — 

■■ This John Buchanan of Auchmar and Artipryor was after- 
w.irU termed King of Kippen,"'' upon the following account: 
Kiv James v.. a verv sociahh-, debonair prince, residing at 
r-.irliu", in Buchanan of Arnpryor's time, carriers were very 
troquently passing along the common road, being near Arn- 
j]ryor'b )iouse, with necessaries for the use of the king's family ; 
and he, liaving some extraordinary occasion, ordered one of 
tli-jse carriers to leave his load at liis liouse, and he would pay 
him lor it ; which the carrier refused to do, telling him he was 
the king's carrier, and liis load for his majesty's use ; to which 
Arnproyer seemed to have small regard, compelling the carrier, 

I ThL- rfftder will fiml t)iie story told Rl greater length, and with the 
ndaitioii in jiarticulnr, of the kin;,' being recognirod. like the Fitz-Janica 
of llic Lady of the Lake, by b'-ing the ooly peraon covered, in the First 
BenuB of Tales of a Grnnilfnther, vol. iiU p. 37. The heir of Braehead 



in tlie end, to leave his load ; telling him, if King James was 
King of Scotland, he was King of Kijjpen, so that it was rea- 
sonable he should share with iiis neighbor king in some of 
these loads, so frequently carried that road. The carrier rep- 
resenting this usage, and telling the story, as Arnpryor spoke 
it, to some of the king's servants, it came at length to his 
majesty's ears, who, shortly thereafter, with a few attendants, 
came to visit his neighbor king, who was in the mean time at 
dinner. King James, having sent a servant to demand access, 
was denied the same by a tall fellow with a battle-axe, who 
stood porter at the gale, telling, there could he no access till 
dinner was over. This answer not satisfying the king, he sent 
to demand access a second time r upon which he was desired 
by the porter to desist, otherwise he would find cause to re- 
j)enl his rudeness. His majesty finding this method would not 
do, desired the porter to tell his master that the Goodman of 
Ballageich desired to speak with the King of Kippeii. The 
porter telling Arnpryor so much, he, in all humble manner, 
came and received the king, and having entertained him with 
much sumptuousness and jollity, became so agreeable to King 
James, that ho allowed him to take so mucli of any provbion 
he found carrying that road as he had occasion for ; and seeing 
he made the first visit, desired Arnpryor in a few days to retu.'n 
him a second to Stirling, which he performed, and continued 
in very much favor with the king, always thereafter being 
termed King of Kippen while he lived." — Bt'ciiANAN's Essay 
upon tlie Family of Buchanan. Edin. 1775. 8vo. p. 74. 

The readers of Ariosto must give credit for the amiable fea- 
tures Willi which he is represented, since he is generally con- 
sidered as the prototype of Zerbino, the most interesting hero 
of the Orlando Furioso. 



Note 3 Z. 



■ Stirling*s tower 



Of ynre the name of Snowdoun claims. — P. 238. 

William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the 

fifteenth century, calls Stirling Castle Snowdoun. >"ir David 

Liniisay bestows the same epitliet upon it in his complaint of 

the Papingo : 

" Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with thy towers high, 
Thy cliaple-royal, [)ark. and table round ; 
May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee, 
Were I a man. to hear the birdis sound, 
Whilk doth againe thy royal rock rebound." 

Mr. Chalmers, in his late excellent edition of Sir David Lind- 
say's works, has refuted the cliimerical derivation of Snawdoun 
from snedding, or cutting. Il was probably derived from the 
romantic legend which connected Stirling with King Arthur, 
to whiidi the mention of the Round Table gives countenance. 
The ring witliin whicli justs were formerly practised, in the 
castle park, is still called the Round Table. .Snawdoun is the 
official title of one of the Scottish lieralds, whose epithets seem 
in all countries to have been fantastically adopted from ancient 
history or romance. 

U appears (See Note 3 Y) that the real name by which 
James was actually distinguished in Iris private excursions, 
was the Qoodmnn of Ballcnguich ; derived from a steep pass 
leading up to the Castle of StiriJng, so called. But the epithet 
would not have suited poetry, and would besides at once, and 
prematurely, have announced tlie plot to many of my country- 
men, among whom the traditional stories above mentioned an 
still current. 

discharged liifl duty at the banquet given to King George IV. in the Par 
liameut Houho iiL Edinburgh, in 1822. — Ed. 

i A small district of Perthshire. 



(^\)c bision of iDoit Kobcrick.' 



Quid dignum mcmorarc tuts, Hispania, terrisy 
Vox humana valet ! Claudian. 



PREFACE. 

The following Poem is fouiuled upon a Spanish 
Tradition, pai-ticularly detailed in the Notes ; but 
bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the last 
Gothic King of Spain, when the Invasion of the 
Moors was impending, liad tlie temerity to descend 
nto an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of 
rhich had been denounced as fatal to the Spanish 
Monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash curiosity 
wjis mortified by an emblematical representation 
of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated 
him in battle,' and reduced Spain under theu- do- 
minion. I have presumed to prolong the Vision of 
the Revolutions of Spain down to the present 
eventful crisis of the Peninsula; and to divide it, 
by a supposed change of scene, into Three Pekiods. 
The First of these represents the Invasion of the 
Moors, the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and 
closes with the peaceful occupation of the country 
by the Victors. The Second Period embraces the 
state of the Peninsula, when the conquests of the 
Spaniai-ds and Portuguese in the East and West 
Indies had raised to the liighest pitch the renown 
of (heir arms ; sulUed, however, by superstition and 
cruelty. An allusion to the inhumanities of the 
Inquisition terminates this picture. The Last Part 
of the Poem opeqs with the state of Spain previous 
to tlie unparalleled treachery of Bonaparte ; gives 

1 The- Vision of Don Roderick appeared in 4to, in July 15. 
1811 ; anil in the coorse of the same year was also inserted in 
the second volume of the Eilinhurgh Annual Resister — which 
work was the property of Sir Walter Scott's then pnhlishers, 
Meosrs. John Ballantyne and Co. 

2 The Rijlit Hon. Robert Blair of Avontonn, President of 
the Court of Sessions, was the son of the Rev. Robert Blair, 
author of " The Grave." After long filling the office of So- 
licitor^General in Scotland with high distinction, he was ele- 
Tated to the Presidency in 1808. He died very suddenly on the 
20lh May, 1811, in the 70th year of his age ; and his intimate 
friend, Henry Dundas, first Viscount Melville, having gone into 
Edinlnirgh on purpose to attend his remains to tlie grave, was 
taken ill not less suddenly, and died there the very hour that 
the funeral took place, on the 28th of the same month. 

! In a letter to J. B. S. Morritt, Esq., Edinburgh, July 1, 



a sketch of the usm-pation attempted upon tliat 
imsnspicious and friendly kingdom, and terminates 
with the arrival of the British succors. It may be 
farther proper to mention, that the object of the 
Poem is less to commemorate or detail particular 
incidents than to exliibit a generiil and impressive 
picture of the several periods brought upon the stage. 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, 
especially by one who has already experienced mi we 
than ordinary indulgence, to offer any apology f. ir 
the inferiority of the poetry to the subject it is cliiefiv 
designed to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to 
mention, that while I was hastUy executing a work, 
written for a temporary purpose, and on passing 
events, the task wa.s most cruelly interrupted by the 
successive deaths of Lord President Blair," and 
Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished 
characters I had not only to regret per.sons whose 
lives were most important to Scotland, but also 
whose notice and patronage honored my entrance 
upon active Ufe ; and, I may add, with melancholy 
pride, who permitted my more advanced age to 
claim no common share in their friendsliip. Under 
such interruptions, the following verses, wliich my 
best and hapjjiest efforts must have left far imworthy 
of their theme, have, I am my self sensible, an appear- 
ance of neghgence and incoherence, whicii, in other 
circumstances, I might have been able to remove.' 

Edinburgh, June 24, 1811. 

1811. Scott says — " I have this moment got your kind letter, 
just as I was packing up Don Roderick for you. This jiatri- 
otic puppet-show has been finished under wretched auspices ; 
I»oor Lord Melville's death so quickly succeeding tliat of 
President Blair, one of the best and wisest judges that ever dis- 
tributed justice, broke my 6|iirit sadly. My official siointion 
placed me in daily contact with the President, and his ability 
anil candor were the source of my daily admiration. ..\s for 
|)oor dear Lord Melville. ' 'tis vain to name Iiim whom we 
mourn in vain.' Almost the last time I saw him, he was talk- 
ing of you in the highest (erms of regard, and e.\pressing great 
hopes of again seeing you at Dunira this summer, where I pro- 
posed to attend you. Hri mihi ! quid kr.i iiiijii? fmvinna 
jicrprssi sumiis. His loss will be long anil severely felt here, 
and Envy is already paying her cold tribute of applause to the 
worth which she maligned while it walked upon eartli." 



270 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WuRKS. 



Sl)c Vision of 53on Uobcddi. 



JOHN WHITMORE, Esq. 

A\D TO THE 

COMMI'lTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS, 

IN WJUCH HE PRESIDES, 

THIS POEM, 

(THE VISION OF DON RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT,' 

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCEIEED BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 



INTRODUCTION. 



I. 

Lives there a strain, whose sotmds of mounting 
fire 
Maj' rise distinguish'd o'er the din uf war ; 
Or died it with you Master of the Lyre, 

Who sung beleaguer'd Ilion's evil star ?^ 
Such, Wellington, miglit reach thee from afar, 
Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 
Nor sliouts, nor clasliing arms, its mood could mar, 
All as it swell'd 'twixt "each loud trumpet- 
change,^ 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge !* 

i " Tlie lelters of Scott to all liis friends iiave sufficiently 
sliown the unflagging interest witli wlilch, among all liis per- 
sonal labors and anxieties, he watched the progress of tlie great 
contest in the Peninsula. It was so earnest, tliat he never on 
any journey, not even in his very frequent passages between 
Edinburgh and Ashestiel, omitted to take with him the largest 
and best map he had been able lo procure of the seal of war; 
upon this he was periJCtually pouring, tracing the marches and 
'.oiinter-marches of the French and English by means of black 
anil while pins ; and not seldom did Mrs. Scott complain of 
tliis constant occupation of his attention and her carriage. In 
the beginning of 1811, a committee was formed in London to 
collect ^subscriptions for the relief of the Portuguese, who had 
seen their lands wasted, their vines torn up, and their houses 
burnt in the course of Massena's last unfortunate campaign ; 
and t?i'Ott, on reading the advertisement, immediately addressed 
Mr. Whitinore, the chairman, begging that the committee 
would allow him to contribute to their fund the profits, to 
whatever they might amount, of a poem which he proposed to 
write upon a subject connected with the localitiesi of the patri- 
otic struggle. His offer was of course accepted ; ami The 
Vision ok Don Roderick was begun as soon as the Spring 
vacation enabled him to retire to Asliesliel. 



n. 

Yes! such a strain, with aU o'er-pouring mea- 
sure, 
Might melodize with each tumultuous sound, 
Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or plea- 
sure, 
That rings Mondego's ravaged shores aroimd ; 
The thundering cry of hosts with conquest 
crown'd, 
Tlie female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's moan, 
The shout of captives from their chains un- 
bound, 
Tlie foil'd oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
A Nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthrown. 

" The poem was published, in 4to, in July ; and the imme- 
diate proceeds were forwarded to the board in London. His 
I'mwd the Earl of Dalkeith (ai'terwards Duke of Buccleuch) 
writes thus on the occasion : — ' Those with ampler fortunes 
and thicker heads may easily give one hundred guineas to a 
subscription, but the man is really to be envied who can draw 
that sum from his own brains, and apply the produce so bene- 
ficially and to so exalted a purpose.* " — Life of Scott, vol. iii. 
pp. 312, 315. 

3 MS. — " Who sung the changes of the Phrygian jar." 
3 MS. — " Claiming thine ear 'twixt each loud trumpet 
change." 

* "The too monotonous close of the stanza is sometimes 
diversified by the adoption of fourteen-foot verse, — a license in 
poetry which, since Dryden, has (we believe) been altogether 
abaniJoned, but which is nevertheless very deserving of revivaJ, 
so long as it is only rarely and judiciously used. The very 
first stanza in this poem affords an instance of it ; ami, intro- 
duced thus in the very front of the battle, we cannot help con- 
sidering it as a fault, especially clogged as il is with the asso- 
ciation of a defective rhyme — change, revenge.^* — Critical 
ReoicLC, .rJiiff. 1811. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



2Y1 



III. 

Hut we, we.ik minstrels of a laggard day, 

SkUl'd but to imitate an elder page, 
Timid and rapturcless, can we repay' 

The debt thou cl.aim'st in this exhausted age ? 
Thou givest our l^Tes a theme, that might en- 
gage [land. 

Those that could Bend thy name o'er sea and 
\Vliile sea and land shall last ; for Homer'8 rage 

A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty hand — 
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band P 

IV. 

Te mountains stern ! within whose rugged 
breast 
The friends of Scottish freedom found repose ; 
Te torrents ! whose hoarse sounds have soothed 
their rest. 
Returning from the field of vanquish'd foes ; 
Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close. 

That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung ; 
What time their hynm of \'ictory arose, [rung. 
And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph 
And mystic Merlin harp'd, and gray-haii''d Lly- 
warch sung !' 



I if yom- wilds such minstrelsy retain. 

As sure yom' changeful gales seem oft to say, 
"When sweeping wild and sinking soft again. 

Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay, 

Then lend the note to liim has loved you long ! 
WTio pious gather'd each tradition gray, 

That floats your solitary wastes along, [song, 
And with affection vain gave them new voice in 

VI. 

For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 

Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver care. 
From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair ; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air, 

Tliey came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer ; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot the poet's name. 

VII 
Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost :' 
" Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic lyre. 



* MS. — " Unform'd for raptnre, how shall we repap." 
3 MS. — " Tlioil givest our verse a theme that might engage 
Lyreg tliat could richly yield thee hacit its due; 
A tlicme, might kindle Homer's mighty rage ; 
A theme more grand than Maro ever knew — 
How much unmeet for us, degenerate, frail, and few !" 



Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost. 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire ; 
If to such task presmnptuous thou aspire. 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due : 
Age after age has gather'd son to sire. 

Since our gray cliffs the din of conflict knew. 
Or, pealing tlu-ough our vales, victorious buglc-e 
blew. 

VIIL 
" Decay 'd our old traditionary lore, [ring. 

Save where the lingering fays renew tlieir 
By milk-raaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar. 
Or round the marge of Minchmore's haimted 
spring f [sing, 

Save where their legends gray-hair'd shepherds 
That now scarce win a Ustening ear but thine. 
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravagmg. 
And rugged deeds recotmt in rugged hue. 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, oi 
Tyne. 

IX. 

" No ! search romantic lands, where the near Sun 

Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, 
Where the rude villager, his labor done, [name, 

In verse spontaneous" , chants some favor'd 
Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim. 

Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet ; 
Or whether, kindUng at the deeds of Graeme,' 

He sing, to wild Morisco measure set, 
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet ! 

X. 

" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows. 
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruin'd breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the b.onners of more ruthless foes 

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, 
From whose tall towers even now the patriot 
throws 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. 

XL 

" Tliere, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 
Stdl lightens in the sun-bm*nt native's eyo ; 

The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 
Still mark enduring pride and constancy. 



3 See Appendix, Note A. 

* MS. — " Hark, from gray Needpath's mists, the Brothers' 
cairn, 
Hark, from the Brothers' cairn the answer tost, 
'■ See Appendix, Note B. ' Ibid. Note C, 

' Ibid. Note D. 



era' \ 
St." ' 



272 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And, if the glow of feudal chivalrj' 

Beam not, as once, thy nobles' deai-est pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side. 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortune 
fought and died. 

XII. 

" And cherish'd still by that unchanging race,' 

Are themes for minstrelsy more high than 
thine ; 
Of stnuige tradition many a mystic trace, 

Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Where wonders wdd of Arabesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of darker shade. 
Forming a model meet for minstrel Une. [siiid: 

Go, seek such theme !" — The Mountain Spirit 
With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obey'd.' 



(Ll)e IVision of Don HolicncK-. 

I. 

Rearing then crests amid the cloudless skies, 

And darkly clustering in the p.ale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires .arise. 

As from a trembling hake of silver white. 
Tlieir mingled shadows inteiTept tlie siglit 

Of the broad bm'i;il-ground outstretch'd below. 
And naught disturbs the silence of the night ; 

All sleeps in sullen shade, or sUvcr glow, 
AU save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow.^ 

II. 

All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide. 

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 
Their changing rounds as watcliful horsemen 
ride. 
To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's night-fog rollmg damp, 

Was many a proud p.avUion dimly seen,* 
Which ghmmer'd back, against the moon's fair 
lamp, 



1 MS. — " And lingering 6till 'mid that unchanging race." 

- " The Introduction, we confess," says the duarterly Re- 
viewer, " does not please us so well as the rest of the poem, 
tliou£;h the reply of the Mountain Spirit is exquisitely writ- 
ten." The Edinburgh critic, after quoting stanzas i.x. X. and 
xi. says: — "The Introduction, thougli splendidly written, is 
too long for so short a poem ; and the poet's dialogue with his 
native mountains is somewhat too startling and unnatural. 
Tlie most spirited part of it, we think, is their direction to 
Spanisll themes." 

■' The Monthly Review, for 1811, in quoting this stanza, 
gays — " Scarcely any poet, of any age or country, has excelled 
Mr. Scott in bringing before our sight the very scene which he 
is describing — in giving a reality of existence to every object on 



Tissues of sUk and silver twisted sheen, 
And standards proudly pitch'd, and warders arm'd 
between. 

III. 

But of theu Monarch's person keeping v/ard. 
Since last the deep-mouth'd bell of vespers 
toU'd, 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 

Tlie post beneath the proud Cathedral holtl : 
A band imhke their Gothic sires of old, 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron ni.ace. 
Bear slender darts,' and casques bedeck'd wi'h 
gold. 
While silver-studded belts their shoulii^irs 
grace, 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's 
place." 

rv. 

In the light language of an idle court, 

Tliey murmm-'d .at their master's long delay. 
And held his lengthen'd orisons in spoj-t : — 
" Wliat ! will Don Roderick here till morning 
stay. 
To wear in shrift and pr.ayer the night away ? 

And are his hours in such dull penance past, 
For fair Florinda's plunder'd ch.anns to pay ;" — '' 
Then to the cast their weary eyes they cast. 
And wish'd the lingering dawn would glimmer 
forth at last. 

V. 
But, far witliin, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the King ; 
The sdver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 

So long that sad confession witnessing : 
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, 

Such as are lothly utter'd to the air, 
Wlien Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom 
wrmg, 
And Guilt his secret bm-den caimot bear. 
And Conscience steki in speech a respite from Dit- 
spair. 



which he dwella ; and it is on such occasions, especially suil'-'i 
as they seem to the habits of his mind, that his style itself 
catches a character of harmony, wiiich is far from being iii':- 
ver^ally its own. How vivid, yet how soft, is this picture !" 

4 MS. — " For, stretch'd beside the river's margin damp. 
Their proud pavilions bide the meadow green." 

6 MS. — " Bore javelins slight." 

c The Critical Reviewer, having quoted stanzas i. ii. and iii. 
sj^ys — " To the specimens with which his former works abound, 
of Mr. Scott's unrivalled excellence in the descriptions, both 
of natural scenery and romantic manners and costume, these 
stanzas will be thought no mean addition." 

" See Appendix, Note E. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



2'JU 



VI. 

Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair, 

The stream of failing light was feebly roU'd :' 
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bai"e, 

Was shadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 

Proud Ahu-ic's descendant could not brook," 
That mortal man hi.s bearing should behold. 

Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience 

shook, [look,' 

Fe.ir tame a monai'ch's brow, Remorse a wai'rior's 

VII. 
The old man's faded cheelc wax'd yet more pale, 

As many a secret sad the King bewray'd ; 
As sign and glance eked out the unfinish'd tale. 

When in the midst his faltering whisper staid. 
" Thus royal Witiza' was slain,'' — he said ; 

" Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I." 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. — 

" Oh ! rather deem 'twas stem necessity ! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. 

VIII. 

" And if Florinda's shrieks alarm'd the air. 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain. 
And on her knees implored that I woidd spare, 
Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! 
All is not as it seems — the female train 

Know by their bearing to disguise their 

mood :" — • 

But Conscience here, as if in high disdain. 

Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning 

blood— [stood. 

He st.ay'd his speech abrupt — and up the Prelate 



Jroll'd." 



1 MS. — " The feeble lamp in dying lustre 

The waves of broken light were feebly 

a MS. — " The haughty monarch's heart could evil brook." 

3 Tile Quarterly Reviewer says — "The moonlight scenery 
of tile camp and burial-ground is evidently by the same pow- 
erful hand which sketched the Abbey of Melrose ; and in this 
picture of Roderick's confession, there are traits of even a 
higher cast of sublimity and pathos." 

Tlie Edinburgh Reviewer introduces his quotations of the i. 
ii. V. and vi. stanzas thus — " The poem is substantially di- 
vided into two compartments ; — the one representing the fabu- 
lous or prodigious acts of Don Roderick's own time, — and the 
other the rx;cent occurrences which have since signalized the 
same quarter of the world. Mr. Scott, we think, is most at 
home in the first of these fields ; and we think, upon the whole, 
has most success in it. The opening afibrds a fine specimen of 
his unrivalled powers of description." 

The reader may be gratified with having the following lines, 
from Mr. Soutbey's Roderick, inserted here : — 



• Then Roderick knelt 



Before the holy man, and strove to speak ; 
* Thou seest,' — be cried, — ' thou seest' — but memory 
And suffocating thonght-s represt the word, 
And shudderings, like an ague fit. from head 
To foot convulsed him : till at length, subduing 
.15 



IX. 
*' harden'd offspring of an iron race ! [say \ 
What of thy cruues, Don Roderick, shall 1 
What alms, or prayers, or penance, can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stam away ! 
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray. 

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime li.- 
boast ? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay. 

Unless in mercy to yon Christian host. 
He spare the shepherd,' lest the guiltless shot) 
be lost.'' 



Then kindled the dark Tyrant in his mood, 

And to liis brow return'd its dauntless gloom ; 
"And welcome then," he cried, "be blood for 
blood. 

For treason treachery, for dishonor doom ! 
Yet wiU I know whence come they, or by whom. 

Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key. 
And guide me. Priest, to that mysterious room,' 

Where, if aught true in old tradition be. 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see."' 

XI. 
" Ill-fated Prmce 1 recall the desperate word, 

Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey ! 
Bethink, yon speU-bound portal would afford" 

Never to former Monarch entrance-way ; 
Nor sliall it ever ope, old records say, 

Save to a King, the last of all his line, 
What time his empire totters to decay. 

And treason digs, beneath; her fatal mine. 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine." 

Ills nature to the effort, he exclaim'd. 
Spreading his hands, and bfling up his face, 
As if resolved in penitence to bear 
A human eye upon his shame — * Thou seest 
Roderick the Goth ! That name should have sufficed 
To tell the whole abhorred history : 
He not the less pursued, — the ravisher, 
The cause of all this ruin !' — Having said. 
In the same posture motionless he knelt. 
Arms straiten'd down, and hands outspread, and eyes 
Raised to the Monk, like one who from his voice 
Expected life or death." — 
Mr. Pouthey, in a note to these lines, says, " The vision iil 
Don Roderick supplies a singular contrast to the picture whii^h 
is represented in tills passage. I have great pleasure in quoting 
the stanzas (v. and vi.) ; if the contrast had been intentional, 
it could not have been more complete." 

* The predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, and 
slain by his connivance, as is atHrmed by Rodriguez of Toledo, 
the father of Spanish history. 

6 MS. — " He spare to smite the shepherd, lest the sheep bl 

lost." 
c MS. — " And guide me, prelate, to that secret room." 

* See Appendix, Note F. 

** MS. — " Or pause the omen of thy fate to weigh ! 

Bethink, tliat brazen portal would afford." 



27i 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XII. 

" Prelate I a Monarch's fate brooks no delay ; 
Lead on !" — The ponderous key tlie old man 
took, 
And held the winking lamp, and led the way. 

By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook. 
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desperate King essay 'd, 

Low mutter'd thunders the Cathedral shook. 

And twice he stopp'd, and twice new effort 

made, [bray'd. 

Till the huge bolts roll'd back, and the loud hinges 

XIII 

Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ; 

Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone ; 
Of polish'd marble, black as funeral pall. 

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown. 
A paly Ught, as of the dawning, shone [not spy ; 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could 
For window to the upper air was none ; 

Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal 
eye. 

XIV. 
Grun sentinels, ag.amst the upper wall, [place • 
Of molten bronze, two St.atues held then- 
Massive theh naked Umbs, theii' stature tall. 

Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seem'd for kings of giant race, 
t lived 
flood; 

This grasp'd a scythe, that rested on a mace ; 
This spread his wings for flight, that ponder- 
ing stood, [mood. 
Each stubborn seem'd and stern, immutable of 

XV. 
Fix'd was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand. 
As if its ebb he measiu'ed by a book. 

Whose ii'on volume loaded his huge hand ; 
In which was wi'ote of many a fallen land. 

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven : 
And o'er that pah- their names in scroU expand — 

" Lo, Destiny and Time ! to whom by Heaven 
The guidance of the eaith is for a season given." — 

XVL 
Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes 
away ; 
And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, 
That right-hand Giant 'gan liis club' upsway, 
As one that startles from a heavy sleep. 

^ MS. — " ,1nn — mace — club,^* 
3 See Appendix, Note G. 



Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thmider 
And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, 
The marble boundary was rent asunder, 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of feai 
and wonder. 

XVIL 
For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach 
Realms as of Spain in vision'd prospect laid, 
Castles and towers, in due proportion each. 

As by some skilful artist's hand portray 'd; 
Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade. 
And boundless plains that tire the traveller's 
eye; 
There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade, 
Or deep-embrown'd by forests huge and high. 
Or wash'd by mighty streams, that slowly mur- 
mur'd by. 

XVIIL 
And here, as erst upon the antique stage, 

Pass'd forth the hand of masquers trimly led, 
In various forms, and various equipage. 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed ; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread. 

Successive pageants fill'd that mystic scene. 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled. 
And issue of events that had not been ; 
And, ever :md anon, strange sounds were heard 
between. 

XIX. 

First shriird an unrepeated female sliriek ! — 

It seem'd as if Don Roderick knew the call. 
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. — 

Then answer'd kettle-chum and atabal, 
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal. 

The Tecbu- wai'-cry, and the Lehe's yell," 
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 

Needs not to Roderick their dread import 

teU— [Tocsin beUl 

" The Moor !" he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out the 

XX. 

" Thev come ! they come ! I see the gi-oarung lanas 
White with the tm'bans of each Arab horde; 

Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, 
Alia and Mahomet then- battle-word. 

The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword- 
See how the Christians rush to arms amain !— 

In yonder shout the voice of conflict roar'd,' 
The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain- 
Now, God and Saint lago strike, for the good cause 
of Spain ! 

3 " Oh, who could tell what deeds were wrought tiiat day i 
Or who endure to hear tJie tale of rage. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



275 



XXL 

" By Heaven, the Moors prevail I the Chiistians 
yield! 
Tlioir coward leader gives for flight the sign 1 
Tlie sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed OreHa ? — Yes, 'tis mine 1' 
But never was she turn'd from battle-line : 
Lo ! where the recreaot spurs o'er stock and 
stone I 
Curses pui-sue the slave, and wi'ath divine 1 
Rivers ingulph him !" — " Husli," in shudder- 
ing tone, [form's thine own." 
Tlie Prelate said ; — " rash Prince, you vision'd 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent cross'd the flier's course ; 

The dangerous ford the Ivingly Likeness tried ; 

But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and 

horse. 

Swept like benighted peasant down the tide ;' 

And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide. 

As numerous as their native locust band ; 
Berber imd Ismael's sons the spoils divide, 
Witii naked cimeters mete out the land, 
And for the bondsmen base the freeborn natives 
■ orand. 

XXIIL 

Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveUest maidens of the Cliristian line ; 
Tlien, menials, to theu- misbelieving foes 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign, 

By uupious hands was from the altar thrown, 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 

Echo'd, for holy hymn and orgau-tone, [moan. 
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering 

XXIV. 
How fares Don Roderick ? — E'en as one who 
spies [woof. 

Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable 
And hears around his children's piercing cries. 

Hatred, and madness, and despair, and fear. 
Horror, and wounds, and agony, and death, 
The cries, the blasphemies, the shrielts and groans. 
And prayers, which mingled in the din of arras. 
In one wild uproar of territic sounds." 

Southey's Roderick, vol. ii. p. 171. 
1 See Appendix, Note H. 

• " Upon the banks 

Of Sella was Orelia found, his legs 
And Hanks incaxnailined, his poitrel smear'd 
Willi froth and tbam and gore, his silver mane 
Sprinkled witli blood, Tliich hung on every hair. 
Aspersed like dew-drops ; trembling there he stood, 
From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth 
His tremulous voice, far-echoing, loud and shrill, 
A frequent, anxious cry, witli which he seem'd 
To call the master whom he loved so well, 



And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 
Wliile cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof. 
His folly ()r liis crime liave caused liis grief; 
And wliile above huu nods the cnuubUiig roof. 
He ciu-ses earth and Heaven — himself in 
chief — [hef ! 

Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's re- 

XXV. 

That scythe-arra'd Giant turn'd his fatal glass 
And twihght on the landscape closed her 
wings ; 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass. 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings ; 
And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs, 
Bazaars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney hght the Moor his jerrid flings. 
And on the land as evening seem'd to set. 
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or 
minaret.' 

XXVL 

So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came,' 
The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke. 
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheets 
of flame ; 
With every flash a bolt explosive broke. 
Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their 
yoke, [falone ! 

And waved 'gainst heaven the mfernal gon- 
For Yv'ar a new and dreadful language spoke, 
Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thimder was 
her tone. 

XXVIL 

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away— 
The Christians have regain'd their heritage ; 

Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray 
And many a mona.stery decks the stage. 

And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage. 
Tlie land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, — 

The Genii those of Spain for many an age ; 

And who had thns again forsaken him. 
Siverian's helm and cuirass on the grass 
Lay near; and Julian's sword, its hilt and chain 
Clotted with blood ; but where was he whose hand 
Had wielded it so well that glorious day ?" 

Southey's Roderick. 

3 "The manner in which the pageant disappears is very 
beautiful." — Q^uarterly Review. 

4 <> We come now to the Second Period of the Vision ; and 
we cannot avoid noticing with much commendation the dex- 
terity and graceful ease with which the (irvt two scenes are 
connected. Without abru[ittiess. or tedious apology for tran- 
sition, they melt into each other with very harmonious effect; 
and we strongly recommend this example of skill, perhaps, ex- 
hibited without any effort, to the imitation of contemporary 
poets." — Monthiy Review. 



976 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



This clad in sackcloth, that in armor bright, 
And that was Valor named, this Bigotry was 
hight." 

XXVIII. 

Valor was hamess'd Hke a chief of old, [gest ;' 

Ai'm'd at all points, and prompt fur knightly 
His sword was temper'd in the Ebro cold, 

Morena's eagle pluine adorn'd his crest. 
The spoils of Alric's lion bound liis breast, [gage ; 

Fierce he stepp'd forward and flung down his 
As if of mortal kind to brave the best. 

Him foUow'd liis Companion, dark .and s.age. 
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came. 

In look and language proud as proud might be. 
Vaunting his lordship, Imeage, fights, and fame : 

Yet was that barefoot monk more proud than 
And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, [he : 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free. 

Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renown'd. 
Honoring his scom-ge and hair-cloth, meekly kiss'd 
the ground. 

XXX. 

And thus it chanced th.at Valor, peerless knight. 

Who ne'er to King or Kaiser veil'd his crest. 
Victorious still in buU-feast or in fight. 

Since first liis limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

Nor reason'd of the right, nor of the wrong, 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, [along, 

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 

XXXI. 
Oft Ms proud galleys sought some new-fomid 
world, 
Tliat latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 
Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hm-l'd, — 
Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 

1 "These allegorical personages, which are tlins described, 
are sketched in the true spirit of Spenser ; but we are not sure 
that we altogether approve of the association of sach imagi- 
nary beings with the real events that pass over the stage : and 
these, as well as the form of ^ nibition which precedes the path 
of Bonaparte, have somewhat the air of the immortals of the 
Luxemburg gallery, whose naked limbs and tridents, tbondei^ 
bolts and cadncei, are so singularly contrasted with the ruffs 
and whiskers, the queens, archbishops, and cardinals of France 
and Navarre." — (Quarterly Review. 

2 " Armed at all points, exactly cap-a-pee." — Hamlet. 

3 See Appendix, Note I. 

^"Tlie third scene, a peaceful state of indolence and ob- 
Bcority, where, though the court was degenerate, the peasant 
was merry and contented, is introduced with exiiuisite light- 
t£Si and gayety." — Quarterly Review. 



Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omraha worn 
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and 
foul ; 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn. 

Bedabbled all with blood. — With grisly scowl 
The Hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath 
his cowl. 

xxxn. 

Then did he bless the offering, and bade niakt 
Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise ; 
And at his word the choral hymns awake. 

And many a hand the silver censer sways. 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 
Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the 
fire ; 
The gi'oans of prison'd victims mar the lays. 
And shrieks of agony confound the quire ; 
While, 'mid the mingled soimds, the darkened 
scenes expire. 

xxxni. 

Preluding hght, were strains of music heard. 

As once again revolved th.at measm-ed sand ; 
Such soimds as when, for sylvan dance prepared, 

Gay Xeres simimons forth her vintage band ; 
Wlien for the hght bolero ready stand 

The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha met,^ 
He conscious of his broider'd cap aud band, 

She of her netted locks and light corsette. 
Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the ca.s- 
tauet. 

XXXIV. 

And well such strams the opening scene became ; 

For Valor had relax'd his ardent look, 
And at a lady's feet, hke Uon tame, [brook ; 

Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms to 
And soften'd Bigotry, upon his book, 

Patter'd a task of Utile good or ill : 
But the blithe peasant pUed liis pruning-hook, 

Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and liill. 
And rtmg from villtige-green the merry segui- 
dUle.' 

*'The three grand and comprehensive pictures in which Mr. 
Scott has delineated the state of Ppain, during the three pe 
riods to which we have alluded, are conreived with much 
genius, and executed with very considerahle, though unequal 
leticity. Tliat of tlie Moorish dominion, is drawn, we think, 
with the greatest spirit. The reign of Chivalry and Super 
stition we do not think so happily represented, by a long and 
lahored description of two allegorical personages called Bigotry 
and Valor. Nor is it very easy to conceive how Don Roderick 
was to learn the fortunes of his country, merely by inspecting 
the physiognomy and furtiishing of these two figurantes. The 
truth seems to be, that Mr. Scott has been tempted on this oo- 
casion to extend a mere' metaphor into an allegory; and to 
prolong a figure which might have given great grace and spirit 
to a single stanza, into the heavy subject of seven or eight, (lis 
representation of the rscent state of Spain, we think, display* 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



277 



XXXV. 
Gray royalty, grown impotent of toil,' 

Let tlie grave sceptre slip liis lazy hold ; 
And, careless, saw Ilia rule become tbe spoil 

Of a loose Female .Tiid her minion bold. 
But peace Wiis on the cottage and the fold, [far ; 
From com't intrigue, from bickering faction 
Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale w.as told. 
And to the tiukUng of the hght guitar. 
Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the 
evening star. 

XXXVL 

As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, 

^Hien tirst fi'ora Carmel by the Tishbite seen, 
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land,* 
A while, perchance, bedeck'd with colors 
sheen, 
\\Tiile yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, 
Linining with purple and with gold its shrond. 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene. 
And blotted heaven with one broad sable 
cloud, 
Tlien sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds 
howl'd aloud : — 

XXXVIL 

Even so, upon that peaceful scene was pour'd, 
Like gatheruig clouds, full many a foreign 
band, 
And He, their leader, wore in sheath his sword, 

And oft'er'd peaceful front and open hand, 
VeiUng the perjured treachery he plann'd. 

By friendsliip's zeal and honor's specious guise, 

Until he won the passes of the land ; 

Then burst were honor's oath, and friendship's 

ties ! [his prize. 

He clutch'd liis vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain 

xxxvin. 

An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore ; 

And well such diadem his heart became, 
\flio ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, 

Or check'd his course for piety or shame ; 
Wio, traui'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame 

Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, 
Though neither truth nor honor deck'd his name ; 

the talent and address of the aathor to the greatest advantage ; 
tor tlie subjeet was by no means inspiring ; nor was it easy, we 
fbootj imagine, to make the picture of decay and inglorious in- 
iolftnce so engaging." — Edinburgh Review, which then quotes 
tanzas xzxiv. and xxxv. 

t "The opening of the tJiird period of the Vision is, perhaps 
necfssarily, more abrupt than that of the second. No circom- 
Btance, cf^ually marjied witli tlie alteration in the whole system 
of ancient warfare, could lit- introduced in this compartment 
of the poem ; yet, when we have been told that ' Valor had 
relaxed his ardent look,' and that * Bigotry' was ' softened,' we 



Who, placed by fortune on a Monarcn s throne, 
Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly 
tone. 

XXXIX. 
From a rude isle his ruder lineage came. 

The spark, that, from a suburb-hovel's hearth 
AscentUiig, wraps some capital in flame. 

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that baile liim waste tbe earth — 
The sable land-flood from some .swamp obscure, 
That poisons tlie glad husband-field with de.arth. 
And by destruction bids its fame endure, 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and im- 
pme.' 

XL. • 
Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form; 
Her Hmbs like mist, her torch Uke meteor 
show'd, [storm. 

With which she beckon'd him thi'ough fight and 
And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate 
road, [trode. 

Nor thought, uor fear'd, nor look'd on what he 
Eeahns could not glut liis pride, blood could 
not slake, 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 
It was Ambition bade her terrors wake. 
Nor deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take. 

XL! 

No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge, 

Or staid her hand for conquer'd foeman's moan ; 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change. 

By Caesar's side she cross'd the Rubicon. 
Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won. 
As when the banded powers of Greece were 
task'd 
To war beneath the youth of Macedon : 
No seemly veil her modern nunion ask'd. 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend un- 
mask'd. 

XLIL 
That Prelate mark'd his march — On bamiers 
blazed 
With battles won ui many a distant land, 

are re-isonahly prepared for what follows." — Montkhj Re 
view. 

2 See I. Kings, chap, xviii. v. 41-45. 

3 " We are as ready as any of our countrymen can be. to 
designate Bonaparte's invasion of .Spain by its proper epithets; 
but we must decline tojoin in the author's declaraaUon against 
the low birth of tlie invader ; and we cannot help reminding 
Mr. Scott that such a topic of ccnsnre is unworthy of hira, 
both as a poet and as a Briton." — Jlfonth/ij Hevicic. 

" The picture of Bonaparte, considering the difficulty of all 
contemporary delineations, is not ill executed." — Edinburgh 
Review. 



278 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed ; 
" And hopest thou then," he said, " thy power 
shall stand ? 
O. thou hast builded on the sliifting sand, [flood ; 
And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's 
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand, 
Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud. 
And by a bloody death, shall die the Man of 
Blood!"' 

XLIII. 
The ruthless Leader beckon'd from his train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade liim kneel, 

And paled liis temples with the crown of Spain, 

Wliile trumpets rang, and heralds cried, 

" Castile !"^ 

Not that he loved him — No 1 — In no man's weal. 

Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart ; 

Yet round that throne he bade his warriors 

wheel. 

That the poor Puppet might perform his part. 

And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 

XLIV. 

But on the Natives of that Land misused, 

Not long the silence of amazement hung. 
Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused ; 
For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaim'd, " To arms !" — and fast to arms they 
sprung. 
And Valor woke, that Genius of the Land ! 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung. 
As burst th' awakening Nazarite his band. 
When 'gainst liis treacherous foes he clenoh'd his 
dreadful hand.' 

XLV 

That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 

Upon the Satraps that begirt him round. 
Now doff'd his royal rt)be in act to fly. 

And from his brow the diadem unbound. 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound. 

From Tarick's walls to Bilboa's mountains 
blown. 
These martial satelUtes hard labor found. 

To guard a while liis substituted throne — 
Ligh'" recking of liis cause, but battling for their own. 

XLVL 

From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung. 

And it was echo'd from Corunna's wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, 

1 »• vVe are not altogether pleased with the lines which fol- 
low the description of Bonaparte's birth and country. In his- 
torical truth, we believe, his family was not plebeian ; and, 
setting aside the old saying of ' trettiis tl proaros,^ the poet is 
here evidently becoming a chorus to his own scene, and ex- 
plaining a fact which could by no means be inferred from the 



Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 
Gahcia bade her children fight or fall. 

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call. 

And, foremost still where Valor's sons are me 
First started to his gtm each fiery Miquelet. 

XLVIL 
But unappall'd, and burning for the fight, 
The Invaders march, of victory secure ; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite. 

And train'd aUke to vanquish or endm-e. 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure. 
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow. 
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure ; 
WTiile naught against them bring the unprac- 
tised foe. 
Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands for 
Freedom's blow. 

XLVin. 

Proudly they march — but, ! they march not 
forth 
By one hot field to crown a brief campaign. 
As when their Eagles, sweeping tlu'ough the 
North, 
Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain ; 
In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied. 
New Patriot armies started from the slain. 
High blazed the war, and long, and far, and 
wide,' 
And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. 

XLIX. 
Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 
Remain'd their savage waste. With blade 
and brand, 
By day the Invaders ravaged liill and dale, 
But, with the daikness, the Guerilla band 
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land. 

And claim'd for blood the retribution due. 

Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murd'rous 

hand ; 

And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams 

she threw, [knew. 

Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpses 



What mmstrel verse may sing, or tongue may 
teU, 
Amid the vision'd strife from sea to sea, 

pageant that passes before the eyes of the King and Prelate. 
The Archbishop's observation on his appearance is free, liow- 
ever, from every objection of this kind." — Quartcrli/ Revietu. 

a See Appendix, Note K. 

s See Book of Judges, Chap. iv. 9-16. 

4 See Appendix, Note L. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



279 



How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Still honor'd in defeat as victory I 
For that sad pageant of events to be, 

Show-'d every form of fight by field and flood ; 
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, 
Bfhekl, while riding on the tempest scud. 
The waters choked with stain, the earth bedrench'd 
with blood ! 

LI. 
Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

Tliat names thy name without tlie honor due ! 
For never hath the harp of Minstrel ruug. 
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true 1 
Jline, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew. 

Each art of war's extremity had room. 
Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe with- 
drew. 
And when at length stem fate decreed thy 
doom, [tomb.' 

They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody 

I 

Yet r.tise thy head, sad city ! Though in chains, 

EnthraU'd thou canst not be ! Arise, and claim 

Reverence from every heart where Freedom 

reigns, [dame. 

For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted 
She of the Column, honor'd be her name. 

By all, whate'er their cre'jd, who honor love ! 
And like the sacred relics of the flame. 

That gave some martyr to the bless'd above. 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove ! 

LHI. 

Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair ! 

Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung. 
Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air 

Swart as the smoke from r.aging furnace hung ; 
Now thicker dark'ning where the mine was 
sprurg, 

Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare, 

' S(^e Anpendix, Note M. 

■J M.S. — " Don Roderick turn'd him at the sadden cry.'* 

3 MS.— " Right for the shore unnnmber'd barges row'd." 

' Compare with this passage, and the Valor, Bigotry, and 
Ambilioti of tlie previous stanzas, the celebrated personifica- 
lioti of War. in the first canto of CItiUie Harold : — • 

" Lo ! where the Giant on the monntain stands. 
His blood-red tresses deep'iiing in llie sun, 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands. 
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon : 
Restless it rolls, now fi\'d, and now anon 
Flashing atar, — and at his iron feet 
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; 
For on this mom three potent nations meet 

To shed before his shrine the blood lie deems most sweet. 



Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb was 
flung, 
And redd'ning now with conflagration's glare, 
While by the fatal light the foea for stont prepare. 

LIV. 
While all around was danger, strife, and fear, 
While the earth shook, and darkon'd was the 
sky, 
And wide Destruction stunn'd the listemng ear, 
App.ill'd the heart, and stupefied the eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry. 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, 
Whene'er her sotil is up, and pulse beats high, 
Wliether it hail the wine-cup or the fight. 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be 
light. 

LV. 

Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew 
loud—' 
A varied scene the changeful vision sliow'd, 
For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, 
A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad. 
From mast and stern St. George's symbol flow'd. 
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear ; 
Mottlmg the sea their landward baiges row'd,' 
And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and 
spear, [cheer.* 

And the wild beach retum'd the seaman's jovial 

LVL 

It w.as a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foam'd beneath a thou.'sand oars. 
Fast as they land the red-cross r.anks unite. 

Legions on legions bright'nuig all the shores. 
Tlien baimers rise, and camion-signal roars, 

Then peals the warhke thtmder of the drum. 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours. 

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts iu"e 

dumb, [come ! 

For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean 

" By heaven 1 it is a splendid sight to see 
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there) 
Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery. 
Their various arms, that glitter in the air ! 
What gallant war-hounds roose them from their lair 
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! 
All join the clia=e, bnt few the triumph share, 
The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away. 

And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. 

" Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 

Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; 

Three gandy standards (lout the pale bine skies; 

The shouts are France, i^pain, Albion, Victory I 

The foe, the victim, and the fond ally 

That fights for all, but ever fights in vain. 

Are met — as if at home they conld not die — 

To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 
A id fertilize the field that each pretends u /»ain." 



280 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



LVII. 
A various host they came — whose ranks display 
Each mode in which the warrior meets the 
fight, 
The deep battalion locks its fii'm array, 

And meditates his aim the marksman light ; 
Far glance the light of sabres flasliing bright, 
Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing 
mead,' 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night. 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed. 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed." 

LVIII. 

A various host — from kindred reahns they came,^ 

Bretlu-en in arms, but rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim. 

And with theii' deeds of valor deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown. 
And hers their scorn of death in freedom's 
cause, 
Then' eyes of aziu"e, and then- locks of brown, 
And the blunt speech that bursts without a 
pause. 
And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier 
with the Laws. 

LIX. 

And, ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's hand ! 

Yonder your bomiets nod, your tartans wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the mountain baud. 
And harsher features, aud a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave. 
As that wliich beats beneath the Scottish 
plaid ; 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave. 
And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
Wliere lives the desperate foe that for such onset 
staid ! 

LX. 
Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter 
rings, 
Muigling wild mirth with war's stem min- 
strelsy, 



1 MS.- 



-" the (lupty mead." 



■' '* Tlie landing of the English is admirably described ; nor 
is there any thing finer in the whole poem than the following 
pas,sa!je (stanzas Iv. Ivi, Ivii.). with the exception always of the 
,hree concluding lines, which appear to us to be very nearly as 
oad as possible." — Jeffrey. 

•^ " The three concluding stanzas (Iviii. Itx. Ix.) are elaborate ; 
but we tliinl\, on the whole, successful. They will probably 
be oftener r^uoted than any other passage in the poem." — Jef- 
frey. 

^ MS. — " His jest each careless comrade round him flings." 

6 For details of the battle of Vimeira. fought 21st Aug. 1808 
-of Cornnna, 16tli Jan. 1809— of Talavcra, 28th July, 1809— 
and of Busaco, 27th Pept. 1810— See Sir Walter Scott's Life of 
Napoieon, volume vi. under these dates. ' 



His jest while each blithe comrade round liim 

flings,* 

And moves to death with military glee : [free, 

Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and 

In kindness warm, and fierce in danger Icnown, 

Rough nature's children, humorous as she : 

And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest 

tone [own. 

Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the Hero is thine 

LXL 

Now on the scene Vimeira shotdd be sho-mi, 

On Talavera's fight shotild Roderick gaze, 
And hear Corunna wail her battle won. 

And see Busaco's crest with hghtning blaze ; — ' 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ? 

Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triimtphs 
room ? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays. 

That claun a long eternity to bloom [tomb ! 
Arotmd the wanior's crest, and o'er the warrior's 

LXII. 
Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, 

And .stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
That hides futurity from tumous hope, 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, 
And painting Em'ope rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd, 
Wliile Idndling nations buckle on their mad. 
And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings un- 
fiu-l'd, [World '!' 

To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injtued 

LXIIL 

vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast. 

Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own : 

Yet fate resigns to worth the glorious past, 

The deeds recorded, and the laurels woil 

Tlien, though the Vault of Destiny' be gone, 

King, Prelate, all tlie phantasms of my brain. 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun, 
Yet grant for faith, for valor, and for Sp;un, 
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting 
strain !' 



* " The nation will arise regenerate ; 

Strong in her second youth and beautiful, 
And like a spirit that hath shaken off 
The clog of dull mortality, shall Spaiu 
Arise in glory." — Southey's Roderick, 

" Pee Appendix, Note N. 

" "For a mere introduction to the exploits of our English 
commanders, the story of Don Roderick's sins and confessions, 
— the minute description cf his army and attendants, — and llie 
whole interest and machinery of the enchanted vault, with the 
greater part of the Vision it5clf, are far too long aud elaborate. 
They withdraw our curiosity and attention from the objects loi 
which they had been bespoken, and gradually engage them 
upon a new and independent series of romantic adventures, in 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



281 



Qll)c llision of JBon IRokruK-. 



CONCLUSION. 



I. 

*' Who shall cominaucl Estrella's mountain-tide' 
Back to \he source, when tempest-chafed, to 
hie? 
Who, wlien Gascogne's vexVl gulf is r.aging wide. 

Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry ? 
His magic power let such vain boaster try, 

And when the torrent shall his voice obey, 
And Biscay's whirlwinds Ust liis lullaby. 

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way. 
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidduig 
stay. 

II. 

" Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 
They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke. 
And their own sea hath whelm'd yon red-cross 
Powers !" 
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock, 
To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader 
spoke. 
Wliile downward on the land his legions press. 
Before them it was rich with vine and flock. 
And smiled like Eden m her summer di'ess; — 
Behind their wasteful maich, a reeking wilder- 
ness.' 

IIL 

And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word. 
Though Heaven hath heard the wailiiigs of 
the land. 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword. 
Though Britons ai'm and Wellington com- 
mand ! 
No ! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adiiruantme hairier to his force ; [band. 

And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd 

As from the unshaken rock the tt)rrent hoarse 

Bears otf its broken waves, and seeks a devious 

course. 

wliich it is not easy to see how Lonl Wellingloa and Bona- 
parte can have any concern. But, on tlie other liand, no 
sooner is lliis new interest excited. — no sooner liave we surren- 
dered our imaginations into the hands of this dark enchanter, 
auil heated our fancies to the jiroper pitch I'or sympathizing in 
the I'ortunes oi" Gothic kings and Moorish invaders, with tlieir 
impoi^ini; accompaniments of harness-d kni^-hts, ravished dam- 
sels, and enchanted statues, than the whole romantic ^roup 
vanishes at once from our sight ; and we are hurried, with 
minds yet disturbed witii those powcrl'ul apparitions, to the 
comparatively sober and cold narration of Bonapnrte's villa- 
tiies, and to draw battU-s between mere mortal combatantu in 
3U 



rv. 

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk 

Hath on his best and bravest maile lier food, 
111 numbers confident, yon Chief shall b.iulk 

His Lortl's imperial thirst for spoil and blood 
For full in view the promised concjuest stood, 
And Lisbon's matrons from their walls, might 
sum 
Tlie myriads that had half the world subdued, 
And hear the distant thunders of the drum, 
That bids the bands of France to storm turd havoc 
come. 

V. 
Four moons have heard these thunders idly roU'd, 
Have seen these wistful myriads eye their 
prey, 
As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to batth^ fray. 
Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly 
fight ; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite [flight I 
To damn with double shame their ignominious 

VL 
triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath I 

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, [path ! 
What wanton hoiTora maik'd their wreckful 

The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot. 
The hoary priest even at the altar shot, [flame, 
Cliildhood and age given o'er to sword and 
Woman to infamy ; — no crmie forgot. 

By which inventive demons might proclaim 
Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great 
name ! 

VII. 

Tiie rudest sentinel, in Britain born, 

With horror ])aused to view the liavoc done. 

Gave liis poor crust to feed some wretch for- 
lorn,' [gui- 
Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd liis 

Nor with less zeal shall Britaui's peaceful son 
Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; 

English and French anifornis. Tlie vast and elahornte vesti 
bule, in short, in which we had been so long detained, 

* Where wonders wild of Arahesijue combine 
With Gothic imagery of darker shade,' 

has no corresponding palace attached to it ; and the Ions no 
vitiate we are made to serve to the mysterious powers of n^ 
mance is not repaid, after all, by an introduction to their av-fni 
presence." — Jeffrkv. 

MS. — " Who shall command the torrent's headlong tide." 

2 See Appendix, Note O. a Ibid. Note P. 



282 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Riclies nor poverty the tax shall shun, 

Nor priiice nor i)eer, the wealtliy nor the gay, 
Nor the poor peasant's might, nor bard's more 
■worthless lay'. 

Via 

But thou — -unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscall'd in vaiii ! 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain i 
Vamglorious fugitive !'' yet turn again ! 

Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, 
Flows Honor's Fountain,' as foredoom'd the stain 

From thy dishonor'd name and arms to clear — 
Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favor 
herel 

IX. 

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid ; 

Those cliief that never heard the Hon roar ! 
Witliin whose souls Uvea not a trace portray'd, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and sununon more ; 

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Rank upon raid^, squadron on squadron pour. 

Legion on legion on thy foeman roll, [soul. 
And weary out liis arm — thou canst not quell his 

X. 

vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore. 
Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's pUiin, 

And front the flying thunders as they roar, 

Witli frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vaui !' 

And what avails thee that, for Camerom slain,' 

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was 

given — • [rein. 

Vengeance and grief gave mountain-rage the 

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong 

driven, [heaven. 

Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of 

XI. 
Go, baffled boaster ! teach thy haughty mood 
To plead at thine imperious master's throne, 

1 The MS. has, for the preceding five lines— 

" And in pursuit vindictive hurried on, 

And O, survivors sail ! to you belong 
Tributes from each tliat liritaiii calls Her son. 

From ail ber nobles, all her wealthier throng. 
To Iter poor peasant's mite, and minstrel's poorer song." 

2 See Appendix, Note U. 

3 The literal rranslation of Fuentgg tl' Honora. 

< .See Appendix. Note R. Ibid. Note S. 

OntheeiltholApril. 1811 . Scott writes thus to Mr. Mortitt : 
— " 1 rf'joiie with the heart of a Scotsman in the success of 
Lord Wellington, and with all the pride of a seer to boot. I 
Imve been for three years proclaiming him .as the only man we 
iiati to trust to — a man of talent and genius — not deterred by 
obstacles, nor fettered by pn-judices, not immureti within the 



Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood. 

Deceived liis hopes, and frustr.ated tliine own ; 
Say, that tliine utmost skdl and valor shown, 

By British skUl and valor were outvied ; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington !' 
And, if he chafe, be his own fortune tried — 
God and our cause to fi-iend, the ventm-e we'll 
abid^. 

XIL 

But you, ye hero«s of that well-fought day. 

How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown, 
His meed to each victorioxis leader pay, 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won?' 
Yet fain my harp wouUl wake its boldest tone, 

O'er the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave ; 
And he, perchance, tlie minstrel-note might 
own. 
Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune giive 
'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic 
rave. 

XIIT. 
Yes I hard the task, when Britons wield the 
sword. 
To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hai'k ! Albuera thunders Beresford, 

Anil Red Barosa sliouts for dauntless Graeme ! 
O for ,a verse of tumult and of flame. 

Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound. 
To bid the world re-echo to then fame I 
For never, upon gory battle-ground. 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were brai «r 
victors crown'd ! 

XIV 

O who .shall grudge him Albuera's bays,' 
Who brought a race regenerate to the fi-^ld. 

Roused them to emul.ate their fathers' pr!.<s,', 
Temper'd their headlong rage, theu- cjin-a^e 
stcel'd,' 

And raised ftiir Lusitania's fallen shield. 
And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword. 

And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield — 

pedantries of his profession — bal playing the general acd .ho 
hero when most of our military commanders would ii-.rs 
exhibited the drill sergeant, or at best the adjutant. 'I nt>%i 
campaigns will teach us what we have long needled le know, 
that success dep-^nds not on the nice drilling of regiments, hut 
upon the grand movements and combtnatiotis of a ariiiy- 
We have been hitherto polishing binges, when we shoi'hl liave 
sluilied the mechanical union of a liuge machine. Now. onr 
army begin to see tb.lt the ^riind s.xrt't, as the French eali it. 
consists only in union. Joint exertion, and concer.ed iiiov^ 
menl. This vvill enable us to meet the dogs on fair terms as 
to numbers, and for the rest. ' My soul and lioily on .be action 
both.' " — y.'/e. vol. iii. p. 313. 
' See .\ppcnilix. Editor's Note T. 

8 MS. — " O who shall grudge yon chief the victoi s bays." 

9 free .-\p[iendi.\. Note U. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



283 



Sliiver'd my liarp, and burst its every cliord, 
If it forget thy worth, victorious Beresfoed ! 

XV.' 
Not on that bloody field 3f battle won, 

Thougli Gaul's proud legions roU'd like mist 
away, 
Was half his self-devoted valor shown, — 

He gaged but life on that illustrious day ; 
But when he toil',! those squadrons to array, 

Who fought like Britons in the bloody g;une. 
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay. 

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame. 
And, dearer far thiin life, he pledged a soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 
Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, 
■Wliose wish Heaven for liis country's weal de- 
nied •' 
Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets 
sound, 
Tlie wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still' 
Thine Wiis liis thought in march and tented 
ground ; 

1 MS. — " Not greater on that moant of strife and blood. 

VVIiile Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist away. 
And tides of gore stain'd Albuera's flood. 

And Poland's shatter'd lines before him lay, 
And elarions bail'd him vi.-tarof the day. 

Not greater wlien lie toil'd von legions to array, 

*Twa.s life he perill'd in that stubborn game, 
And life 'gainst honor when did soldier weigh ? 

But, self-devoted to his generous aim. 
Far dearer than his life, the hero pledged his fame." 

2 MS. — " Nor be his meed o'erpast who sadlv tried 

With valor's wreath to bide affection's wound. 
To whom his wish Heaven for our weal denied." 

3 M.S. — " From war to war the wanderer went his round. 

Yet was his soul in Caledonia still ; 
Her* was his thought," &c. 
* MS. '• fairy rill." 

"These lines excel the noisier and more general panegyrics of 
Uie commander* in Portugal, as much as the sweet and thrill- 
ing tones of I be harp snrp:iss an ordinary flourish of drums and 
Immpets." — Qiiarlerty Review. 

•' Perba|is it is our nationality which makes us like better 
Jle tribute to General Gnihame — though there is something, 
we believe, in the softness of the sentiment that will be felt, 
•Ten by English r.'aders, a-s a relief from the exceeding clamor 
and loud boastings of all the surrounding stanzas." — Edin- 
burgh Review. 

6 See Appenuli, Note V. 

8 " Now, strike your sailes, yee iolly mariners, 

For we be come unto a quift rode. 
Where we must land some of onr passengers, 

And light this weary vessell of her lode. 
Here she a while may make her safe abode. 

Till she repaired have her tackles spent 
And wants enpptide : and then againe abroad 



He dream'd 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill. 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill.' 

XVII. 
hero of a race renown'd of old. 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the b.attle-swell 
Since first distinguish'd in the onset bold. 

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell ! 
By WtiUace' side it rung the Soutliroii's knell, 

Alderne, ICilsythe, auil Tibher, own'tl its fame, 
Tiunniell's rude pa.ss can of its terrors tell. 
But ne'er from prouder field arose the name. 
Than when wild Ronda leani'd the conquering 
shout of Gr.eme !' 

XVIII. 
But all too long, through seas unknown and dark 

(With Spenser's parable I close my tale,)" 
By shoal and rock hath steer'd my venturous 
bark, 
And landward now I drive before the gale. 
And now the blue and disttmt shore I htril. 

And nearer now I see the port expand, 
And now I gladly find my weary sail. 

And as the prow light touches on the strand, 
I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff tr 
land.' 

On the long voiage whereto she is bent : 
Well may she speede, and fairely finish her intent !" 

Fatrie ^ueene, book i. canto 12 

' " No comparison can be fairly institated between composi- 
tions so wliolly iiiffi*rent in style and designation as the present 
poem and Mr. Scott's former productions. The present poem 
neither has, nor. from its nature, could have the inturest which 
arises from an eventful plot, or a detailed delineation of ch(ir> 
aeter ; and we shall arrive at a f:ir more accurate estimation of 
its merits by comparing it with ' The Bard' of Gray, or tliat 
particular scene of Ariosto. where Bradamante beliolds the 
wonders of Merlin's tomb. To this it has many strong and 
evident features of resemblance ; bat, in our opinion, greatly 
surpasses it both in the dignity of the objects represented, anr. 
the picturesque niTeK'.i of the macliinery. 

" We are inclined lo rank The Vision of Don Roderick, not 
only above 'The Bard,' but {excepting Adam's Vision from 
the Monnt of Paradise, and the malcblesj* beauties of the sixth 
book of Virgil) above all the historical and [loetical prosjiecta 
which have come to our knowledge. The scenic representation 
is at once gorgeous and natural ; and the language, and im- 
agery, is altogether a.s spirited, and bears the stamp of mow 
care and polish than even the most celebrated of the author't 
former [iroductions. If ii please us less than these, we most 
attribute it in part perhaps to the want of contrivance, and in 
a still greater degree to the nature of the subject itself, which U 
deprived of all the interest derived from suspense or sympathy, 
and, as far as it is connected with modern politics, representa a 
scene too near our immediate inspection 'o admit the interp*^ 
sition of the magic glass of fiction and poetry." — Quarterly 
Reoiew. October, 1811. 



"The Vision of Don Roderick has been received witli (en 
foterest by ihe pnblic than any of the aothor's other per- 



iormances ; and has been read, we should imagine, with some 
degree of disappointment even by those who took it up with 
the most reasonable expectations. Yet it is written with very 
considerable spirit, and with more care and effort tlian most 
of the author's compositions; — with a degree oi' i-flbrt, indeed, 
which could scarcely have failed of success, if the author had 
not succeeded so splendidly on other occasions without any 
effort at all, or had chosen any other subject than that which 
fills the cry of our alehouse politicians, and supplies the gabble 
of all the quidnu7ics in this country, — our depending campaigns 
.n Spain and Portugal, — with the exploits of Lord Wellington 
and the spoliations of the French armies. The nominal sub- 
ject of the poem, iiulc'fd, is the Vision of Don Roderick, in the 
eighth century ; bn: this is obviously a mere prelude to the 
grand piece of our recent battles, — a sort of machinery devised 
to give dignity and effect to their introduction. In point of 
fact, the poem begins and ends with Lord Wellington ; and 
being written for the benefit of the plundered Portuguese, and 
upon a Spanish story, the thing could not well have been 
otherwise. The public, at this moment, will listen to nothing 
about Spain, but tlie liistory of the Spanish war; and the old 
Gothic king, and tlie Moors, are considered, we dare say, by 
Mr. Scott's most impatient readers, as very tedious interlopers 

in the proper business of the piece The Poem has 

scarcely any story, and scarcely any characters ; and consists, 
in traih, almost entirely of a series of descriptions, intermingled 
with plaudits and execrations. The descriptions are many of 
them very fine, though the style is morf lurgid and verbose 
than iu the better parts of Mr. Scott's other productions ; but 
the invectives and acclamations are too vehement and too 
frequent to be either graceful or impressive. There is no 
climax or progression to relieve the ear, or stimulate the imagin- 
ation. Mr. Scott sets out on the very highest pitch of his 
voice, and keeps it up to the end of the nieasure. There are 
no grand swells, therefore, or overpowering bursts in his song. 
Alt, from first to la'^t, is loud, and clamorous, and obtrusive, — 
indiscriminately noisy, and often ineffectually exaggerated. 
He has fewer new images than in his other poetry — his lone 
is less natural and varied, — and he moves, upon the whole, 
with a slower and more laborious pace." — Jeftrey, Kdin- 
burgh Review, 1811. 



" The Edinburgh Reviewera have been down on my poor 
Don hand to fist ; but, truly, as they are loo fastidious to ap- 
prove of the campaign, I should be very unreasonable if I ex- 
pected them to like the celebration of it. I agree with them, 
however, as to the lumbering weight of the stanza, and I 
shrewdly suspect it would require a very gr(?ai poet indeed to 



prevent the tedium arising from the recuiTence of rhym<»9. 
Our language is unable to support the expenditure of so many 
for each stanza ; even Spenser liimself, with all the license ol 
using obsolete words and uncomnion spellings, sonielimes fa- 
tigues tlie ear. They are also very wroth with me for omi-tting 
the merits of Sir John Moore ;' but as I never exactly discov- 
ered in what these lay, unless in conducting his advance and 
retreat upon a plan the most likely to verify the desponding 
speculations of the foresaid reviewers, I must hold mystlf 
excused for not giving praise where I was unable to see that 
much was due." — Scott to Mr. Murritt, Sept. iJ6, 1811. 
Life, vol. iii. p. 328, 



"The Vision of Don Roderick had features of novelty, both 
as to tlie subject and the manner of tlie composition, which 
excited much attention, and gave rise to some sharp contro- 
versy. The main fable was indeed from the most picturesque 
region of old romance ; but it was made throughout the vehi- 
cle of feelings directly adverse to those with which the Whig 
critics had all along regariled the interference of Britain in 
behalf of the nations of the Peninsula ; and the silence which, 
wJiile celebrating our other generals on that scene of action, 
had been preserved with respect to Scott's own gallant coun- 
tryman. Sir John Moore, was considered or represented by 
them as an oilioos example of genius hoodwinked by the influ- 
emre of party. Nor were there wanting persons who affected 
to discover that the charm of Scott's poetry had to a great 
extent evaporated under the severe test to wliicli he had ex- 
posed it, by adopting, in place of those comparatively light 
and easy measures in which he had hitherto dealt, the most 
elaborate one that our literature exhibits. The production, 
notwithstanding the complexity of thr; Spenserian stanza, had 
been very rapidly executed ; and it shows, accordingly, many 
traces of negligence. But the patriotic insjiiration of it found 
an echo in the vast majority of British hearts; many of the 
Whig oracles themselves acknowledged that the difficulties 
of the metre had been on the whole successfully overcome ; 
and even the hardest critics were compelled to express un- 
qualified admiration of various detached pictures and pa»* 
sages, which, in truth, as no one now disputes, neither he nor 
any other poet ever excelled. The whole setting or framework 
— whatever relates in short to the la^t of tlie Goths himself — 
was, I ihiiili, even then unanimously pronounced admirable ; 
and no party feeling could blind any man to the heroic splen- 
dor of sucli stanzas as those in which the three equally gai- 
lant elements of a British army are contrasted." — LocKiiARl 
Life, vol. iii. p. 319. 

1 See Appendix, Editor'a Nwte T. 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



285 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

j9n(f Cat treath' s ff tens with voice of triumph ru-ng, 
And mystic Merlin harped, and gray-haired Hywarch 
sang ! — P. 271. 
This locality may 'startle those readers who do not recollect 
that much of the aiicieiit poelry preserved in Wales refers less 
to the Iiistory of the Principality to wliich that name is now 
limited, than to events which happened in the northwest of 
England, and southwest of Scotland, where the Britons for a 
long inne made a stand against the Saxons. The battle of 
Cattreath, lamented by the celebrated Aneurin, is snpposed, 
by the learned Dr. Leyden, to liave been fouf^ht on the skirts 
of Ettrick Forest. It is known to the English reader by the 
paraphrase of Gray, beginning, 

" Had I but the torrent's might, 
With Jieadlong rage and wild affright," &c. 

Bat it is not so generally known that the champions, mourned 
in this beautiful dirge, were the British inhabitants of Edin- 
burgh, who were cut off by the Paxons of Deiria, or Northum- 
berland, about the latter part of the sixth century. — Turner's 



History of the Anglo-Saxons, edition 1799, vol. 



1. p. iT-S 



Lilywarch, the celebrated bard and monarch, was Prince of 
Ar^ood, in Cumberland ; and his youthful exploits were pei^ 
formed upon the Border, although in his age he was driven 
into Powys by the successes of the Anglo-Saxons. As for 
Merlin Wyllt, or the Savage, his name of Caledonia, and his 
retreat into the Caledonian v/ood, appropriate him to Scot- 
land. Fordan dedicates the thirty-fir^t chapter of tlie third 
book of his Scoto-Chronicon, to a narration of tlie death of 
this celebrated bard and prophet near Drnmelzier, a village 
upon Tweed, which is supposed to have derived its name 
{quasi Tumvlvs jVcWi/it') frjm the event. The particular spot 
in which he is buried is still shown, and appears, from the 
following »|UOtation, to have partaken of his prophetic fjuali- 
tiea : — "There is one thing remarkable here, which is, that 
the burn called Pausayl runs by the east side of this church- 
yard into the Tweed ; at the side of which burn, a little below 
the churchyard, the famous prophet Merlin is said to be bu- 
ried. The particular place of his grave, at the root of a thorn- 
tree, was shown me, many years ago, by the old and reverend 
minister of the place, Mr. Richard Brown ; and here was 
tlie old prophecy fulfilled, delivered in Scots rhyme, to this 
purpose : — 

' When Tweed and Pansayl meet at Merlin's grave, 
Scotland and England shall one Monarch have.' 

" For, the same day that our King James the Si.xth was 
crowned King of England, the river Tweed, by an extraordi- 
nary flood, so far overflowed its banks, that it met and joined 
with the Pausayl at the said grave, which was never before 
observed to fall out." — Penn'YCUICK's Description of Tweed- 
dale. Edin. 1715, iv. p. 26. 



still lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copious foun- 
tain upon the ridge of Minchmore, called the Cheesewe"., is 
supposed to be sacred to these fanciful spirits, and it was cut 
tomary to propitiate them b^ throwing in something upon pass- 
ing it. A pin was the usual oblation ; and the ceremony \:i 
still sometimes practised, though rather in jest tiian earnest. 



Note C. 



The rude villager, his labor done. 

In verse spontaneous chants some favor' d name. — P. 



71. 



The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish languages, and 
perhaps the liveliness of their genius, renders these countries 
distinguished for the talent of improvisation, wliich is found 
even among the lowest of the people. It is mentioned by Ba- 
retti and other travellers. 



WOTE D. 
■ Kindling at the deeds of Qrceme. — P. 



71. 



Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a jioet may be 
allowed to exercise some power. I have used the freedom, 
here and elsewhere, to alter the orthography of the name of 
my gallant countryman, in order to apprise the Southern 
reader of its legitimate sound ; — Grahame being, on the other 
side of the Tweed, usually pronounced as a dissyllable. 



Note E. 



Note B. 

.Minchmore's haunted spring. — P. 271. 

A belief in the eiisteace and nocturnal revels of the /airiei 



fVhat ! will Don Roderick here till morning stay. 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 
And arc his hours in such dull penance past. 
For fair Florinda^s plunder''d charms to pay ? — P. 272. 
Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice Oi 
tradition, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible vio- 
lation committed by Roderick upon Florinda,' called hv the 
Moors, Caba or Cava. She was the daughter of Count Ju- 
lian, one of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, who, 
when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence 
of Ccota against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingrati- 
tude of his sovereign, and the dishonor of his daughter. Count 
Julian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and, 
forming an alliance with Musa, then the Caliph's lieutenant 
in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body ol 
Saracens and Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik ; 
the issue of which was the defeat and dealh of Roderick, and 
t'je occupation of almost the whole penin'^ula by the Moors 
YoUaire, in his General History, expresses his doubts of tJiis 
popular story, and Gibbon gives him some countenance; but 
the universal tradition is quite suflicient for the purposes ol 
poetry. Tlie S|ianiards, in detestation of Florinda's meniorj , 
arc said, by Cervantes, never to bestow that name upon anv 
human female, reserving it for thrir dogs. Nor is the tradi- 
tion less inveterate among the Moors, since the same author 
meiitions a promontory on the coast of Barbary, caiie<l " The 
Cape of the ('aba Rumia, which, in our tongue, is the f^tte 



286 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



of ihe Wicked Clinstian Woman ; ami it is a tradition among 
the Mooi-s. thai Caba, the daughter of Count Julian, who was 
the caose of the loss of Spain, lies buried tiiere, and ihey think 
it ominous to be tbrced into tliat bay ; for they never go in oth- 
erwise than by necessity. " 



Note F. 



JInd guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room, 
H'kere, if aught true iv old tradition be. 
His nation^ s future fate a Spanish King shall sec. — P. 273. 

The transition of an incident from hisiory to tradition, and 
'"rom tradition to fable and romanee, becoming more marvel- 
lous nt each step from its original &iniphcil.v, is not ill exem- 
plified in the account of the " Fated Cliamber" of Don Rod- 
erick, as given by his namesake, the historian of Toledo, con- 
trasted with subsequent and more romantic accounts of the 
same subterranean discovery. I give the Archbishop of Tole- 
do's tale in the words of Nonius, wlio seems to intimate 
(ihough very modestly) tliat the fatale palat.ium, of which so 
nuch had been said, was only the ruins of a Roman amplii- 
theatre. 

" E.\tra mnros, septeDtrionem versos, vestigia magni olim 
theatri sparsa visuntur. Auctor est Rodericus, Toletanus 
Archiepiscopus ante Arabum in Hispanias irruptionem, liic 
^atale palatium fuisae ; quod iuvicti vectes xterna ferri robora 
claudebant, ne reseratum Hispanic e.vcidium adferret ; quod 
in fatis non vulgus solum, sed et prudentissimi quique crede- 
bant. Sed Roderiei ultimi Gothorum Regis animum infelix 
curiositas subiit, sciendi quid sob tot vetitis claustris observa- 
tur ; ingentes ibi superiorum regum opes et arcanos thesau- 
fis servari rat us. Seras et pessulos perfrinfri curat, invitis 
omnibus; nihil prceter arculam reperlum, et in ea linteum, 
quo explicate novte et insolentes liominum facies habitusque 
apparuere, cum instriptione Latina, Hispania: excidium ah 
illn gente immincrc ; Vultus habitusque Maurorum erant. 
Quamobrem ex Africa tantam cladem instare regi c^elerisque 
persuasum ; nee falso ut Hispaniie annales etiamnum que- 
rontur." — Hispania JLudoBic. Jv'onij. cap, lis. 

But, about the term of the expulsion of the Moors from 
Grenada, we find, in the " Historia Vcrdadcijra del Rey Don 
Rodrrgo," a (pretended) translation from the Arabic of the 
sage Alcayde Abulcacim Tarif Abenliirique. a legend wliich 
puts to sliame the modesty of the historian Roderick, with his 
chest and projdietic picture. The custom of ascribing a pre- 
tended Moorish original to these legendary liistories, is ridiculed 
by Cervantes, who affects to translate the History of the Knight 
of the Woful Figure, from the Arabic of tlie sage Cid Hamet 
Benengeli. As I have been indebted to tlie Historia Vcrdadey- 
ra for some of the imagery employed in tlie text, tlie following 
literal translation from the work itself may gratify the inquisi- 
tive reader : — 

'' One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among 
Bome rocks, was situated an ancient tower, of a magnificent 
structure, though much dilapidated by time, which consumes 
all: four estadoes (i. e. four times a man's height) below it, 
there was a cave with a very narrow entrance, and a gate cut 
out of the solid rock, linetl with a strong covering of iron, and 
fastened with many locks ; above the gate some Greek letters 
are engraved, which, althougli abbreviated, and of doubtful 
meaning, w^ere thus interpreted, according to the exposition of 
learned men : — ' The King who opens this cave, and can dis- 
cover the wondei-s, will discover both good and evil things.' — 
Many Kings desired to know the mystery of this tower, and 
Bought to find out the manner with much care ; but when they 
opened the gate, such a tremendous noise arose in the cave, 
that it appeared as if the earth was bursting; many of tliose 
present sickened with fear, and others lost their lives. In order 
to prevent such great perils (.is they supposed a dangerous en- 
chartment was contained within), they secured the gate with 



new locks, concluding, that, though a King was destined tc 
ojien it, the fated time was not yet arrived. At last King Don 
Rodrigo, led on by his evil fortune and unluiky destiny, opened 
the tower; and some bold attendants, whom he had brought 
with him, entered, although agitated with fear. Havin;.' pro- 
ceeded a good way, they fled back to the entrance, tcrrifioil 
with a frightful vision which they had beheld. The King wa» 
greatly moved, and ordered many torches, so contrived that the 
tempest in the cave could not extinguish them, to be lighted 
Then the King entered, not without fear, before all the others. 
They discovered, by degrees, a splendid hall, a|)parenlly built 
in a very sumptuous manner; in the middle stood a Bronze 
Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held a battle-axe 
in its liands. With this he struck the floor violently, giving il 
such heavy blows, tliat the noise in the cave was occasioned 
by the motion of the air. The King, greatly aflViglited, and 
asionitihed, began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that 
he would return without doing any injury in the cave, after he 
had obtained a sight of what was contained in it. The statue 
ceased to strike the floor, and the King, with his followers, 
somewhat assured, and recovering tlieir courage, proceeded into 
tlie hall ; and on the left of the statue they found this inscrip- 
tion on the wall, ' Unfortunate King, thou hast entered here in 
evil hour.' On the right side of the wall these words were in- 
scribed, ' By strange nations thou shall be dispossessed, and tliy 
subjects foully degraded,' On the shoulders of the statue other 
words were written, which said, 'I call upon the Arabs.' 
And upon his breast was written, ' I do my oftice.' At the 
entrance of Ihe hall there was placed a round bowl, from which 
a great noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. They found 
no other thing in the hall ; and when the King, sorrowful and 
greatly affected, had scarcely turned about to leave the cavern, 
the statue again commenced his accustomed blows u|ion the 
floor. After they had mutually promised to conceal what they 
had seen, they again closed the tower, and blocked up the gate 
of the cavern with earth, that no memory might remain in the 
world of such a portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The en* 
suing midnight they heard great cries and clamor from the 
cave, resounding like the noise of battle, and the ground 
shaking with a tremendous roar; the whole edifice of the 
old tower fell to the ground, by which they were greatly 
aflfrighted, the vision which tliey had beheld appearing to them 
as a dream. 

" The King having left the lower, ordered wise men to ex- 
plain what the inscriptions signified ; and having consulted 
upon and studied their meaning, they declared tliat the statue 
of bronze, with the motion which it made with its battle-axe, 
signified Time ; and that its office, alluded to in tiie inscription 
on its breast, was, that he never rests a single moment. The 
words on the shoulders, ' I call upon the Arabs,' they expound- 
ed, that, in time, Spain would be conquered by the Araln. 
The words upon the left wall signified the destruction of King 
Rodrigo; those on the right, the dreadful calamities which 
were to fall upon the Spaniards and Goths, and that the on- 
fortunate King would be dispossessed of all his states. Finally, 
the letters on the portal indicated, that good would betide to 
the conqnerors, and evil to the conquered, of which experience 
proved the truth." — Historia Verdadeijra del Rey Don Rod- 
rigo. Quinta impression. Madrid, 1654, iv. p. 23. 



Note G. 



The Tecbir war-cry and the Letters yell. — P. 274. 

The Tecbir (derived from the words .lUa achar, God is most 
mighty) was the original war-cry of the Saracens. It is cel^ 
orated by Hughes in the Siege of Damascus: — 

"We heard the Tecbir; so these Arabs call 
Their shout of onset, when, with loud appeal 
They challange Heaven, as if demanding conquest.' 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



287 



"The Lfiie, wi-11 known to the Christians during the cru- 
laties, in the shoal of .iUa ilia Alia, tlie Mahometan con- 
fession of I'ailh. It is twice used in (loelry l>y my triend Mr. 
\V. Stewart Kose, in the romanco of Parttnopex, and in tlie 
Crusade of St. IjcwIs. 



Note H. 



Bxj Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians yield ! — 
Their coward leader g-ives for flight the stgn '. 

The sccptcr^d craven mounts to yuit the field — 
Is not yon steed Orelia? — Yes, 'tis mine! — I'. ii75. 

CoQiit Julian, the father of the injured Florinda, with the 
connivance and assistance of Ojipas, Archliishop of Toledo, 
invitpd, ill 713, the Saracens into Spain. A conoid era bio army 
arrived under the command of Tarik. or Tanf, who bequeathed 
the well-known name of Gibraltar {Oibel al Tarik, or the 
mountain of Tarik) to the place of iiis landing. He was joined 
by Count Julian, ravaged Andalusia, and took Seville. [n7l4, 
they returned with a still greater force, and Roderick marched 
into Andalusia at the head of a great army, to give them 
battle. The field was chosen near Xeres, and .Mariana gives 
tlie following account of the action : — 

*' Both armies being drawn up, the King, according to the 
custom of the Gothic kings when ihej' went to battle, appeared 
in an ivory chariot, clothed in cloth of gold, encouraging his 
men; Tarif, on the other side, did llie same. The armies, 
tlius prepared, waited only for the signal to fall on ; the Goths 
g;ive the charge, their drums and trumpets sounding, and the 
Moors received it with the noise of ketlle-drums. Such were 
the shouts and cries on both sides, that tlie mountains and 
valleys seemtd to meet. First, they began with slings, darts, 
javelins, and lances, then came to the swords ; a long time the 
battle was dubious ; but the Moors seemed to have the worst, 
till D. Oppas, the archbishop, having to that time concealed 
his treachery, in the heat of the fight, with a great body of his 
followers went over to the intidels. He joined Count Julian, 
witli whom was a great number of Goths, and both together 
fell upon the llank of our army. Our men, terrified with that 
onpanlleled treachery, and tired with fighting, could no longer 
eostain that charge, but were easily put to flight. The King 
performed the part not only of a wise general, but of a resolute 
Eoldicr, relieving the weakest, bringing on fresh men in place of 
those that were tired, and stopping those that turned their 
backs. At length, seeing no hopes letY, he alighted out of IiLs 
chariot for fear of being taken, and mounting on a horse called 
Orelia, he withdrew out of the battle. The Goths, who still 
Btood, missing him, were most part put to the sword, the rest 
betook themselves to flight. The camp was immediately en- 
tered, nnd the baggage taken. What number was killed was 
not known : I suppose they were so many it was hard to count 
them ; for this single battle robbed >'pain of all its glory, and in 
it peri>Iied the renowned name of the Goths. Tiie King's horse, 
upper garment, and buskins, covered with pearls and precious 
stones, were found on the bank of the river Guadelile, and 
there being no news of him afterwards, it was supposed lie was 
drowned pa.«sifjg the river." — Mariaka's History of Spain, 
book vi. chap. 9. 

Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, mentioned in the text, 
and in the above quotation, was celebrated for her speed and 
form. She is mentioned repeatedly in Spanish romance, and 
»lao by Cervantes. 



Note L 



JVhcn for the light bolero ready stand 

The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha met. — P. 276. 

The bolero w a very light and active dance, much practised 



by the Spaniards, m which castanets are always used. Moio 
and muchacha are equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass. 



-1*. 278. 



Note K. 

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried "Castile!^* 

The heralds, at the coronation of a Spanish monarcli, pro- 
claim his name tiiree times, and repeat lliree times the word 
Castilla, CastUla, Castilla ; which, with all other ceremo...e9, 
was carefully copied in the mock inauguration of Joseph Hoiia- 
parte. 



Note L. 



High blazed the war, uTid long, and far, and wide, — P. 278 

Those who were disposed to believe that mere virtue and 
energy are able of themselves to work forth the salvation of an 
oppressed people, surprised in a moment of confidence, deprived 
of their officers, armies, and fortresses, who had every means 
of resistance to seek in the very moment when they were to be 
made use of, and whom the numerous treasons among the 
higher orders deprived of confidence in their natural leaders, — 
those who entertained this enthusiastic but delusive opinion 
may be pardoned for expressing their disappointment al the 
protracted warfare in the Peninsula. There are, however, 
another class of persons, who, having themselves the highest 
dread or veneration, or something allied to both, for the power 
of the modern Attila, will nevertheless give the heroical Span- 
iards little or no credit for the long, stubborn, and unsubdued 
resistance of three years to a power before wliom their Ibrmer 
well- prepared, well-armed, and numerous adversaries fell in the 
course of as many months. While these gentlemen pleiid for 
deference to Bonaparte, and crave 

" Respect for his great place, ami bid the devil 
Be duly honor'd for his burning throne," 

it may not be altogether nnreasonable to claim some modifi- 
cation of censure upon those who have been long and to a 
great extent successfully resisting this great enemy of man- 
kind. That tlie energy of Sj)ain has not uniformly been 
directed by conduct equal to its vigor, has been too obvious; 
that her armies, under their complicated disadvantages, have 
shared the fate of such as were defeated after taking the field 
with every possible advantage of arms and discipline, is surely 
not to be wondered at. But that a nation, under the circunv- 
stances of repeated discomfiture, internal treason, and the mis- 
management incident to a temporary and hastily ado|)led gov- 
ernment, should have wasted, by its stubborn, uniliinn, and 
prolonged resistance, myriads after myriads of those soldiers 
who had overrun the world — that some of its provinces j^houlit, 
like Galicia, after being abandoned by their allies, and overrun 
by their enemies, have recovered tlieir freedom by thiir own 
unassisted exertions; that others, like Catalonia, undismayed 
by the treason which betrayed some fortresses, and the force 
which subdued others, should not only iiave continui'd their 
resistance, but have attained over their victorious enemy a 
superiority, which is even now enabling them to besjpge anil 
retake the places of strength which had been wrested from 
them, is a tale hitherto untold in the revolutionary war. To 
say that such a peujile cannot be subdued, would be pre- 
sumption similar to that of those who protested that Spain 
could not defend liL-r^elf for a year, or Portugal for a mouth , 
but that a resistance whicli has been continued for so long a 
apace, when the usurper, except during the short-lived Aus- 
trian campaign, had no other enemies on the continent, should 
be now less successful, when repeated defeats have broken the 
reputation of the French armies, and when they are likely (it 
would seem almost in desperation) lo seek occu|)ation elsfr 



288 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



where, is a prophecy as improbaijle as ungracious. And while 
we are in the humor of severely censuring our allies, gallant 
and devoted as they have sliowo themselves in the cause of 
national liberty, because they may not instantly adopt those 
measures which we in our wisdom may deem essential to suc- 
cess, it might be well if we endeavored first to resolve the pre- 
vious questions, — 1st, Whether we do not at this moment know 
much less rf the Ppanish armies than those of Portugal, which 
were so promptly condemned as totally inadequate to assist in 
the preservation of their country 1 2d, Whether, independ- 
ently of any right we have to offer more than advk-e and 
assistance to our independent allies, we can expect that they 
shonlil renounce entirely the national pride, which is insepai> 
able from patriotism, and at once condescend not only to be 
saved by our assistance, but to be saved in our own way 1 
3d, Whether, if it be an object (as undoubtedly it is a main 
one) that the Spanish troops should be trained under British 
discipline, to tlie flexibility of movement, and power of rajiid 
concert and combination, wliicli is essential to modern war; 
such a consummation is likely to be produced by abusing them 
in newspapers and periodical publications 1 Lastly, since the 
undoubted authority of British oflicers makes us now ac- 
quainted with part of the horrors tliat attend invasion, and 
which the i)rovidence of God, tlie valor of our navy, and per- 
haps the very eflbrts of these Spaniards, have liitherto diverted 
from us, it may be modestly questioned whether we ought to 
be too forward to estimate and condemn the feeling of tem- 
poniry stupefaction which they create; lest, in so doing, we 
should resemble the worthy clergyman who. while he had him- 
self never snutfed a candle with Ids lingers, was di^^posed se- 
verely to criticise the conduct of a martyr, who winced a little 
among his flaraea. 



Note M. 



They icon not Zaragoza, but her children's hloodv tomh. — 

"p. 279. 

The interesting account of Mr. Vaughan has made most 
readers acquainted with the first siege of Zaragoza.' The last 
and latal siege of that gallant and devoted city is detailed with 
great eloquence and precision in the " Edinburgh Annuid Re- 
pistLH-" for 1609. — a work in which the affairs of Spain have 
been treated of with attention corresponding to their deep in- 
terest, and to the peculiar sources of information open to the 
hb'torian. The following are a lew brief extracts from this 
splendid historical nan'ative : — 

" A breach was soon made in the mud walls, and then, as in 
the former siege, the war was carried on in the streets and 
iiouses ; but liie French had been taught by experience, that 
in this species of warfare the Zaragozans derived a superiority 
from the feeling and principle which inspired them, and the 
cause for wliicli they fought. The only means of'conquering 
Zaragoza was to destroy it house by house, and street by street ; 
and upon this system of destruction they proceeded. Three 
companies of miners, and eight companies of sappers, carried 
on this subterraneous war ; the Spaniards, it is said, attempted 
to op[iose them by countermines ; these were operations to 
which they were wholly unused, and, according to the French 
statement, their miners were every day discovered and suffoca- 
ted. Meantime, the bombardment was incessantly kept up. 
' Within the last 4R hours,' said Palufox in a letter to his friend 
Ociifral lioyle, ' 0000 shells have been thrown in. Two-thirds 
of the town are in ruins, but we shall perish under the ruins of 
Uie remaining third rather th:in surrender.' In the course of 
the siege, .ibove 17,000 homhs were thrown at the town ; tlie 
ptock of powder with which Zaragoza had been stored was ex- 
hausted ; ihey had none at last but what they manufactured 

I See Xnrrative of the Siege of Zaraffozn, by Richard Charles Vaiiplian, 
Ksq. 1809. Thr Ri^'ht Honorable B. 0. Vaughan is oow British Minister 
WashingtOD. 1« .... 



day by day ; and no other cannon-balls than those which wer* 
shot into the towu, and which they collected and fired bacb 

upon the enemy.'* 

In the midst of these horrors and privations, the pestilence 
broke out in Zaragoza. To various causes, enumerated by the 
annalist, he adds, "scantiness of food, crowded quarters, unu- 
sual exertion of body, anxiety of mind, and the impossibility 
of recruiting their exhausted strength by needful rest, in a city 
which waa almost incessantly bombarded, and where every 
hour their sleep was broken by the tremendous explosion of 
nunea. There was now no respite, either by day or night, for 
this devoted city ; even the natural order of light and darkness 
was destroyed in Zaragoza; by day it was involved in a red 
sulphureous atmosphere of smoke, which hid the face of 
heaven ; by night, the fire of cannons and mortars, and the 
flames of burning houses, kept it in a state of terrific illumina- 
tion. 

" When once the pestilence had began, it was impossible to 
check its progress, or confine it to one quarter of the city. Hos- 
pitals were immediately established, — there were above thirty 
of them ; as soon as one was destroyed by the bombardment, 
the patients were removed to another, and thus the infection 
was carried to every part of Zaragoza. Famine aggravated 
the evil ; the city had probably not been sufficiently provided 
at the commencement of the siege, and of the provisions which 
it contained, much was destroyed in the daily ruin which the 
mines and bombs effected. Had the Zaragozans and their gar- 
ri'^on jiroceeded according to military rules, they would have 
surrendered before the end of January ; their batteries had then 
been demolished, there were open breaches in many parts oJ 
their weak walls, and the enemy were already within the city. 
On the 30th, above sixty houses were blown up, and the 
French obtained possession of the monasteries of the Augus- 
lines and Las Monicas, which adjoined each other, two of the 
last defensible places left. The enemy forced their way into 
the church ; every column, every chapel, every altar, became 
a point of defence, which was repeatedly attacked, taken and 
retaken ; the pavement was covered with blood, the aisles and 
body of the church strewed with the dead, who were trampled 
under foot by the combatants. In the midst of this conflict, 
the roof, shattered by repeated bombs, fell in ; the few who 
were not crushed, after a short pause, which this tremendous 
shock, and their own unexjiected escape, occasioned, renewed 
the fight witli rekindled fury ; fresh parties of the enemy pour- 
ed in ; monks, and citizens, and soldiers, came to the defence, 
and the contest was continued upon the ruins, and tlie bodies 

of the dead and the dying." 

Vet, seventeen days after sustaining these extremities, did 
the heroic inhabitants of Zaragoza continue their defence ; nor 
did they then surrender until their despair had extracted from 
the French generals a capitulation, more honorable than has 
been granted to fortresses of the first order. 

Who shall venture to refuse the Zaragozans the eulogiura 
conferred upon them by the eloquence of Wordsworth ' — 
"Most gloriously have the citizens of Zaragoza proved tliat 
the true army of Spain, in a contest of this nature, is the 
whole people. The same city has also exemplified a melan- 
choly, yea, a dismal truth, — yet consolatory and full of joy, — 
that when a people are called suddenly to fight for their liberty, 
and are sorely pressed upon, their best field of battle is the 
floors upon which their children have played ; the chambers 
where the family of each man has slept (lii§ own or his neigh- 
bors') ; upon or under the roofs by which they have been shel- 
tered ; in the gardens of their recreation ; in the street, or in 
the market-place ; before the altars of their temples, and among 
their congregated dwellings, blazing or U|)rooted. 

" The government of Spain must never forget Zaragoza for 
a moment. Nothing is wanting to produce the same eflecta 
everywhere, but a leading mind, such as that city was blessed 
with. In the latter contest this has been proved ; for Zarago- 
za contained, at the time, bodies of men from almost all parts 
of Spain. The narrative of those two sieges =hould be the 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



280 



niMiii.il ofevtry Spaniard. He may add to it the ancient sto~ 
rieH ot' Numa/itJa und Siiguntum ; lot him sleep upon the book 
;ls a pillow, and. it* lie be a devout adheroiil to the religion of 
his countrt , let liiiii wear it in his liosuin lor his crut-itix to rest 
upon.'*— VVoRDswoRTU OH the Convention of Cintra 



Note N. 



The Vault of Destiny.— r. 280. 

Before finally dismissing the enchanted cavern of Don Rod- 
criek, it may be noticed, that the legend occurs in one of Cal- 
ileron's plays, entitled, La Virg^in del Sn^ario. The scene 
opens with the noise of the chase, and Recisiinilo, a predeces- 
sor of Roderick upon the Gothic throne, enters pursuing a slag. 
The animal assumes the tbrni of a man, and defies the king to 
enter the cave, which forms the bottom of the sce*ne, and en- 
gage with him iu single combat. The king accepts the chal- 
lenge, and they engage accordingly, but without advantage on 
either side, which induces the Genie to inlorm Reeisundo. that 
he is not the monarch for whom the adventure of the enchant- 
ed cavern is reserved, and he proceeds to predict the downfall 
of the Gotliic monarchy, and of the Christian religion, which 
shall attend the discovery of its mysteries. Reeisundo, ap- 
palled by these jirophecies, orders the cavern to be secured by 
a gate and bolts of iron. In the second jiart of the same play, 
we are informed that Don Roderick had removed the barrier, 
and transgressed tiie prohibition of his ancestor, and had been 
apprized by the prodigies which he discovered of tlie approach- 
log ruin of his kingdom 



Note 0. 



While downward on the land his legions press, 
Befort: them it was rich with vine andjlock, 

JJ nd smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness. — P. 281. 

I have ventured to apply to the movements of the French 
army that sublime jiassage in tlie prophecies of Joel, whicli 
seems applicable to them in more respects than that I have 
adopted in the text. One would think their ravages, their mil- 
itary appointments, the terror which they spread among invaded 
nations, their military discipline, their arts of political intrigue 
and deceit, were distinctly pointed out in the following verses 
of Scripture : — 

"2. A day of darknesse and of glooniinesse, a day of clouds 
ami of thick darknesse, as the morning spread upon the moun- 
tains; a great people and a strong, there liarti not been ever 
the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the yeares 
of many generations. 3. A fire devoureth before them, and 
behind them a flame burnelli ; the land is as the garden of 
Eden before them, and behinde tliem a desolate wilderness, 
yea, and nothing shall escape thera. 4. The appearance of 
tliem is as the appearance of horses and as horsemen, bo shall 
they ruiion. 5. Like the noise of chariots on the tops of moun- 
tains, shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that de- 
voureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battel array. 
6. Before their face shall the people be much pained ; all faces 
Bhall gather blacknesse. 7. They shah run like mighty men, 
they shall climb the wall like men of warre, and they ehall 
march every one in his wayes, and they shall not break their 
ranks. 8. Neither shall one thrust another, they shall walk 
every one in his path : and when tliey fall upon the sword, 
they shall not be wounded. 9. They shall ruu to and fro in 
the citie ; they shall run upon the wall, they shall ctimbc up up- 
on the houses : they shall enter in at the windows like a thief. 
10. The earth Bh:ill quake before them, tiie heavens shall 
37 



tremble, the sunne and the moon shall bo dark, and tho starrci 
shall withdraw their shining." 

In verse 20ih also, which announces the retreat of the nor- 
thern army, described iu such dreadful colors, into a *' land 
barren and desolate," and the dishonor with which (Jod afllic' 
ed them for having " magnified themselves to do great thingi, 
these are particulars not inapplicable to the retreat of Massena : 
— Divine Providence having, in all ages, attached disgrace as 
the natural punishment of cruelty and pre^^umption 



Note P. 



The rudest seiiT-incl, in Britain born, 

IVitn horror paused to view the havoc done, 
Oavc his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn. — P. 281. 

Even the nnexamplGd gallantry of the British army in the 
campaign of 1810-11, aUhough they never fought but to con- 
quer, will do them less honor in history than their liumanity, 
atlenlive to soften to the utmost of their power the horrora 
which war, in its mildest aspect, must always inflict upon the 
defenceless inhabitants of the country in which it is waged, 
and which, on this occasion, were tenfold augmented by the 
barbarous cruelties of the French. Soup-kitchens were estab- 
lished by sub:^cription among the officers, wherever the troops 
were quartered for any length of time. The commissaries con- 
tributed the heads, feet, &c. of the cattle sl^iughtered for the 
soldiery: rice, vegetables, and bread, where it could be !iad, 
were purchased by the ofiicers. Fifty or sixty starving peas- 
ants were daily fed at one of these regimental establishments, 
and carried home the relics to tiieir famishing houseliolds, The 
emaciated wretches, who could not craw! from weakness, were 
speedily employed in proning their vines. While pur>ning 
Massena, the soldiers evinced the same spirit of humanity, and 
in many instances, when reduced themselves to short allowance, 
from having out-marched their sopjdies, they shared their pit- 
tance with the starving inhabitants, who had ventured back to 
view the ruins of their habitations, burnt by the retrealing en- 
emy, and to bury the bodies of their relations whom they had 
butchered. Is it possible to know such facts without feeling a 
sort of confidence, that those who so well deserve victory are 
most likely to attain it ? — It is not the least of Lord Welling- 
ton's military merits, that the slightest disposition towards ma- 
rauding meets immediate punishment. Independently of all 
moral obligation, the army which is most orderly in a friendly 
country, has always proved most formidable to an armed en- 
emy. 



Note Q. 

Vain-glorious fugitive ! — P. 282. 

The French condnctcd this memorable retreat with much of 
the fnvfarronade proper to their country, by which they at- 
tempt to impose upon others, and perliaps on themselves, a be- 
lief that they are triumpliing in the very moment of their dis- 
comfiture. On the 30th March, 1811, tlieir rtar guanl was 
overtaken near Pega by the British cavalry. Being well posted, 
and conceiving tliemselves safe from infantry (who were indeed 
many miles in the rear), and from artillery, they indulged them- 
selves in p.'irading their bands of music, and actnally performed 
"God save the King." Their minstrelsy was, however, de- 
ranged by the undosired accompaniment of the British horse- 
artillery, on whose part in the concert they had not calculated. 
The surprise was sodden, and the rout complete ; for tlie artil- 
lery and cavalry did execution upon them for about four miles, 
pursuing at the gallop as often as they got beyond the range o 
the guns 



290 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note R. 

Vainly thy squadrons hide Jlssnavd' s plain, 
And front thefiying thunders as they roar. 

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain ! — P. 282. 

In tlie severe action of Fuenteg d'Honoro, upon 5lli May, 
1811, the granii mass of tlie French cavalry attacked the riglit 
of the British position, covered by two guns of the horae-ariil- 
lery, and two stiuadrons of cavalry. After suffering considera- 
bly from the fire of the guns, Aviiich annoyed them in every at- 
tempt at formation, the enemy turned their wrath entirely to- 
wards them, distributed brandy among their troopers, and ad- 
vanced to carry the field-pieces with the desperation of drunken 
fury. They were in nowise checked by tlie lieavy loss which 
they sustained in this daring attempt, but closed, and fairly 
mingled with tlie Britisli cavalry, to whom tliey bore the pro- 
portion often to one. Captain Ramsay (let me be permitted 
to name a gallant countryman), who commanded the two guns, 
dismissed them at the gallop, and putting himself at the head 
of the mounted artillerymen, ordered them to fall upon the 
French, sabre-in-liand. This very unexpected conversion of 
artillerymen into dragoons, contributed greatly to the defeat of 
the enemy, already disconcerted by the reception they had met 
from tlie two British squadrons; and the appearance of some 
small reinforcements, notwithstanding the immense dispropot^ 
tion of force, jmt them to absolute rout. A colonel or major 
of their cavalry, and many prisoners (almost all intoxicated), 
remained in our possession. Those who consider for a moment 
the difference of the services, and how much an aitilleryman is 
necessarily and naturally led to identify his own safety and 
utility with abiding by the tremendous implement of war, to 
the exercise of which he is chiefly, if not exclusively trained, 
will know how to estimate the presence of mind which com- 
manded so bold a manceuvre, and the steadiness and confidence 
with which it was executed. 



Note S. 



Jlnd what avails thee that, for Cameron slain, 
IVildfrovi his plaidcd ranks the yell was given. — P. 282. 
The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during 
the desperate contest in the streets of the village called Fuentes 
d'Honoro. He fell at the head of his native Highlanders, the 
71st and "Qth, who raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. 
They charged, with irresistible fury, the finest body of French 
grenadiers ever seen, being a part of Bonaparte's selected 
guard. The officer who led the Frenrh, a man remarkable for 
stature and symmetry, was killed on the spot. The French- 
man who stepiied out of his rank to take aim at Colonel Cam- 
eron was also bayoneted, pierced with a thousand wounds, and 
almost torn to pieces by the furious Highlanders, who, under 
the command of Colonel Cadogan. bore the enemy out of the 
contested ground at tlie point of the bayonet. Massena pays 
my countrymen a singular compliment in his account of the at- 
tack and defence of this village, in which he says the British 
lost many officers, a7id Scotch. 



NoteT. 



But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day, .J-c.— P. 282. 

[The Edinburgh Reviewer offered the following remarks on 
what he considered as an unjust omission in this part of the 
poem ; — 

*' We are not very apt," he says, " to quarrel with a poet 
for his politics ; and really supposed it next to impossible that 
Mr. Scott should iii.ve given us any ground of dissatisfaction 
on this score, in the management of his present theme. Lord 



Wellington and his fellow-soldiers well deserved the lanreU 
they have won : — nor is there one British heart, we believe, 
that will not feel proud and grateful for all the Iwnors with 
which British genius can invest tiieir names. In the jiraises 
which Mr. Scott has bestowed, therefore, all his readers will 
sympathize; but for those which he has withheld, there are 
some that will not so readily forgive him : and in our eyes we 
will confess, it is a sin not easily to be expiated, that in a poi m 
written substantially for the purpose of commemorating tlie 
brave who have fought or fallen in Spain or Portugal — and 
written by a Scotchman — there should be no mention of the 
name of Moore ! — of tlie only commander-in-chief who Iiaa 
fallen in this memorable contest ; — of a commander who was 
acknowledged as the model and pattern of a British soldier, 
when British soldiers stood most in need of siicli an example : 
— and was, at the same time, distinguished not k-ss for every 
manly virtue and generous affection, than for skill and gallantry 
in his profession. A more pure, or a more exalted character, 
certainly has not appeared upon that scene which Mr. Scott 
has sought to illustrate with the splendor uf his genius ; and it 
is with a mixture of shame and indignation that we find hira 
grudging a single ray of that profuse and readily yielded glory 
to gild tiie grave of his lamented countryman. To offer a lav- 
ish tribute of praise to the living, whose task is still incomplete, 
may be generous and munificent ; — but to deparied merit, it is 
due in strictness of justice. Who will deny that Sir John 
Moore was all that we have now said of him? or who will 
doubt that his untimely death in the hour of victory would 
have been eagerly seized upon by an impartial poet, as a noble 
theme for generous lamentation and eloquent praise ? But Mr. 
Scott's political friends have fancied it for their interest to ca- 
lumniate the memory of this illustrious and accomphshed per- 
son, — and Mr. Scott has permitted the spirit of party to stand 
in the way, not only of poetical justice, but of patriotic and 
generous feeling. 

" It is this for which we grieve, and feel ashamed ; — this 
hardening and deadening ef^ct of political animo^^ilies, in cases 
where politics should have nothing to do; — this apparent pei> 
version, not merely of the judgment, but of the heart ; — this im- 
placable resentment, which wars not only with the living, but 
with the dead ; — and thinks it a reason for defrauding a de- 
parted warrior of his glory, that a political antagonist has been 
zealous in his praise. These things are lamentable, and they 
cannot be alluded to without some emotions of sorrow and re- 
sentment. But tliey afl'ect not the fame of him on whose ac- 
count these emotions are suggested. Tiie wars of Spain, and 
the merits of Sir John Moore, will be commemorated in a more 
impartial and a more imperishable record, than the Vision of 
Don Roderick ; and his humble monument in the Citadel of 
Corunna will draw the tears and the admiration of UiousanUs, 
who concern not themselves about the e.xploits of his more for- 
tunate associates." — Edinburgh Review, vol. xviii. 1811. 

The reader who desires to understand Sir Walter Scott's de- 
liberate opinion on the subject of Sir John Moore's military 
oliaracter and conduct, is referred to tlie Lite of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, vol. vi, chap, xlvi. But perhaps it may be neither 
unamusing nor uninstructive to consider, along with the dia- 
tribe just quoted from the Edinburgh Review, some reflectiona 
from the pen of Sir Walter fi^cotl himself on the injustice done 
to a name greater tlian Moore's in the noble stanzas on the 
Battle of Waterloo, in the third canto of Childe Harold — an 
injustice which did not call forth any rebuke from the Edin 
burgh critics. Sir Walter, in reviewing this canto, said, 

" Childe Harold arrives on Waterlno — a scene where all 
men, where a poet eenecia.ly, and a poet puch as Lord Byron 
must needs pause, and amid the quiet simplicity of whose 
scenery is excited a moral interest, deeper and more potent even 
than that which is produced by gazing upon the subliraest 
efforts of Nature in her most romantic recesses. 

"That Lord Byron's sentiments do not correspond with 
cars, is obvious, and we are sorry for both our sakes. For our 
own — because we have lost that note of triumph 'vith which 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



29] 



lis harp would otherwise have rung over a field of glory such 
as Britain never reaped liefore ; and on Lord Byron's account. 
— liccauBe it is melancholy to see a man of genius duped by the 
mere cant of words and phrases, even when facts are most 
broadly confronted with tiiem. If the poet has mixod with the 
or!;;inal, wild, and m;ij,'uificent creations of liis imagination, 
prjudices wluch lie could only have caught by the contagion 
wliich he inobt professes to despise, it is he himself that must 
lie the loser. If his lofty muse has soared in all her brilliancy 
over the field ol Waterloo witliout dropping even one leaf of 
laurel on llie head of Wellington, his merit can disperLse even 
with Uic praise of Lord Byron. And as when the images of 
Briftos were excluded from the triumphal procession, his mem- 
ory became only the more powerfully imprinted on the souls of 
the Romans — the name of the British hero will be but more 
eagerly recalled lo remem' /ance by Uie very lines in which his 
praise is forgotten." — Qu<r(tfWy Review, vol. xvi. 1810. 

£d. 



Note TJ. 



O who shall grudf^t him Albuerd's bays, 
tVho brought a row regenerate to the field. 

Roused them to e-*ulate their fathers^ praise, 
TemperUl their her Uong rage, their courage steet'd, 

And raised fair Cusitania's fallen, shield. — P. 282. 

Notiiing during th( war of Portugal seems, to a distinct ob- 
Berver, ^.ore deserviV.^ of praise, than the self-devotion of 
Field-Mar?hal Bere,'£,_-fd, who was contented to undertake all 
the hazard of obU ijvy which might have been founded upon 
any miscarriage in .ae highly important experiment of training 
the Portuguese tnwps to an improved state of discipline. In 
exposing his mili J»y reputation to the censure of imprudence 
from the most /,j..derate, and all manner of unotterable calum- 
nies from the i/,.(irant and malignant, he placed at stake the 
dearest pled? » *hich a military man had to offer, and nothing 
but the dee[.'V. conviction of the high and essential importance 
atiacb^l Ic tdccess can be supposed an adequate motive. 
IIow {Txau ihe chance of miscarriage was supposed, may be 



estimated from the general opinion of officers of unquestioned 
talents anil experience, possessed of every opportunity of info^ 
mation ; how completely the experiment has succeeded, anrj 
how much the spirit and patriotism of our ancient allies had 
been underrated, is evident, not only from those victories in 
which they have borne a distinguished share, bul from the lib- 
eral and highly honorable manner in which these opinions have 
been retracted. The success of this plan, with all ius importiiut 
consequences, we owe to the indefatigable exertions of Field- 
Marshal Beresford. 



Note V. 



a race renowned of old, 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swelL 

the conquering shout of QrtBme. — P. 283. 



This stanza allndes to tlie various achievements of the war- 
like family of Grasme, or Grahame. They are said, by tradi- 
tion, to have descended from the Scottish chief, under whose 
command his countrymen stormed tlie wall built by tlie Em- 
peror Severus between the Friths of Forth and Clyde, the 
fragments of which are still popularly called Gr;eme's Dyke. 
Sir Jolm the Graeme, "the hardy wight, and wise," is well 
known as the friend of Sir William Wallace. Alderne, Kil- 
sythe, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the victories of tlie he- 
roic Marquis of Montrose. The pass of Killycrankie is famous 
for the action between King William's forces and the High- 
landers in lt}89, 

"Where glad Dundee in faiut huzzas expired." 

It is seldom that one line can number so many heroes, and 
yet more rare when it can appeal to the glory of a living de- 
scendant in support of its ancient renown. 

The allusions to the private history and character of General 
Grahame, may be illustrated by referring to the eloquent and 
affecting speecli of Mr. Sheridan, upon the vote of thanks to 
the Victor of Barosa. 



H k c b 1) : 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

Sra Waltee Scott commenced the composition 
of RoKEBY at Abbotsford, on the 15th of Sep- 
tember, 1812, and finished it on the last day of the 
following December. 

The reader may be interested with the follow- 
ing extracts ^'rom his letters to his friend and 
printer, Mr. Ballantyne. 

"Mhotsford, 28(4 Oct., 1812. 
" Dear James, — I send you to-day better than 
the third sheet of Canto II., and I trust to send 
the other tlu-ee sheets in the course of the week. 
I expect that you will have three cantos complete 
before I quit this place — on the 11th of Novem- 
ber. Surely, if you do your part, the poem may 
be out by Clu'istmas ; but you must not daudle 
over your typographical scruples. I have too 
much respect for the public to neglect any thing 
in my poem to attract their attention ; and you 
misunderstood me much when you supposed that 
I designed any new experiments in point of compo- 
sition. I only meant to say that Imowing well that 
the said pubhc wiU never be pleased with exactly 
the same thing a second time, I saw the necessity 
of giving a certain degree of novelty, by tlu-owing 
the interest more on character than in my former 
poems, without certainly meaning to exclude eitlier 
incident or description. I think you will see the 
same sort of difference taken in all my former po- 
ems, of wliich I would 6<ay, if it is fail- for me to 
say any thing, th.at the force in the Lay is thrown 
on style, in Marmion on description, and in the 
Lady of the L:xke on incident." 

" 3(Z Nmiembrr.—As for my story, the conduct 
of tlie plot, which must be made natural and easy, 
prevents my introducing any thing light for some 
time. You must advert, th.at in order to give 
poetical effect to any incident, I am often obliged 
to be much longer than I expected in the detail. 
Ton are too much like the country squire in the 
what d'ye call it, who commands that the play 
should not only be a tragedy and comedy, but 
that it .«hould be crowned with a spice of your 
pastnj-al. As for what is popul.ar, and wliat peo- 



ple like, and so forth, it is all a joke. Be interest 
ing ; do the thing well, and the only difference 
will be, that people will Uke what they never 
liked before, and will hke it so much the better 
for the novelty of their feelings towards it. Dul- 
ness and lameness are the only iireparable faults.'* 

"December Z\st. — With kindest wishes on the 
retm-n of the season, I send you the last of the 
copy of Rokeby. If you are not engaged at home, 
and hke to call in, we will drink good luck to it ; 
but do not derange a family party. 

" There is sometliing odd .and melancholy in con- 
cluding a poem with the year, and I could be al- 
most siUy and sentimeutal about it. I hope you 
think I have done my best. I assure you of niy 
wishes the work miiy succeed ; and my exertions 
to get out in time were more insphed by yom' in- 
terest and Jolm's, than my own. And so voi/ue 
la galere. "W. S." 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

Between the pubhcation of " The Lady of the 
Lake," wliich was so eminently successful, and 
that of " Rokeby," in 1813, three yeai's had inter- 
vened. I shall not, I beUeve, be accused of ever 
having attempted to usurp a superiority over 
many men of genius, my contemporaries ; but, in 
point of popularity, not of actual talent, the ca- 
price of the pubUc had certainly given me such a 
temporary superiority over men, of whom, in re- 
gard to poetical fancy and feeling, I scarcely 
thought mj'self worthy to loose the shoe-latch. 
On the other hand, it would be absurd affectation 
in nie to deny, that I conceived myself to under- 
stand, more perfectly than many of ray contempo- 
raries, the manner most likely to interest the great 
mass of mankind. Yet, even with this behef, I 
must trul}- and faii-ly say, that I always considered 
myself rather .as one who held the bets, in time to 
be paid over to the winner, than as having any 
pretence to keep them in my own right. 

In the mean time years crept on, and not with- 
out their usuiil depredations on the passing gen- 
eration. My sons had amved at the age when 
the paternal home was no longer their best abode 



ROKEBY. 



1^93 



aa both were destined to active life. The ficld- 
spoils, to which I was peculiarly attached, luid 
now less interest, and were replaced by other 
amusements of a more quiet chiuactcr ; and the 
means and opportunity of pursuing these were to 
be sought for. I had, indeed, for some years at- 
tended to farming, a knowledge of which is, or at 
least was then, indispensable to the comfort of a 
family residing in a soUtaiy country-house ; but 
although this was the favorite amusement of many 
of my friends, I have never been able to consider 
it as a soiu-ce of pleasure. I never could think it 
a matter of passing importance, that my cattle or 
crops were better or more plentiful tlian those of 
my neighbors, and nevertheless I began to feel the 
necessity of some more quiet out-door occu])ation, 
dilferent from those I bad hitherto pursued. I 
pmchased a small farm of about one himdred 
acres, with the purpose of planting and improving 
it, to which property circumstances afterwards 
enabled me to make considerable additions ; and 
thus an era took place in my life ahnost equal to 
the important one mentioned by the Vicar of 
Wakefield, when he removed fiom the Blue-room 
to the Brown. In point of neighborhood, at least, 
the change of residence made Uttle more differ- 
ence. Abbotsford, to which we removed, was 
only six or seven miles down the Tweed, and lay 
on the same beautiful stream. It did not possess 
the romantic chai'acter of Ashestiel, my former 
residence ; but it had a stretch of meadow-land 
along the river, and possessed, in the phrase of 
the landscape-gardener, considerable capabihties. 
Above all, the land was my own, like Uncle To- 
by's BowUng-green, to do what I would with. It 
had been, though the gratification was long post- 
poned, an early wish of mine to connect myself 
with my mother earth, and prosecute those exper- 
iments by which a species of creative power is 
exercised over the face of nature. I can trace, 
even to childhood, a pleasure derived from Dods- 
ley's account of Shenstone's Leasowes, and I en- 
vied the poet much more for the ple.isure of ac- 
compUshing the objects detailed in his friend's 
sketch of his grounds, than for the possession of 
pipe, crook, flock, and Phillis to boot. My mem- 
ory, also, tenacious of quamt expressions, stiU re- 
tained a phrase which it had gatliered from an old 
almanac of Charles the Second's time (when every 
thing down to almanacs affected to be smart), in 
which the reader, in the month of June, is advised 
for health's sake to walk a mile or two every day 
before breakfast, and if he can possibly so man- 
age, to let Ills exercise be taken upon liis own land. 
With the satisfaction of havuig attained the 
fulfilment of an early and long-cherLshed hope, I 
commenced my improvements, as delightful in 
their progress aa those of the child who first makes 



a dress for a new doU. The nakedness of the land 
was in tune hidden by woodlands of considerable 
extent — the smallest of possible cottages was pro- 
gi-essively expanded into a sort of di'eam of a 
mansion-house, whimsical in the exterior, but con- 
venient within. Nor did I forget what is the nat- 
ural pleasm-e of every man who has been a read- 
er ; I mean the filUng the shelves of a tolerably 
large Ubrary. All these objects I kept in view, 
to be executed as convenience should serve ; and, 
although I laiew many year's must elapse before 
they could be attained, I was of a disposition to 
comfort myself with the Spanish proverb, " Time 
and I agamst any two." 

The difficult and indispensable point, of findmg 
a permanent subject of occupation, was now at 
length attained ; but there was annexed to it the 
necessity of becoming again a c;mdidate for pubhc 
favor ; for, as I was turned improver on the earth 
of the every-day world, it was imder condition 
that the small tenement of Parnassus, which might 
be accessible to my labors, should not remain un- 
cultivated. 

I meditated, at first, a poem on the subject of 
Bruce, in which I made some progress, but after- 
wards judged it advisable to lay it aside, suppo- 
sing that an EngUsh stoiy might have more nov- 
elty ; in consequence, the precedence was given 
to " Rokeby." 

If subject and scenery could have influenced the 
fate of a poem, that of '■ Rokeby" should have been 
eminently distuiguished ; for the grounds belonged 
to a dear friend, with whom I had bved in hiibits 
of intunacy for many years, and the place itself 
united the romantic beauties of the wilds of Scot- 
land with the rich and smihng aspect of the south- 
ern portion of the island. But the Cavahers ant! 
Roundheads, whom I attempted to summon up to 
tenant this beautiful region, had for the public 
neither the novelty nor the pecuhar mterest of the 
primitive Highlanders. Tliis. perhaps, was scarce- 
ly to be expected, considering that the general 
mind sympathizes readily and at once with the 
stamp which nature herself has affixed upon the 
manners of a people Uvmg in a simple and patri- 
archal state ; whereas it has more diSiculty in 
understanding or mteresting itself m manners 
founded upon those pecuhar habits of tliinkmg or 
acting, which are produced by the progress of so- 
ciety. We could read with pleasure the tale of 
the adventures of a Cossack or a Mongol Tartar, 
while we only wonder and stare over those of the 
lovers m the " Pleasing Chinese History," where 
the embarrassments turn upon difKculties arising 
out of unintelhgible deUcacies pecuhar to the cus- 
toms and manners of that affected people. 

The cause of my failure had, however, a far 
deeper root. The manner, or style, which, by its 



294 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



novelty, attracted the public in an unusual degree, 
had now, after having been thi-ee times before 
tlieui, exliausted the patience of the reader, and 
began in tlie fourth to lose its charms. The re- 
viewers may be said to have apostrophized the 
autlior in the language of Pamell's Edwin :— 

" And here reveree the charm, he cries, 
And let it fairly now suffice. 
The gambol has been shown.'* 

Tlie hcentious combination of rhymes, in a man 
ner not perhaps very congenial to our langu;ige, 
had not been confined to the author. Indeed, in 
most similar cases, the inventor.^ of such novelties 
have their reputation destroyed by their own imi- 
tators, as Action fell under the fury of his own 
dogs. Tlie present authfir, like Bobadil, had tatight 
his trick of fence to a himdred gentlemen (and la- 
dies'), who could fence very nearly, or quite as 
well as himself. For this there was no remedy ; 
the harmony became tire.sorae and ordinary, and 
both the original inventor and his invention must 
have fallen into contempt if he had not found out 
another road to public fiivor. Wliat has been said 
of the metre only, must be considered to apply 
equally to the structure of the Poem and of the 
style. The very best passages of any popular 
style are not, perhaps, susceptible of imitation, 
but they may be approached by men of talent ; 
and those who arc less able to copy them, at least 
lay htdd of their peculiar features, so as to pro- 
duce a strong burlesque. In either way, the effect 
of the inamier is rendered cheap and common ; 
and, in the latter case, ridiculous to boot. The 
evU consequences to an autiior's reputation are at 
least as fatal as tliose which come upon the musi- 
cal composer, when his melody falls into the bauds 
of the street ballail-ainger. 

Of the unfavorable species of imitation, the au- 
thor's style gave room to a very large number, 
owing to an appearance of facility to which some 
of those who used the measure unquestionably 
leatied too far. The effect of the more favorable 
imitations, composed by persons of talent, was al- 
most equally unfortun.ate to the original minstrel, 
by showing that they could overshoot him with his 
own bow. lu short, the popularity wliich once at- 
teniled the School, as it was called, was now fa.st 
decaying. 

1 " Scott fonnd pecniiar favor and imitation among the fair 
8ex ; there was Miss Hallbnl, and Miss Mitford. and Miss 
Francis : but, with the greatest respect be it spoken, none of 
.his imitaloi-s did much honor to the original, except Hogs- the 
Eurick Shepherd, until the appearance of the ■ Bridal of Trier- 
main* and 'Harold the Dauntless." which, in the opinion of 
some, eijualled, if not surpassed, him ; and lo ! after three or 
four years, they turned out to be the Master's own composi- 
Uo^*." — Ryron's ft'orks, vol. xv. p. 96. 

9 " These two Cantos were published in London in March, 



Besides all this, to have kept his ground at the 
crisis when " Rokeby" appeared, its autlior ought 
to have put forth his utmost strength, and to have 
possessed at le.ast all liis original advantages, for a 
mighty and unexpected rival was advancing on 
the stage — a rival not in poetical powers only, but 
in that art of attracting popularity, in which the 
present writer had hitherto preceded better men 
than himself. The reader will easily see that 
Byron is here meant, who, after a little velit.ation 
of no great promise, now appeared as a serious 
candidate, in the " First two Cantos of Childe Hiir- 
old."^ I was astonished at the power evinced by 
that work, which neither the " Hours of Idleness," 
nor the " EngUsh Bards and Scotch Reviewers," 
had prepared me to expect from its author. Tlicre 
was a depth in his thought, an eager abundance in 
liis diction, which argued full confidence in the in- 
exhaustible resources of which he felt himself pos- 
sessed ; and there was some appearance of that 
labor of the file, wliich indica.tf that the author 
is conscious of the necessity of doui^; ^very jvistice 
to his work, that it may pass warrant. Lord By 
ron was also a traveller, a man whose ideas we.e 
fired by having seen, in distant scenes of difficulty 
and danger, the places whose very names are re- 
corded in our bosoms as the shrines of ancient 
poetry. For his own misfortune, perhaps, but cer- 
tainly to the high increase of liis poetical cliarac- 
ter, nature had mixed in Lord Byron's system tlnwe 
passions wliich agitate the human heart with most 
violence, and which may be said to have hurried 
his bright career to an early close. There would 
have been little wisdom in measuring my force 
with so formidable an antagonist ; and I was as 
likely to tire of playing the second fidHle in the 
concert, as my audience of hearing me. Age also 
was advancing. I was growing insensible to those 
subjects of excitation by wliich youth is agitated. 
I had around me the most pleasant but least ex- 
citing of all society, that of kintl friends and an af- 
fectionate family. My circle of employments was 
a narrow one; it occupied me constantly, and it 
became daily more diflScult for me to interest my- 
self in poetical composition : — • 

" How happily tlie days of Thalaba went by !*■* 

Yet, though conscious that I must be, in tlie 
opinion of good judges, inferior to the place I had 

1812, and immediately placed their author on a level with the 
very highesi names of bis age. The impression they created 
was more uniform, deci: e, and triumphant than any that 
bat! been witnessed in this country for at least twogener.itions. 
' I awoke one morning.' be says, ' and found myself famous.' 
In truth, he had fixed himself, at a single bound, on a sum- 
mit, such as no Bnglisb poet had ever before attained, bul 
after a long succession of painful and comparatively neglected 
eflbrts." — AdocTtiacmcnt to Byron's Li''", and tVorks. vo' 



ROKEBY. 



205 



f:r four or iive years held in lettera, and feeling 
alike that the latter was one to whicli I had only 
a temporary riglit, I could not brook the idea of 
relinquishing literary occu])ation, wliich had been 
so long my cliief diversion. Neither was I disposed 
to choose the alternative of sinking into a mere 
editor ami conunentattir, though that was a species 
of labor wliich I had practised, and to which I was 
attached. But I could not endure to think that I 
might not, whether known or concealed, do some- 
thing of more importance. My inmost thoughts 
were those of the Trojan captain in the galley race,— 

" Non jam. prima peto. Mnestlipu?. neque vincere certo : 
Qnaiir|u.im O ! — sed superetil, quiUus hoc, Nejitane, dedisti ; 
EMrcmos pudeat rediisse : hoc viiicite, cives, 
Et prohibete nefas."l — Mtt. lib. v. 194. 

I had, indeed, some private reasons for my 
" Quanquam !" which were not worse than those 

1 " I seek not now the foremost palm to gain ; 

Though j'ct — but ah ! llial haughty wish is vain ! 
Let those enjoy it whom tjie gods ordain. 
But 10 be last, tlie lags of all the race I — 
Redeem yourseh'es and rae from that disgrace." 

Drypen. 
2 "George Ehis and Murray have been talking something 
about Scott and me, George pro Scoto^ — and very right too. 



of Mnestheus. 1 have already hinted that the ma 
terials were collected for a poem on the subject of 
Bruce, and fragments of it had been shown to some; 
of my friends, and received with applause. Not- 
withstanding, therefore, the eminent success of 
Byron, and the great chance of his taking the wind 
out of my sails," there was, I judged, a species of 
cowardice in desisting from the task which I had 
undertaken, and it was time enough to retreat 
when the b.attle should be more decidedly lost. 
The sale of" Rokeby," excepting as compared with 
that of •■ The Lady of the Lake," was in the high- 
est degree respectable ; and as it included fifteen 
himdred quartos,^ in those quarto-reading days, 
the trade had no reason to be dissatisfied. 



"W. s. 



Abeotsfoed, April, 1830. 



If they want to depose him, I only wish tliey would not set me 
op as a competitor. I like the man— and admire his works to 
what Mr. Braham calls Entnsymusy. All such stuff can only 
vex him, and do rae no good." — Byron's Diary, JVov., 181j 
— Works, vol. ii. p. 259. 

3 The 4to Edition was published by John Ballantyne and Co 
£3 Ss. in Janu ary, 1613. 



~r I l Y n i l ll Tmf I 



Hokcbij: 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. 



JOHN B. S. M R R I T T, Esq., 
THIS POEM, 

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF ROKEBY, 
IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BY 

WALTER SCOTT/ 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokcby, near G-reta Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjacent 
fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places hi that Viciinty. 

The Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Bays, Three of which are supposed to elapse 
between the end of the Fifth and beginning of tha Sixth Canto. 

The date of the supposed events is immediately subseqtient to the great Battle of Marston Moor, 3c? 
Jidy, 1644. This period of public confusion has been chosen, lolthout any purpose of cmnbining the 
Fable with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, but only as o.ffo;ding a degree of proha* 
bilitJ/ to the Fictitious Narrative n<yw presented to the Public} 



Itlokcbg. 



CANTO FiaST, 



I. 

The Moon is iu her summer glow, 
But hoarse and high the breezes blow. 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her slu^oud ; 
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream,* 
She changes as a guilty di'eam, 

1 P^c. 31, 1812. 

■ " BehoUi another lay from the harp of that intlefa livable 
minstrel, who has so often provoked i\\e censare, and exiurtea 
tlie admiration of his critics ; and who, regardless of hoUi, and 
following every impulse of his own inclination, liaa yet raised 
himself at once, and apparently wiih little effort, to the pinnacle 
of public favor. 

" A poem thus recommended may be presumed to have 
already reached tlie whole circle of our readers, and we be- 
lieve that all those readers will concur with os in considering 
Rokeby as a composition, which, if it had preceded, instead of 
following, Marmion, and the Lady of the Lake, would have 
contributed, as effl-ctually as they liave done, to the establish- 
ment cf Mr. Scott's high reputation. Whether, timed as it 



When conscience, with remorse and fear, 
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career. 
Her light seems now the blush of shame. 
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame, 
Shifting that shade, to come and go, 
Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air, 
And dies m darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old Bahol's tower looks forth, 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 

now is, it be likely to satisfy the just expectations wnicn tliat 
repDtalion has excited, is a question which, perhaps, will not 
be decided with the same unanimity. Our owu opinion is in 
tlie affirmative, but we confer that this is our revised opinion ; 
and that when we concluded our first perusal of Rokcby, our 
gratification was not quite anmixed with disappoinlmen:. 
The reflections by which this impression has been subsequent- 
ly modified, arije c at of our general view of the poem ; of the 
interest inspired by the fable ; of the masterly delineiitions of 
tlie characters by whose agency the jilot is unravelled ; and of 
the spiri'^d nervous conciseness of the narrative." — Quarterly 
Hcoie-j}, No. xvi. 

s Sec Appendix, Note A. 



CANTO I. ROlvEBY. 2!)7 


Hears, upon turret-roof auil -wall, 


Relax'd tliat grasp, the heavy sigh. 


By lits the plashing raiii-iirop fall,' 


The tear in the htdf-opening eye. 


Lists to the breeze's bodiiig sound, 


The pallid check and brow, confess'd 


And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 


That grief was bu.sy m liis breast ; 




Nor paused that mood — a sudden start 


II. 


Impell'd the life-blood from the heart ; 


Those towers, which in the changeful gleam' 


Features convulsed, and mutterings dre-.d. 


Throw murky shadows on the stream, 


Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 


Those towers of Barnard hold a guest, 


That pang the painfid slumber broke,' 


The emotions of whose troubled breast, 


And Oswald with a start awoke.' 


In wild and strange confusion driven, 




Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 


IV. 


Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied, 


He woke, and fear'd again to close 


Oft had he changed his weary side, 


His eyelids in such dire repose ; 


Composed liis Umbs, and vainly sought 


He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 


By effort strong to banish thought. 


From horn- to hour the castle-bell. 


Sleep came at length, but with a train 


Or hsten to the owlet's cry. 


Of feelings true' and fancies vain, 


Or the sad breeze that whistles by. 


Mingling, in wild disorder cast, 


Or catch, by tits, the tuneless rhyme 


The expected future with the past^ 


With which the warder cheats the tune. 


Conscience, anticipating time, 


And envying thudi, how, when the sun 


Already rues the enacted crime, 


Bids the poor soldier's watch be done. 


And calls her furies forth, to shake 


Couch'd on Iiis straw, and fancy-free. 


llie sounding scourge and hissing snake ; 


He sleeps Hke careless infancy. 


While her poor victim's outward throes 




Bear witness to his mental woes. 


V. 


And show what lesson may be read 


Far town-ward sounds a distant tread 


Beside a sinner's restless bed. 


And Oswald, starting from liis bed, 




Hath caught it, though no human ear 


III. 


Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear. 


Thus Oswald's laboring feelings trace 


Could e'er chstinguish horse's clank, 


Strange changes in his sleeping face. 


Until it reach'd the castle bank.' 


Rapid and ominous as these 


Now nigh and plain the so'imd appears. 


With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees. 


The warder's challenge now he hears ;' 


There might be seen of shame the blush, 


Tlicn clanking chains and levers tell, 


There anger's dark and fiercer flush. 


That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 


While the perturbed sleeper's hand 


And, in the castle com-t below. 


Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 


Voices are heard, and torches glow. 


> This coaplet 13 not in the original MS, 


The spur hath lanced his courier's sides ; 




A W "1 1/ '^ 1A"> V li\T llMf nf* riMPQ 




ja. \> ** ¥ , ilTt^ljr, \\Sl IJIC Hl_ lltjl,^. 


a MS.—'* Of feelings Teal, and fancies vain.'' 


'Twas but a moment lliat he stood, 


< MS.— " Nor longer nature bears tlie shock. 


Then speil as if by (teEith pursued, 


That pang the sluniberer awoke." 


But in that instant o'er liis soul. 


^ There appears some resemblance betwixt the visions of 
Os\vaId's sleep and tlje waking-dream of the Giaour ; — 


Winters of memory seem'd to roll. 
And gather in that drop of time, 
A life of pain, an age of crime." 


" He stood.— Some dread was on liis face. 


Byron's Works, vol. ix. p. l;>4 


Soon Hatred settled in its place : 


8 MS — " Till vndcrneatk the castle bank. 


Tt rose not with the reddening llush 


J^igh and viore nigh the sound appears, 


Of transient Anger's hasty blush, 


The warder's challenge next he hears " 


But pate as marble o'er the tomb, 

WI ose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. 


' See Appendix, Note B. 


Ilis brow was bent, his eye was glazed ; 


"The natnral superiority of the instrument over the em 


He raised his arm, and liereely raised, 


ployer, of bold, nnhesitatinp. practised vice, over tmiid, sel 


And sternly shook his hand on high. 


fish, crafty iniquity, ia very finely painted ihroughont the whole 


As doubting to return or fly ; 


of this scene, and the dialogue that ensues. That the mind o( 


Impatient of his flight delay'd. 


Wycliffe, wrought to the utmost agony of suspense, has given 


Here loud his raven charger neigh'd— 


such acoteness lo his bo'iily organs, as to enable him to distin- 


Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade ; 


guish the approat'h of his hired bravo, while at a distance be- 


That sound hail burst his waking-dream, 


yond the reach of common hearing, is grandly imagined, and 


As elumber starts at 0%vlet's scream. 


admirably true to nature."— Cn'tico/ Review. 



208 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CJlNTO I. 



As marshalling the stranger's "way, 
Strai^^lit for the room where Oswald lay ; 
The cry was, — " Tidings from the host,* 
Of weight — a messenger comes post." 
Stifling the tumult of his breast, 
His answer Oswald thus express'd — 
" Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
Adiuit the stranger, and retire." 

VI. 

The stranger came with heavy stride,* 

The morion's pkuues his visage hide, 

And the bufF-coat, an ample fold, 

Mantles his form's gigantic mould.' 

Full slender answer deigned he 

To Oswald's anxious courtesy, ' 

But mark'd, by a disdainful smile, 

He saw and scorn'd the petty wile, 

"Wlien Oswald changed the torch's place, 

Anxious that on the soldier's face"* 

Its partial lustre might be thrown, 

To show liis looks, yet hide his own. 

His guest, the while, laid low aside 

Tlie ponderous cloak of tough bull's liide, 

And to the torch glanced broad and cleai" 

The corslet of a cuirassier ; 

Then from liis brows the casque he drew. 

And from the danlc plume dash'd the dew, 

From gloves of mail relieved his hands,^ 

And spread them to the kindling brands, 

And, turning to the genial board," 

Without a healtlifior pledge, or word 

Of meet and social reverence said. 

Deeply he ch*ank, and fiercely fed;' 

As free from ceremony's sway, 

Aa famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 

VII. 

TVith deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
His host beheld him gorge his cheer 
And quaff the full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside. 
Now paced the room with hasty stride, 
In feverish agony to learn 

I MS, — " The cry wa^ — ' Herin^Iiam comes post, 
With tidings of a battle lost.' 
A? one that roused himself from rest, 
His answer," &c. 

s MS. " with heavy pace, 

Tlie plumed morion hid his face " 
3 See Appendix, Note C. 
' MS. — *' That fell upon the stranger's face." 

^ MS. " he freed his. hands," 

t MS.—*' Then turn'd to the replenish'd hoard.*' 

' "The description of Bertram which follows, is highly pic- 

inresque ; and the rude air of conscious superiority with which 

ne treats his employer, prepares the reader to enter into the 

full spirit of his character. Tliese, and many other little cir- 



Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast.* 
Yet, viewing with alarm, at last, 
The end of that imcouth repast, 
Almost he seem'd their haste to rue, 
As, at his sign, Iiis train withdrew. 
And left hun with the stranger, freo 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence lung proclaim 
A struggle between feai* and shame. 

VIII. 

Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On his dark face a scorching clime. 
And toil, had done the work of time, 
Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared, 
And sable hairs with silver shared, 
Yet left — what age alone could tame — 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ;* 
The fuU-drawn hp that upward cmd'd, 
The eye, that seem'd to scorn the world. 
Tliat lip had terror never blench'd ; 
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quench'd 
The flash severe of swarthy glow. 
That mock'd at pain, and knew not woe. 
Inured to danger's direst form, 
Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden blow, 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow,'" 
By mine or breach, by steel jr ball, 
Knew all his shapes, and scorn'd them all. 

IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's harden'd look, 

Unmoved, could blood and danger brook, 

Still worse than apathy had place 

On his swart brow and callous face ; 

For evil passions, cherish'd long. 

Had plough'd them with impressions strone:. 

All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 

Light folly, past with youth away, 

But rooted stood, in manhood's hour. 

The weeds of vice without their flower. 



comstances. which none but a poetical mind could have coi. 
ceived, give great relief lo the stronger tonclips with v. hich 
this excellent skelrli is completed." — CriUcal Ravine. 

s MS. — " Protracted o'er his savage feast. 
Yet with alarm he saw at last." 

9 " As Roderick rises above Marmion. so Bertram ascends 
above Ro'tpiick Dhu in awfulnens of stature and strength of 
coloring. We have trembled at Roderick ; hut we look with 
doubt and suspicion al the very shadow of It'Ttram — and. as 
we approach him, we shrink with terror and iiiilipathy fiom 

' The Up of pride, the eye of flami*.' " 

British Critic. 
" See Appendix. Note D. 



CANTO I. 



ROKEBY. 



299 



And )-et the soil in ■wliich they grew, 
Had it been tamed wlu-n life was new, 
Had depth and vigor to bring forth' 
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
Not that, e'en then, his heart had known 
The gentler feelings' kimUy tone ; 
But lavish waste had been refined 
To bounty in liis chasten'd mind, 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
And, frantic tiien no more, liis pride 
Had ta'eu fair vutue for its guide. 

X. 

Even now, by conscience unrestrain'd, 
Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter stain'd. 
Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard, 
Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard.'^ 
And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
He strove, by m:my a winduig train, 
To lure his sullen guest to show, 
Unask'd, the news he long'd to know, 
Wiile on far other subject hung 
His heart, than falter'd from his tongue.' 
Yet naught for that liis guest did deigD 
To note or spare his secret pain. 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort, 
Keturn'd him answer dark and short. 
Or started from tlie theme, to range 
In loose digression wild and strange. 
And forced the embarrass'd host to buy. 
By query close, direct reply. 

XI. 

A while he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons, Coven-int, and Laws, 
And Chmch Ref. rm'd — but felt rebuke 
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look, 
Then stammer'd — "Has a field been fought? 
Has Bertram news of battle brought? 



1 MS. — " Sliow'd depth and vigor to bring forth 
Tlie liobir.ft Iruils of virtnous worth. 
Then had the lust ofgoUi aecnret 
Been lost in glory's nobler thirst. 
And deep revenge for trivial cause. 
Been zeal for freeilom and for laws 
And, frantic then no more, Iiis pride 
Had ta'en fair honor for its guide." 

- MS. " strrn regard." 

3 " The * mastery' obtained by such a being as Bertram ovei 
the timid wickedness of inferior villains, is well delineated in 
the conduct of Oswald, who. though he had not hesitated to 
propose to liiin the murder of his kinsman, is described as fear- 
ing to ask him tkc ilinrcl yur.sr/on. whrthcr the crime has 
frfcn aecamplishcd. We must confess, for our own parts, that 
we did not, till we came to the second reading of the canto, 
perceive the propriety, and even the moral beauty, of this cir- 
CQtDstance. We are now quite convinced that, in introQUcing 



For sure a solilier, famed so far 

In foreign fields for feats of war. 

On eve of fight ne'er left the host. 

Until the field were won and lost." 

" Here, in your towers by circling Tees, 

You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease ;' 

Why deem it strange that others come 

To share such safe and easy home, 

From fields where danger, death, and toil. 

Are the reward of civil broil !" — ' 

"Nay, mock not, frieuil! since well we know 

The near advances of the foe. 

To mar our northern army's work, 

Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York ; 

Thy horse with valiant Ftxirfax lay,' 

And must have fought^ — how went the day (" — 

XII. 

" Wouldst hear the tale ? — On Marston heath' 

Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 

Flourish'd the triunpets fierce, and now 

Fired was each eye, and fiush'd each brow ; 

On either side loud clamors ring, 

'God and the Cause !' — ' God and the King!' 

Right English all, they rush'd to blows. 

With naught to win, and all to lose. 

I could have laugh'd — but lack'd the time — 

To see, in phrenesy sublime. 

How the fierce zealots fought and bled. 

For king or state, as humor led ; 

Some for a dream of public good, 

Some for church-tippet, gown and hood. 

Draining their veins, in death to claim 

A patriot's or a martyr's name. — 

Led Bertram Risingham the hearts,^ 

Tliat countor'd tliere on adverse parts, 

No superstitious fool had I 

Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 

Chili had heard me through her states, 

And Lima oped her silver gates, 

Rich Mexico I had march'd tlu'ough. 

And sack'd the splendors of Peru, 

it, the poet has been guided by an accurate perception of the 
intricacies of human nature. The scene between King John 
and Hubert may probably have been [iresent to his mind whec 
he composed the dialogue between Oswald and his terrible 
agent ; but it will be observed, that the situations of the re- 
spective personages are materially different ; the mysterious 
caution in which Shakspeare's usurper is made to involve the 
proposal of his crime, springs from motives undoubtedly more 
obvious and immediate, but not more consistent with truth and 
probability, than that with which Wycliffe conceals the drift 
of his fearful interrogatories." — Critical ticmew. 

* MS. — " Safe sit you, Oswald, and at ease." 

5 MS. — " Award the meed of civil broil." 

" MS. — " Thy horsemen on the outposts lay." 

' See Appendix, Note E. 

^ MS.—" Led I but half of such bold hearts 
Jis counter'd there," &c 



300 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANIO 1. 



Till sunk Pizarro'a daring name, 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame." — ' 
" Still from the purpose wilt thou stray ! 
Good gentle friend, how went the Jay '." — 

XIII. 
" Good am I deem'd at trumpet-sound. 
And good where goblets dance the romid, 
Though gentle ne'er was join'd, till now, 
With rugged Bertram's breast and lirow. — 
But I resume. Tlie battle's rage 
Was hke the strife wliich currents wage, 
Where Oruioco, in his pride. 
Rolls to the main no tribute tide, 
But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 
A rival sea of roaring war ; 
While, in ten thousand eddies driven, 
The biUows fling theu' foam to heaven. 
And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 
Wliere rolls the river, where the main. 
Even thus upon the bloody field. 
The eddying tides of conflict wheel'd^ 
Ambigujous, till that heart of flame. 
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came. 
Hurling against our spears a line 
Of g.iUants, fiery as their wine ; 
Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal. 
In zeal's despite began to reel. 
Wliat wouldst thou more ? — in trmmlt tost, 
Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 
A thousand men who .drew the sword 
For both the Houses and the Word, 
Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and down. 
To curb the crosier and the crown. 
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretch'd in goi-e. 
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 
Thus fared it, when I left the fight. 
With the good Cause and Commons' right." — 

xrv. 

'* Disastrous news !" dark Wyclift'e said ; 
Assiuned despondence bent his head. 

> The (iuarterly Reviewer (No. xvi.) tiius slates the causes 
of the hesitation he had had in arriving at the ultimate opin- 
ion, that Rukrb?/ was wortiiy of the "high praise" already 
quoted from the coininencemenl of his article : — " We con- 
fess, then, tliat in the langnage and versification of this poem, 
ve were, in the tirst instance, disappointed. We do not mean 
to say that either is invariahly faulty ; neither is it witliin tile 
power of accident that tlie conceptions of a vigorous and highly 
cultivated mind, should uniformly invest themselves m trivial 
expressions, or in dissonant rhymes ; Iml we do think that 
those golden lines, which spontaneously fasten themselves on 
the memory of the reader are more rare, and that instances of 
& culpahlc and almost slovenly inattention to the usual rules 
of diction and of metre, are more fre(iuent in this, llian in any 
preceding work of Mr. Scott. In support of this opinion, we 
adduce the following quotation, which occurs in stanza xii. : 
and in the course of a description which is, in some parts, uii- 
osually splendid — 



While troubled joy was in his eye, 

The weil-feign'd sorrow to belie. — 

" Disastrous news! — when needed most, 

Told ye not that your chiefs were lost ? 

Complete the woful tale, and say, 

Who fell upon that fatal day ; 

What leaders of repute and name 

Bought by their death a deathless fame.' 

If such my direst foeman's doom, 

My tears shall dew his honor'd tomb.^ 

No answer ? — Friend, of all our host. 

Thou know'st whom I shotJd hate the most, 

Whom thou too, once, wert wont to hate, 

Yet leave.st me doubtful of his fate." — 

With look unmoved, — " Of friend or foe, 

Aught," answer'd Bertram, " wouldst thou know, 

Demand in simple terms and plain, 

A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; — 

For question dark, or riddle high, 

1 have nor judgment nor reply." 

XV. 

The wrath his art and fear suppress'd, 
Now blazed at once in Wycliife's breast ; 
And brave, from man so meanly born, 
Roused his hereditary scorn. 
"Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ? 
Philip of Mokth.4m, Uvcs he yet ? 
False to thy patron or thine oath, 
Trait'rous or perjured, one or both. 
Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise plight, 
To slay thy leader in the tight ?" — 
Then from liis seat the soldier sprung. 
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrmig ; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, 
Forced the red blood-drop from the nail — 
" A health '" he cried ; and, ere he quaff 'd, 
Fltmg from liim WycUffe's hand, and laugh'd ; 
— " Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart ! 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part ! 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear, 
Like me to roam a bucanier. 

' Led Bertram Risingiiani the hearts,' 

to 

* And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame.' 

" The author, sorely, cannot require to he told, that the 
feehleness of these jingling couplel-s is less offensive than their 
ohscurity. The first line is unintelligihle, because the condi- 
tional word ' if,' on which the meaning depends, is neitlier ex- 
pressed nor implied in it ; and the third line is equally faulty, 
because the sentence, when restored to its natural order, can 
only express the exact converse of the speaker's intention. Wa 
think it necessary to remonstrate against these barbarous inver- 
sions, because we consider the rules of grammar as the only 
shackles by which the HuiliLrasiic metre, alreadyso licentioUB, 
can be confined within tolerable limits." 

2 MS,—" The doubtful tides of battle reel'd " 

3 MS. — " Chose death in preference to shame.' 



CANTO I. ROKEBY. 301 


■\\lmt reck'st thou of tlie Cause divine. 


When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 


If Mortliam's wealtli and lands be tliine f 


Be near him in the battle's roar, 


What carest tliou for belc:iguer'J York, 


I scared}- saw the spears laid low. 


If this good hand liave done its work ? 


I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 


Or what, though Fairfax and his best 


Lost was the war in inward strife. 


Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, 


Debating Mortham's death or Ufe. 


If Philip Mortham with them lie. 


'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come, 


Lending his Mfe-blood to the dj'e ? — ' 


As partner of his wealth and home, 


Sit, then ! and as 'mid comrades free 


Tears of piratic wandering o'er. 


Carousing after victory. 


With him I sought our native shore. 


\Vliei\ tales are told of blood and fear. 


But Mortham's lord grew far estnuiged 


That boys and women" shrink to hear, 


From the bold heart with whom he ranged ; 


From point to point I frankly tell' 


Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears, 


The deed of death as it befeU. 


Sadden'd and dimm'd descending years ; 




The wily priests their victim sought, 


XVI. 


And damn'd each free-born' deed and thought. 


" \Vlien purposed vengeance I forego. 


Then must I seek another home : 


Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 


My Ucense shook his sober dome ; 


And when an insult I forgive,* 


If gold lie gave, in one wild day 


Tlien brand me as a slave, and live ! — 


I revell'd thrice the sum awtiy. 


riiilip of Mortham is with those 


An idle outcast then I stray'd, 


Wliom Bertram Risingham calls foes ; 


Unfit for tillage or fur trade. 


Or whom more sure revenge attends,^ 


Dcem'd, hke the steel of rusted lance. 


If nuraber'd with ungrateful friends. 


Useless ttnd dangerous at once. 


As was his wont, ere battle glow'd, 


The women fear'il my hardy look, 


Along the marshall'd ranks he rode, 


At my approach the peaceful shook , | 


And wore his visor up the while. 


The merchant saw my glance of flame, [ 


I saw his melancholy smile. 


And lock'd his hoards when Bertram came ; 


"WHicD, full opposed m front, he knew 


Each child of cow.ard peace kept far 


AMiere Rokeby's kindred banner flew. 


From the neglected son of war. 


' Antl thus,' lie said, ' will friends divide !' — 




I heard, and thought how, side by side. 


xvin. 


We two had turu'd the battle's tide, 


" But civil discord gave the call. 


In many a well-debated field. 


And made my trade the trade of all. 


Wliere Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 


By Mortham urged, I came again 


T thought on Darien's deserts pale. 


His vassals to the fight to train. 


Where death bestrides the evening gale, 


Wliat guerdon waited on my care 3' 


How o'er my friend my cloak I threw. 


I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 


And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 


Sour fanatics each trust obtain'd. 


I thought on Quariana's cliff. 


And I, tlishonor'd and disdtiin'd. 


Where, rescued from our foundering skift", 


Gaiu'd but the high and happy lot. 


Through the white breakers' wrath I bore 


In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 


Exliausted Mortham to the shore ; 


AH this thou know'st, thy gestures teU ; 


And when his side an arrow found. 


Yet hear it o'er, and mark it weU. 


I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound. 


'Tis honor bids me now relate 


Tliese thoughts like torrents rush'd along,' 


Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 


To sweep away my purpose strong. 


XIX. 


XVII. 


" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly pai t. 


"Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent; 


Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 


Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 


As my spur press'd my courser's side, 


> MS.—" And lieart's-blood lent to aid the dye ? 


MS. — " Whom sorest his revenge attends. 


?il, then ! and as to comrades boon 


If nomber'd once among his friends." 


Carousing for achievement won." 
' MS.—" That boys and cowards." &c. 
9 MS. — " Frank, as from mate to mate, I tell 

What way the deed of death befell." 
* MS. -" Name when an insult I forgave. 


B MS. — " These thoughts rash'd on. like torrent's sway 

To j*weep my stern resolve away." 
' MS.— "Each lihn-al deed." 
• MS.—" But of my labor what the meed ? 


And, Oswald Wycliffe, call me slave." 


I coula not cant of church or creed." 



302 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I. 



Pliilip of Mortliam's cause was tried, 
And, ere the chaj'ging squadrons mbc'd, 
His plea Wiis cast, Iiis doom was fix'd. 
I watch'd him through the doubtful fray, 
That changed as March's moody day,' 
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank,* 
Fierce Rupert thuuder'd on our flank. 
'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 
"Wliere each man fought for death or life, 
Twas then I tired my petronel, 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast. 
Of wrath and .anguish — 'twas his last. 
Think not that there I stopp'd, to view 
What of the battle should ensue ; 
But ere I clear'd that bloody press, 
Our northern horse ran masterless ; 
Monckton and llitton told the news,' 
How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 
Spurrmg his palfrey northward, past, 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.* 
Yet when I readi'd the banks of Swale, 
Had rumor learn'd another tale ; 
With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say, 
Stout Cromwell has redeem'd the day :* 
But whether false the news, or true, 
Oswald, I reck as hght as you." 

XX. 

Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, 
How his pride startled at tlie tone 
In which Ids complice, fierce and free, 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terms liis speech he wove, 
Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 
Promised and vow'd in courteous sort, 
But Bertram broke profession short. 
" Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay, 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warn'd by the legends of my youth,' 
f trust not an associate's truth. 
T)o not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
Train'd forward to liis bloody fall, 
By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall?' 
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side, 

' MS. — " That changed as witli a whirlwind's sway." 
a *» (lashing 

On thy wai^Iiorse tlirough the ranks. 

Like a Gtream wliicli Imrst its banks." 

Byron's IVorhs, vol. x. p. 275. 

3 M?. — " Hot Rupert on ttie siiur piirsuea ; 

Whole troops of fliers choked the Ouse." 

* See Appendix, Note F. 

8 8ee Ajtpendix, Note G 



The shepherd sees liis spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name, 
The moated mound of Risiugham,* 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees, 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone f 
Unmatch'd in strength, a giant he, 
With quiver'd back,'" and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 
The tameless monarch of the wold, 
And age and infancy can tell, 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus warn'd by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXX. 

" When last we reason'd of tliis deed, 
Naught, I betliink me, was agreed. 
Or by what rule, or when, or where, 
Tlie wealth of Mortham we should share ; 
Then list, while I the portion name, 
Our differing laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's tin-one, 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
Thy kinsman's lands and hvings fan', 
And those I yield : — do thou revere 
The statutes of the Bucanier.'' 
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
To all that on her waves are borne, 
When falls a mate in battle broil, 
His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil; 
When dies in fight a daring foe, 
He claims his wealth who struck the blow ; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines. 
Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark, 
Chahce and plate from chm-ches borne. 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn, 
Each siring of pearl, each silver bar, 
And all the wealth of western war. 
I go to search, whore, dark and deep. 
Those Trans-atlantic treasures sleep. 
Thou must along — for, lacking thee, 
The heir will scarce iind entrance free ; 
And then farewell. I haste to try 

e MS. — " Taught by the legends of my youth 
To trust to no associate's truth." 

' See Appendix, Note H. 

6 MS. — " Still by the spot that gave me name, 
The moated cavip of Risingham, 
A giant form the stranger sees, 
Half hid by rifled rocks and trees." 

3 See Appendix. Note I. 

>o MS.—" With bow in hand," 4rc 

»i See Appendix, Note K 



J_ _ 

CANTO I. ROKEBY. 303 


Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 


Of numerous eons were Wycliffe's grace, 


Wlieu cloy'd each wish, those wai-s afford 


On "Wilfrid set contemptuous brand, 


Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." 


For feeble heart and forceless himd ; 




But a fond mother's care and joy 


XXIL 


Were centred in her sickly boy. 


An undecided answer hung 


No touch of chill lliood's frohc mood 


On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 


Show'd the elastic spring of blood ; 


Despite his craft, he heard with awe 


Hour after hoiu" he loved to pore 


Tliis ruffian stabber fix the law ; 


On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore, 


While liis own troubled passions veer 


But turn'd from martial scenes and Hght, 


Tlu-ough hatred, joy, regret, and fear:^ 


From Falstaff's feast and Percy's flight, 


Joy'd at the soul that Bertram flies. 


To ponder Jaques' moral str:un, 


He grudged the miu-dcrer's mighty prize, 


And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain ; 


Hated his pride's presumptuous tone, 


Ana weep himself to soft repose 


And fciu-'d to wend with him alone. 


O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 


At length, that middle course to steer, 




To cowai-cUce and craft so dear. 


XXV. 


' His charge," he said, " would iU allow 


In youth he sought not pleasures found 


His absence from the fortress now ; 


By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound, 


Wilfrid on Bertram should attend. 


But loved the quiet joys that wake 


His son should jom-ney with his fiiend." 


By lonely stream and silent lake ; 




In Deepdale's solitude to he. 


XXIII. 


Where aU is chft' and copse and sky ; 


Contempt kept Bertram's anger down. 


To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak, 


And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 


Or lone Pendragon's momid to seek.' 


" Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me, 


Such was his wont ; and there his dream 


Wliiehever bears the golden key. 


Soar'd on some wild fantastic theme, 


Yet think not but I mark, and smile 


Of faithful love, or ceaseless spring. 


To mai-k, thy poor and selfish wile ! 


Till Contemplation's wearied wing 


If injury from me you fear. 


The enthusiast could no more sustain. 


What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here ? 


And sad he sunk to earth again. 


Tve sprung from walls more high than these, 




I've swam thi-ough deeper streams than 


XXVI. 


Tees. 


He loved — as many a lay can tell. 


Might I not stab thee, ere one j'ell 


Preserved m Stanmore's lonely dell ; 


Could rouse the distant sentinel ? 


For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 


Start not — it is not my design. 


The art imteachable, untaught ; 


But, if it were, weak fence were thine ; 


He loved — his soul did nature frame 


And, trust me, that, in tune of need. 


For love, and fancy nursed the flame ; 


This hand hath done more desperate deed. 


Vainly he loved — for seldom swain 


Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; 


Of such soft mould is loved again ; 


Time calls, and I must needs be gone. 


Silent he loved — in every gaze 




Was passion,^ friendship in liis phrase. 


XXIV. 


So mused liis life away — till died 


Naught of his sire's ungenerous part 


His brethi'en all, then- father's pride. 


Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 


Wilfrid is now the only heir 


A heart too soft from e.arly hfe 


Of all his .stratagems and care. 


To h(>ld with fortime needful strife. 


And destined, darkling, to pursue 


His sire, wliile yet a hardier race' 


Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue.' 


1 MS. " while yet around Iiini stood 


Beattie's Edwin ; but in some essential respects it is made 


A numerous race of hardier mood." 


more true to nature than that which probably served for its 


• *' And oil the craggy cliff he loved to climb. 


original. The possibility may perhaps be questioned (its great 


When all in mist the world below was lost. 


iinprohahility is unquestionable), of such excessive refinement. 


What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime. 


such overstrained, and even morbid sensibility, as are por- 


Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast." 


trayed in the character of Edwin, existing in so rude a state ol 


Beattie's Jilinstrel. 


society as that which Beattie has represented,— but these 


* MS. — " Was lotc, but friendship in liis phrase." 


qualities, even when found in the most advanced and polished 


4 "The prototype of Wilfrid may perhaps be found in 


stages of life, are rarely, very rarely, united with a robust aud 



304 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I. 



XXVII. 
AVilfrid must love aiid woo' the bright 
ilatilda, lieir of Rokeby's knight. 
To love her was an easy hest, 
The secret empress of his breast ; 
To woo her was a harder task 
To one that diirst not hope or ask. 
Yet all Matilda could, she gave 
[n pity to her gentle slave ; 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, 
And praise, the poet's best reward ! 
She read the tales his taste approved, 
Aud sung the lays he fi'amed or loved ; 
Yet, loth to nurse the fatal flame 
Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The favoring glance to friendship due," 
Then grieved to see her victim's pain, 
And gave the dangerous smiles agaui. 

XXVIII. 

So did the suit of Wilfrid stand, 

When war's loud summons waked the 

land. 
Tliree banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
The wo-foreboding peasant sees ; 
In concert oft they braved of old 
The bordering Scot's incursion bold ; 
Frowning defiance in their pride,^ 
Theii* vassals now and lords divide. 
From his fair hall on Greta banks. 
The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks. 
To aid the valiant northern Earls, 
Who drew the .sword for royal Charles. 
Mnrthani, by marriage near allied, — 
His sister had been Rokeby's bride, 
Though long before the civil fray. 
In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 
Philip of Mortham raised his band, 
And marcli'd at Fau'fax's command 
While Wyclitfe, bound by many a train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less prompt to brave the bloody field, 
Made Bai'nard's battlements his shield, 
Secured them with Ids Lunedale powers. 
And for the Commons held the towers. 

lealtliy frame of body. In both these particulars, the char- 
leter of Wilfrid is e.\enipt from the objections to which we 
ibiiik that of the Minstrel liable. At tlie period of the Civil 
Wars, in the higher orders of Society, intellectual refinement 
had advanced to a degree sufficient to give prooability to its 
existence. The remainder of our argument will be best ex- 
plained by the beautiful lines of the poet," (stanzas xx*' and 
xxvi,) — Critical Rcvifio. 
> MS.—" .A.nd first most Wilfrid woo." &c. 

2 MS. — " The fuel fond her favor threw." 

3 MS. — " Now frowning dark on ditTerent side, 

Tlicir vassals and their lords divide." 
< MS.—" Dame Alice and Matilda bright, 



XXIX. 

Tlie lovely heir of Rokeby's luiight* 
Waits in his halls the event of fight ; 
For England's war revered the claim 
Of every unprotected name. 
And spared, amid its fiercest rage, 
Childliootl and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe,' 
Must the dear privilege forego, 
By Greta's side, in evening gray, 
To steal upon Matilda's way. 
Striving,' with fond hypocrisy. 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Claming each anxious look and glance, 
To give the meeting all to chance, 
Or framuig, as a fair excuse. 
The book, the pencil, or the muse : 
Sometliing to give, to sing, to say, 
Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 
Tlien, while the long'd-for minutes last, — 
Ah ! minutes quickly over-past ! — ' 
Recording each expression free, 
Of kind or careless cotortesy. 
Each friendly look, each softer tone, 
As food for fancy when alone. 
All this is o'er — but still, unseen, 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green," 
To watch Matilda's wonted roimd, 
While springs his heart at every soimd. 
She comes ! — 'tis but a passing sight, 
Tet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
She conies not — he will wait the hour. 
When her lamp lightens in the tower ;° 
'Tis something yet, if, as she past, 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
" What is my Ufe, my hope ?" he said ; 
" Alas ! a transitory shade." 

XXX. 

Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love, 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come. 
While stiU he turn'd impatient ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued, 

Dattshter and wife of Rokeby's Knight, 
Wait in his halls," &c. 

5 MS. — " But Wilfrid, when the strife arose, 
And Rokeby and his son were foes, 
W.as doom'd each privilege to lose. 
Of kindred friendship and the muse." 

c MS. — " Aping, with fond hypocrisy. 
The careless step," &c. 

' The MS. has not this couplet. 

» MS.—" May Wilfrid haunt the ) „,;„,.„,. ._„ .. 
^ > thickets green. 



"MS.- 



Wilfrid haunts Scargilt's 1 

" watch the honr, 

That her lamp kindles in her tower." 



ROKEBY. 



305 



In all but this, unmoved he view'd 
Each outward eliiuige of ill and good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
Was Fancy's spoil'd and waywai'd child ; 
In her bright' car she bade him ride, 
Witli one fair form to grace his side. 
Or, iu some wild and lone retreat," 
Flung lier liigh spells around his seat, 
Bathed in her dews Iiis languiil head. 
Her fairy miuitle o'er him spread. 
For him lier opiates gave to iiow, 
Whicli he who tastes can ne'er forego, 
And placed him in her circle, free 
From every stern reality. 
Till, to the Visionary, seem 
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 

XXXL 

Woe to the youth whom fancy gains, 
Wiuniug from Reason's hand the reins. 
Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft, coutemplative, and kuid ; 
And woe to those who train such youth, 
And spare to press the rights of truth, 
The mind to strengthen and anneal. 
While on the stitliy glows the steel I 
teach him, while your lessons last, 
To judge the present by^ the past ; 
Remind him of each wish pursued. 
How rich it glow'd with promised good j 
Remind him of each wish enjoy'd. 
How soon his hopes possession cloy'd I 
Tell him, we play unequal game, 
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim f 
And, ere he strip him for her race. 
Show the conditions of the chase. 
Two sisters by the goal are set. 
Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
One disenchants the winner's eyes. 
And strips of all its worth the prize. 



> MS.—" Wild car." 

^ MS. — " Or in some fair but lone retreat, 

Flung her wild spells around his seat. 
For jum her opiates I gave to ) a 

opiate 1 draughts bade S 
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego, 
Taught him to turn impatient ear 
From trutli's intrusive voice severe." 
3 In the MS., after this couplet, the following lines conclude 
me stanza : — • 

" That all who on her visions press, 
Find disappointment dog success ; 
But, miss'd their wish, lamenting hold 
Her gilding false for sterling gold." 
* " Soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways, 
And yet, even there,*if left without a guide, 
The young adventurer unsafely plays. 
Eye«, dazzled long by Fiction's gaudy rays, 
In modest Truth no light nor beauty find ; 
And who, my child, would trust the meteor blaze 
39 



■VVliile one augments its gaudy show, 
More to enliance the loser's woe.* 
The victor sees his fairy gold 
Transform'd, when won, to drossy mold, 
But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss. 
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 

XXXII. 

More wouldst thou know — yon tower survey, 
Yon couch unpress'd since parting day. 
Yon untrimm'd lamp, wljose yellow gleam 
Is mingling with the cold moonbeam. 
And yon thm form ! — the liectic red 
On his pale clieek tmequal spread ;' 
The head reclined, the loosen'd hair. 
The limbs relax'd, the mournful air. — 
See, he looks up ; — a woful smUe 
Lightens his wo-worn cheek a while, — 
'Tis fancy wakes some idle thought. 
To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 
For, Uko the bat of Indian brakes. 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes, 
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain. 
She drinks liis Ufe-blood from the vein,' 
Now to the lattice ttun itis eye.s, 
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast. 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
Another horn- must wear away. 
Ere the East kiniUe into d:iy, 
And hark ! to waste that weary hotur, 
He tries the minstrel's magic power. 

XXXIII. 
SoiiQ. 

TO THE MOON.' 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 
Pale pilgrim of the trdubled sky ! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream 



That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind, 
More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had shined 1 

" Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart, 
And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight ; 
To joy each heighlening charm it can impart, 
But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night. 
And often, where no real ills affright. 
Its visionary fiends, an endless train. 
Assail with equal or superior might. 
And through the throt)bing heart, and dizzy brain, 
And shivering nerves, shoot stings of mon; than mortal 
pain." Beattie. 

6 MS. — " On his pale cheek in crimson glow ; 
The short and painful sighs that show 
The shrivell'd lip, the teeth's white row. 
The head reclined," &c. 

* MS. " the sleeper's pain, 

Drinks his dear life-blood from the vein.* 
' " The little poem that follows is, in our judgment, one of 



306 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CA.NTO II. 



Lend to thy brow their sullen dye !' 
How should thy pui'e and peaceful eye 

Untroubled ^iew our scenes below, 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and woe ! 

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Each httle cloud that dimm'd thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could cliide, 

Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 
For while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was form'd to light some lonely dell. 
By two fond lovers only seen. 

Reflected fi'om the crystal well. 
Or sleeping on their mossy cell. 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 

XXXIV. 

He starts — a step at tliis lone hour ! 
A voice ! — his father seeks the tower. 
With haggard look and troubled sense. 
Fresh from his dreadful conference. 
" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep address'd 'i 
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
Mortham has faU'n on Marston-moor ' 
Bertram brings warrant to secure 
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood. 
For the State's use and pubhc good. 
The menials will thy voice obey ; 
Let his commission have its way,' 
In every point, in every word." — 
Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword ! 
Bertram is — what I must not tell. 
I hear liis hasty step — farewell !'" 

the best of Mr. Scott's attempts in this kind. He, certainly, 
is not in general successful as a song-writer ; bnt, without any 
extraordinary effort, here are pleasing thoughts, polished ex- 
pressions, and musical versification." — Monthly Review, 

1 MS. — " Are tarnishing thy lovely dye ! 

A sad excuse let Fancy try — 
How should so kind a planet show 

Her stainless silver's lustre high, 
To light a world of war and woe !'* 

2 MS. — " Here's Risinghain brings tidings sure, 

Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor; 
And he hath warrant to secure," &c 

3 MS.^*' See that they give his warrant way." 

4 With the MS. of stanzas xxviii. to xxxiv. Scott thus ad- 
dresses his printer: — "I send you the whole of the canto. I 
wish Erskine and you would look it over together, and con- 
eider wheiner upon the whole matter, it is likely to make an 
impression. If it does really come to good, I think there are 
no limits to the interest of that style of composition ; for the 
variety of hfe and character are boundless. 



Hokebj. 



CANTO SECOND. 



Far in the chambers of the -west, 
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
The thin gray clouds wax dimly light 
On Brusletou and Houghton height ; 
And the rich dale, that eastward lay, 
Waited the wakening touch of day. 
To give its woods and cultured plain, 
And towers and sphes to hght again. 
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell, 
And Luncdale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
And Ai'ldngarth, lay dark afai- ; 
"WTiile, as a livelier twilight foils, 
Emerge proud Barnard's bamier'd walls. 
High crowu'd he sits, in dawning pale, 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 

II. 

What prospects, from his watch-tower high, 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! — 
Fai sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,* 
And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
Of summer vapors from the stream ; 
And ere he paced his destined hour 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower," 
These silver mists shall melt away, 
And dew the woods with gUttering spray. 
Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
That mighty trench of living stone,' 
And each huge trunk that, from the side, 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide, 

"I don't know whether to give Matilda a mother or not. 
Decency requires slie should have one ; hul she is as likely to 
be in my way as the gudcman's mother, according to the prov- 
erb, is always in tliat of the gndewife. Yours truly, W. S. — 
Mbotsford," (Oct. 1812.) 

" We cannot close the first Canto without bestowing the 
highest praise on it. The whole design of the picture is ex- 
cellent ; and the contrast presented to the gloomy and fearful 
opening by the calm and innocent conclusion, is masterly. 
Never were two characters more clearly and forcibly set in 
opposition than those of Bertram and Wilfrid. Oswald com- 
pletes the group ; and, for the moral purposes of the painter, 
is perhaps superior to the others. He is admirably designed 



' That middle course to steer 



To cowardice and craft so dear.' " 

Monthly Review. 
fi See Appendix, Note L. 

8 Ms. — " Betwixt the gate and Baliol's tower." 
' MS. — " Those deep-hewn banks of living stone." 



CANTO II. ROKEBY. 307 


\^liere Tees, full many a fathom low, 


Their winding path then eastward oast. 


Wears -with his rage no common foe ; 


And EgUston's gray ruins pass'd ;* 


For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here. 


Each on his own deep visions bent, 


Nor clay-moimd, checks his fierce career. 


Silent and sad they onward went. 


Condemn'd to mine a channell'd way, 


Well may you think that Bertram's mood,' 


O'er sohd sheets of mai'ble gray. 


To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude ; 




Well may you tliink bold Risingliam 


III. 


Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 


Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright. 


And small the intercourse, I ween, 


Shall rush upon the ravish'd sight ; 


Such uncongenial souls between. 


But many a tributary stream 




Each from its own diu-k dell shall gleam : 


V. 


Staindi-op, who, fi-om lier silvan bowers,' 


Stem Bertram shunn'd the nearer way. 


Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 


Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay. 


The rural brook of EgUston, 


And, skirting high the valley's ridge. 


And Balder, named from Odin's son ; 


They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge, 


And Greta, to whose banks ere long 


Descending where her waters wind 


We lead the lovers of the song ; 


Free for a space and unconfined. 


And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild. 


As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark-wood glen, 


And fairy Thorsgill's murmm-ing child. 


She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 


And last and least, but loveliest still. 


There, as his eye glanced o'er the moimd, 


Romantic Deepdale's slender riU. 


Raised by that Legion" long renown'd. 


Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray'd, 


Whose votive shrine asserts their claim. 


Tet long'd for Roslin's magic glade ? 


Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 


Wlio, wandering there, hath sought to change 


" Stem sons of war !" sad Wilfrid sigh'd. 


Even for that vale so stern and strange. 


" Behold the boast of Roman pride I 


Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent, 


What now of all your toils are known I 


Through her green copse Mke spires are sent ? 


A grassy trench, a broken stone !"-^ 


Yet, Albin, yet the pr.aise be thine, 


This to himself ; for moral strain 


Thy scenes and story to combine ! 


To Bertram were address'd in vain. 


Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays. 




List to the deeds of other days -^ 


VL 


'Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the cave, 


Of different mood, a deeper sigh 


The refuge of thy champion brave ■' 


Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high'' 


Giving each rock its storied tale. 


Were northward in the dawning seen 


Pom'ing a lay for every dale. 


To rear them o'er the thicket green. 


Knitting, as with a moral band. 


then, though Spenser's self had stray'd 


Thy native legends with thy land. 


Beside him through the lovely glade, 


To lend each scene the interest high 


Lending his rich luxuriant glow 


Wliicb genius beams from Beauty's eye 


Of fancy, all its charms to show, 




Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 


IV. 


As captive set at liberty, 


Bertram awaited not the sight 


Flashing her sparkling waves abroad,' 


Which sunrise shows from Barnard's height. 


And chimoring joyfid on her road ; 


But from the towers, preventing day. 


Pointing where, up the sunny banks, 


"With Wilfrid took his eaidy way. 


The trees retire in scatter'd ranks, 


While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale. 


Save where, advanced before the rest, 


Still mingled in the silent dale. 


On knoll or hUlock rears his crest, 


By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, 


Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 


The southern bank of Tees they won ; 


As champions, when their band is broke, 


* MS. — " Slaindrop, who, on her silvan way, 


Such uncongenial souls between ; 


Salules proud Raby's tnrrets gray.'* 


Well may you think stern Risingham 


3 See Notes to the song of Fair Rosabelle, in the Lay of the 


Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame; 


Last Minstrel. 


And naught of mutual interest lay 


3 Cartland Crags, near Lanark, celebrated as among the fa- 


To bind the comrades of the way." 


vorite retreats of Sir William Wallace. 


e See Appendix, Note N. ' Ibid. Note O 


* See Appendix, Note M. 


6 MS. — " Flashing to heaven her sparkling spray. 


6 MS. — " For brief the intercoot^e, I ween. 


And cWmoring joyful on her way." 



?08 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Staud forth to guard the rearward post, 


Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast,' 


Tlie bulwark of the scatter'd host — 


And wreathed its garland round their crest, 


All tills, and niore, might Spenser say, 


Or from the spires bade loosely flare 


Yet waste in vain his magic lay, 


Its tendrils in the middle air. 


While Wilfrid eyed the chstant tower, 


As pennons wont to wave of old 


Whose lattice hghts Matilda's bower. 


O'er the high feast of Baron bold. 




When revell'd loud the feudal rout. 


VII. 


And the arch'd halls return'd their shout •. 


The open vale is soon pass'd o'er. 


Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 


Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ;' 


And such the echoes from her shore. 


Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 


And so the ivied banners gleam," 


A wild and darker course they keep. 


Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 


A stern and lone, yet lovely road, 




As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode I'' 


IX. 


Broad shadows o'er then- passage fell. 


Now from the stream the rocks recede. 


Deeper and narrower grew the dell ; 


But leave between no sunny mead. 


It seem'd some mountain, rent and riven. 


No, nor the spot of pebbly sand. 


A channel for the stream had given. 


Oft found by such a mountain strand ;' 


So higli the cliffs of limestone gray 


Forniing such warm and dry retreat. 


Hmig beetling o'er the torrent's way, 


As fancy deems the lonely seat, 


Yielding, along their rugged base,' 


■ffhere hermit, wandering from his cell. 



A flinty footpath's niggard space, 

Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, 

May hear the headlong torrent rave. 

And like a steed in frantic tit. 

That ilings the froth from curb and bit,' 

May view her chafe her waves to spray. 

O'er every rock that bars her way. 

Till foam-globes on her eddies ride. 

Thick as the schemes of human pride 

That down life's current drive amain. 

As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 

VIII. 
The cUffs that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed. 
Were now all naked, wUd, and gray. 
Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to every crevice clung. 
And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
And there, all splinter'd and uneven. 
The shiver'd rocks ascend to heaven ; 

1 MS. — " And Rokeby's tower is seen no more ; 

Sinking mid Greta's thickets ^recTi, 
Tile journeyers seek anotlier scene." 

2 See Appendix, Note P. 

a MS. — " Yielding tlieir rugged base beside 

A \ "'"'^ , I path by Greta's tide." 
t niggard i 

MS. — "That flings the foam from curb and bit, 

tawny i 

Ciiaflng her waves to .J whiten V wrath, 



(sr 



Hj3 rosary niiglit love to tell. 

But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew,^ 

"With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulcliral green. 

Seem'd that the trees then- shadows cast, 

The earth that nourish'd them to blast ; 

For never knew tliat swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love ; 

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flo'w vT, 

Arose within its baleful bower : 

The dank and sable earth receives 

Its only carpet from the leaves, 

That, from the withering branches cast, 

Bestrew'd the ground with every blast. 

Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 

In this dark spot 'twas twilight still," 

Save that on Greta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through copsewootl 

ghde; 
And wild and savage contrast made 



\ Waved wildly trembling o'er the scene, 
\ Waved wild above the clamorous stream." 



f M9.- 



' a torrent's strand ; 



V ) 



t spongy } 
O'er every rock that bars her path. 
Till down her boiling eddies ride," &c. 
6 M^'. — " The frequent ivy swathed their breast, 

And wreathed its tendrils round their crest, 
Or from liieir summit bade them fall, 
And tremble o'er the Greta's brawl." 
i ffreen. 



• MS — '* And so the ay's banners • 



gleam, 



Where in the warm and dry retreat, 
May fancy form some hermit's seat." 

e MS. — '* A darksome grove of funeral yew, 
Where trees a baleful shadow ca^^t, 
Tlie ground that nourish'd ibem to blast. 
Mingled with whose sari tint<! were seen 
The blighted fir's sepulchral green." 

9 MS.—" In this dark grove 'twas twilight still, 
Save that upon the rocks opposed 
Some straggling beams of morn reposed ; 
And wild and savage contrast made 
That bleak and dark funereal shade 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Which, struggling througli the greenwood spray, 
Upon the rock's wild summit lay." 



CANTO II. 



KOKEBY. 



309 



Tluit dingle's deep and funeral shade, 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Wliich, glimmering through the ivy spray. 
On the opposing summit lay. 

X. 

The lated peasant shuim'd the dell ; 

For Super-stition wont to tell 

Of many a grisly souutl and sight, 

Scaring its path at dead of night. 

When Clu-istmas logs blaze high and wide. 

Such wonders speed the festal tide ; 

While Curiosity and Fear-, 

Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near. 

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 

And village maidens lose the rose. 

The thi-iUing interest rises higher,' 

The circle closes nigh and nigher, 

And shuddering glance is cast behind. 

As louder moans the wintry wmd. 

BeUeve, that fitting scene was l;ud 

For such wild tales in Morthiuu glade I 

For who had seen, on Greta's side, 

By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 

In such a spot, at such an hour, — 

If touch'd by Superstition's power, 

Miglit well have deem'd that Hell had given 

A murderer's ghost to upper Heaven, 

Wliile Wilfrid's form had seem'd to ghde 

Like his pale victim by his side. 

XI. 
Nor tliink to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known ; 
For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind ; 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith and love, and pity barr'd, 
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had Usted many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale, 
That in his secret soul retain'd 
The credence they in childhood gain'd : 

J MS. — *' The interest rises high and higher." 

2 The MS. has not the two following couplets. 

3 " Also I sliiill shew very briefly what force conjurers and 
witches have in constraining the elements enchanted by them 
or others, that they may exceed or fall short of tiieir natural 
order : premising this, tiiat the extream land of North Finland 
and Lapland was so tanglit witchcraft formerly in heathenish 
times, as if they had learned this cursed art from Zoroastres the 
Persian ; though other inhabitants by the sea-coasts are reported 
to be bewitclied with the same madness ; for they exercise tliis 
devilish art, of all the arts of the world, to admiration ; and in 
this, or other such like mischief, they commonly agree. The 
Fiulanders were wont formerly, amongst their other errora of 
genlilisme, to sell winds to merchants that were stopt on their 
coasts by contrary weather ; and when they haxl their price, 
they knit three magical knots, not Uke to the laws of Cassius, 



Nor less his wild adventmous youth 
Believed in every legend's truth ; 
Learn'd when, beneath the tropic gale, 
Fiji swell'd the vessel's steady sail, 
And the broad Indian moon her light 
Pour'd on the watch of middle night, 
"When seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell •? 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore,' 
How whistle rash bids tempests roar,' 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite. 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light f 
Or of tliat Phantom Ship, whose form 
Shoots Uke a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lower'd is every topsail-yard. 
And canvas, wove in earthly looms, 
No more to brave the storm presumes ! 
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky, 
Top and top-gallant hoisted higli. 
Full spread and crowded every saU, 
The Demon Frigate braves the gale ;' 
And well the doom'd spectators know 
The harbmger of wreck and woe. 

xn. 

Then, too, were told, in stifled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own; 
How, by some desert isle or key,' 
Where Sptuiiards wrought their cruelty, 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood. 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appall'd the Ustening Bucanier, 
"Whose hght-arm'd shallop anchor'd lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain. 
Ring from the moouHght groves of cane ; 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare. 
Who wearies memory for a prayer. 
Curses the ruad-stead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail. 
To give, in thust of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 

bound Dp with a thong, and they gave them unto the mer- 
chants ; observing that rule, that when they unloosed the lin>l, 
they should have a good gale of wind ; when tiie second, a 
stronger wind ; hut when tliey untied the third, they should 
have such cruel tempests, tiiat they should not be able to look 
out of the forecastle to avoid the rocks, nor move a foot to jiull 
down tlie sails, nor stand at the helm to govern the shin; anil 
they made an unhappy trial of the trutii of it who denied that 
there was any such power in those knots." — Olacs Magnus's 
History o/ the Oaths, Swedes, and Vandals. Lond. 1658, fol 
p. 47.— [See Note to The Pirate, "Sale of Winds," IVaver 
ley JVovets, vol. xxiv. p. 136.] 

* See Appendix, Note Q. 

s Ibid. Note R. 

» Ibid. Note S. ' Ibid. Note T. 



310 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto it. 


XIII. 


You mark him by the crashing bough, 


TIuis, a.s a man, a youth, a child. 


And by his corselet's sullen clank. 


Train'd in the mystic and tlie wild, 


And by the stones spurn'd from the bant, 


With this on Bertram's .soul at times 


And by the hawk scared from her nest. 


Rutih'd a dark feeling of his crimes ; 


And ravens croaking o'er tlieu- guest. 


Such to his troubled soul their form, 


\nio ileem his forfeit Umbs shall pay 


As the pale Death-ship to the storm, 


The tribute of his bold essay. 


And such their omen dim and dread. 




As shrieks and voices of the dead, — 


XV. 


That pang, wliose transitory force' 


See, he emerges ! — desperate now" 


Hover'd 'twi.xt horror and remorse ; 


All farther course — Yon beetling bmw, 


That pang, perchance, liis bosom prese'd. 


In craggy nakedness sublime. 


As Wilfrid sudden he address'd : — 


Wliat heart or foot shall dare to climb ? 


" Wilfrid, this glen is never trode 


It bears no teudril for liis clasp, 


Until tlie sun rides high abroad ; 


Presents no angle to liis grasp: 


Yet t-svice have I beheld to-day 


Sole stay his foot may rest upon. 


A Form, that seem'd to dog our way ; 


Is you earth-bedded jetting stone. 


Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee, 


Balanced on such precarious prop," 


And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 


He strains his grasp to reach the top. 


How think'st thou ? — Is oiu- path waylaid ? 


Just as the dangerous stretch he makes. 


Or hath thy sire my trust betray'd ? 


By heaven, liis faithless footstool shakes 1 


If so" Ere, starting from his dream. 


Beneath liis tottering bulk it bends. 


Tliat turn'd upon a gentler theme. 


It sways, ... it loosens, ... it descends I 


Wilfrid had roused him to reply. 


And downward holds its headlong way, 


Bertram sprung forward, sliouting high. 


Crasliing o'er rock and copsewood spray. 


" MTiate'er tliou art, thou now shalt stand 1" — 


Loud thunders shake the echoing dell ! — 


And forth he darted, sword in hand. 


Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 




Just on the very verge of fate, 


XIV. 


Tlie hardy Bertram's falling weight 


As bursts the levin in its wrath,* 


He trusted to his smewy hands, 


He shot him down the sounding path ; 


And on the top unharm'd he stands ! — ^ 


Rock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out, 




To his loud step and savage shout.' 


XVI. 


Seems that the object of Us race 


Wilfrid a safer path pursued ; 


Hath scaled the cliffs ; his frantic chase 


At intervals where, roughly hew'd. 


Sidelong he tm-ns, and now 'tis bent 


Rude steps ascendmg from the dell 


Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 


Render'd the cliffs accessible. 


Straining each sinew to ascend. 


By cncnit slow he thus attain'd 


Foot, hand, and knee, then- aid must lend. 


The height that Risingham had gain'd. 


Wilfiid, all dizzy with dismay, 


And when he issued from the wood. 


Views from beneath liis dreadful way : 


Before the gate of Mortham stood.' 


Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings 


'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 


Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 


On battled tower and portal gray : 


Now, like the wild-goat, must he dare 


And from the grassy slope he sees 


An unsupported leap in air;* 


The G(e*a flow to meet the Tees; 


Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 


Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 


' ,MS. — " Its fell, llioii£li iraiisiiory force 


His progress— heart and foot mnst fail 


Hovers, 'umm |.iiy :iiiil remorse." 


Yon upmost cra^j's bare peak to scale." 


8 MS.—" As bursts the firin-lmft \ '" ' wrath." 

' IIS 1 


6 MS. — " Pereh'd like an eagle on its top, 
Balaiieed on its uncertain prop. 


3 MS.—" To his Ticrcp step :iii(l s;iuige sliont. 

Seems that tlie object of his * '^'^^'^ 
t (-iiase 


Just ns the perilous stretch he makes. 

By heaven, his tottering footstool shakes." 

T Opposite to this line, the MS. has this note, meant to 


Had scaled the clilTs ; Itis desperate chase." 


amuse Mr. Ballaiityne ; — " If my readers will not allow that I 


^ MS. — " A desperate leitp through empty air; 


have climbed Parnassus, they must grant that 1 have turned 


Hid in tlie cbpsoclni raiii-couree row." 


the Kittle A'ine Sfrjis/* — See note to Redgauutlet.' — IVavtrlty 


* MS.—" See, he emerges !— desperate now 


J^ooels, vol. x.\xv. p. G. 


Toward the naked beetling brow. 


b See Appendix, Note U. 



CANTO II. ROKEBY. 311 


She c.iuglit the morning's eastern red, 


That none should on his steps intrude, 


Anil througli the softcuing Tale below 


Whene'er he sought tliis sohtude. — 


RoU'il her bright waves, in roay glow. 


An aticient mariner I knew. 


All blushing to her bridal bed,' 


What time 1 sail'd with Morgan's crew. 


Like some shy maid iii convent bred ; 


Wlio oft, 'mid our carousals, spake 


While linnet, lai'k, and blackbird gay, 


Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake ; 


Sing forth her nuj^tial roundelay. 


Adventurous hearts ! who barter'd, bold, 




Their English steel for Sptinish gohl. 


XVII. 


Trust not, would his experience say. 


'Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 


Capt.ain or comrade with your prey ; 


Tiiat summer morn shone blithe and gay ; 


But seek some charnel, when, at fuU. 


But morning beam, and wihl-bii-d's call. 


The moon gilds skeleton and skull : 


Awaked not Morthani's silent hall.'' 


There dig, and tomb yoiu- precious heap ; 


Xo porter, by the low-brow'd gate. 


And bid the deadyonr treasure keep;' 


Took in the wonted niche liis seat ; 


Sure stewards they, li fitting spell 


To the paved court no peasant ib-ew ; 


Theu- service to the task compel. 


Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 


Lacks there such charnel ?— kill a slave,' 


Tlie maiden's carol was not heard. 


Or prisoner, on the treasure-grave ; 


As to her morning task she fared : 


And bid his discontented ghost 


Li the void offices around. 


Stalk nightly on his lonely post. — 


Rung not a hoof, nor bay'd a hound ; 


Such was the tale. Its truth, I ween. 


Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh. 


Is m my morning vision seen." 


Accused the lagging groom's delay ; 




Untrimm'd, undress'd, neglected now. 


XIX. 


Was alley'd walk and orch.ard bough : 


Wilfrid, who scorn'd the legend wild, 


All spoke the m.aster's absent care," 


In mingled mirth and pity smiled. 


All spoke neglect and disrepaii-. 


Much marvelling that a breast so bold 


South of the gate, an arrow flight. 


In such fond tale belief should hold ;' 


Two mighty elms their Umbs unite. 


But yet of Bertram sought to know 


As if a canopy to spread 


The apparition's form and show. — 


O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 


Tlie power within the gtiilty breast. 


For their huge boughs in arches bent 


Oft vanquish'd, never quite suppress'd, 


Above a massive monument. 


That unsubdued and lurkuig Uea 


Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise. 


To take the felon by surprise. 


With many a scutcheon and device : 


And force him, as by magic spell. 


There, spent with toil and smdi m gloom, 


In his despite his guilt to tell, — * 


Bertram stood pondermg by the tomb. 


That power in Bertram's breast awoke . 




Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke ; 


XVIII. 


" 'Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head ! 


" It vanish'd, lil;e a flitting ghost ! 


His morion, with the pimne of red. 


Behind tliis tomb," he said, " 'twas lost — 


His shape, liis mien — 'twas Mortham, right 


lliis tomb, where oft I deem'd Mes stored 


As when I .slew liim in the fight." 


Of Mortham's Indi:m wealth the hoard. 


" Thou slay lihn ? — thou ?" — With conscious start 


'Tis true, the aged sei-vants said 


He heard, then mann'd liis haughty heari — 


Here his lamented wife is laid ;* 


" I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 


But weightier reasons may be guess'd 


Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot. 


For their lord's strict and stern behest. 


But it is spoken — nor will I 


1 MS.—*' As some fair maid in cloister bred. 


t MS. — " Here lies the partner of his bed ; 


Is blusliiiig to her bridal led." 


But weightier reasons should appear 


3"Tiie beautiful prospect commanded by that eminence, 


For all his moonlight wanderings here. 


seen onder the cheerful light of a summer's moming, is finely 


And for the sharp rebuke they got. 


contrasted with the silence and solitude of the place."— Crifi- 


That pried aroond his favorite spot." 


eat fttview. 


6 See Appendi.1:, Note V. 


1 MS.—" All spoke the master absent far. 


'^ MS.—*' Lacks there such chamel-vault ? — a slava, 


All spoke !■«-"'<•" ^"''i civil war. 
I the woes of S 


Or prisoner, slaughter on the grave." 


' MS.—" Should faith in such a fable hold." 


Close by the gate, an arch combined. 


1 


Two hanghty elms their branches twined." 


6 See Appendix, Note W 



312 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii. 


Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 


" Go, and repent," — he said, " while time 


I slew him ; I ! for thankless pride ; 


la given thee ; add not crime to crime." 


'Twas by this liand that Mortham died 1" 






XXII 


XX. 


Mute, and uncertain, and amazed. 


"Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 


As on a vision Bertram gazed I 


Averse to every active part, 


'Twas Mortham 's bearing, bold and high.* 


But most averse to martial broU, 


His sinewy frame, his falcon eve, 


From danger shrunk, and turn'd from toil ; 


His look and accent of command, 


Yet the meek lover of the lyre 


The martial gesture of liis hand, 


Nursed one brave .spark of noble fire, 


His stately form, spm-e-built and tall. 


Against injustice, fraud, or wrong. 


His war-bleach'd locks — 'twas Mortham all. 


His blood beat high, his hand wax'd stro'^g. 


Throug'h Bertram's dizzy brain career'' 


Not bis the nerves that could sustain. 


A thousand thoughts, and aU of fe.ar; 


Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain ; 


His wavering faith received not quite 


But, when that spark blazed forth to flame," 


The form he saw as Morthjim's sprite. 


He rose superior to his frame. 


But more he fear'd it, if it stood 


And now it came, that generous mood ; 


His lord, in living flesh and blood. — 


And, in full current of his blood, 


"WTiat spectre can the charnel send, 


On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 


So dreadful as an injured friend ? 


Placed lii'm his foot, and di'ew his brand. 


Then, too, the habit of conmaand, 


" Should every fiend, to whom thou'rt 


Used by the leader of the baud. 


sold, 


"When Risingham, for many a day, 


Eise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 


Had march'd aud fought beneath liis sway. 


Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 


Tamed him — and, with reverted face. 


Attach the miu-derer of your Lord !" 


Backwards he bore his sullen pace f 




Oft stopp'd, and oft on Mortham stai'cd. 


XXI. 


And dark as rated mast ifi" glared; 


A moment, fix'd as by a spell, 


But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 


Stood Bertram — It seem'd miracle. 


Pltmged m the glen, and disappear'd ; — 


That one so feeble, soft, and tame. 


Nor longer there the "W^irrior stood, 


Set grasp on warlike Risingham.^ 


Rething eastward through the wood ;' 


But when he felt a feeble stroke,^ 


But fu'st to "Wilfrid warning gives. 


The fiend witliin the ruffian woke ! 


" Tell thou to none that Mortham hves 


To WTench the sword from Wilfrid's hand, 




To dash him headlong on the sand, 


XXIII . 


Was but one moment's work, — one more 


StiU rung these words in "Wilfrid's ear. 


Had drench'd the blade in "Wilfrid's gore : 


Hinting he knew not what of fear ; 


But, in the instant it arose. 


"When nearer came the coursers' tread, 


To end his Ufe, his love, liis woes. 


And, with liis father at their head. 


A warlike form, that mark'd the scene. 


Of horsemen arm'd a gallant power 


Presents his rapier sheathed between. 


Rem'd up their steeds before the tower. 


Parries the fast-descending blow, 


'• "Whence these pale looks, my son ?" he said : 


And steps 'twixt "Wilfrid and his foe ; 


"Wliere's Bertram ?— "Why that naked blade*' — 


Nor then unscabbarded liis brand. 


Wilfrid ambiguously rephed 


But, sternly pnmting with his hand, 


(For Mortham's charge his honor tied). 


"With monarch's voice forbade the fight, 


" Bertram is gone — the villain's word 


An<l motion'd Bertram from his sight. 


Avouch'd liim murderer of his lord ! 


1 MS. — " Bui, when blazed forth that noble flame." 


< MS.—" 'Twas Mortham's spare and sinewy frame, 


" '■ The sudden impression made on the mind of Wilfrid by 


His falcon eye. his glance of flame " 


this avowal, is one of the happiest touches of moral poetry. 


fi MS.—" A thousand thoughts, and all ot fear, 


The effect which the unexpected burst of indignation and 


Dizzied his brain in wild career; 


valor produces on Bertram, is as finely imagined." — Critical 


Doubting, and not receiving quite. 


Revitiw. — " This most animating scene is a worthy companion 


The form he saw as Mortham's sprite. 


to the rencounter of Fitz-James and Roderick Dhn, in the 


Still more he fear'd it. if it stood 


Lady of the Lalve." — Montfi/y Review. 


His living lord, in flesh and blood." 


« MS. — " At length, at slight and feeble stroke, 


« MS.—" Slow he retreats with sullen pace." 


1 fiend 1 


' MS. — " Retiring through the thickest wood." 


That razed the skin, his } J awoke." 


B MS. — " ^ein'd UD tJieir steeds by Mortham tower. 



ROKEBY. 



313 



Even now we fought — but, when your tread 

Announced you nigli, the felon fled.'' 

In WycUtfe's conscious eye appear 

A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 

On his pale brow the dewdrop broke. 

And hia hp quiver'd as he spoke : — 

XXIV. 

** A mxirderor ! — Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wilde.^t tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you ! 
Yet, grant such .strange confession true, 
Pursuit were vain — let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 
A gallant Youth rode near liis side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
That morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate. 
And foUow'd now in Wycliff'e's train, 
An answer for liis lord to gain. 
His steed, whose arch'd and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of fo.om bedeck, 
Chafed not against the curb more liigh 
Than he at Oswald's cold reply ; 
He bit liis hp, implored liis saint, 
(His the old faith) — then burst restraint. 

XXV. 

"Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall," 
By that base traitor's dastard ball. 
Just when I thought to measure sword. 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
And shall the mm'dcrer 'scape who slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and true ?* 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of liis gig;mtic pace ? 
Xo ! ere the sun that dew shall dry,3 
False Risingliam shall yield or die. — 
Ring out the castle 'laruni bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ride ! 
Beset the wood on every side. 
But if among you one there be, 
Tliat honors Mortham's memory. 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 

I MS.—" Yes ! I beheld Aim foully slain^ 
By that base traitor of his trflin." 

3 ^19. — " .^ knighty so genei-ous, brave and true." 

3 MS. *' that dew shall drain. 

False Rbingham shall be kill'd or ta'en." 

4 MS. — To the Printer. — "On the disputed line, it may 
st.tnd thus. — 

' Whoever finds liim, strike him dead ;' 
Or,— 

* Who first shall find liim. strike him dead.' 

But I think the addition of felon, or any such word, will im- 
pair the strcn'rth of the passage. Oswald is too anxious to 
4U 



Else on your crests sit fear and shame, 
And foul suspicion dog your name !" 

XXVI. 

Instant to earth young Red.mond sprung ■. 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wyclifl^'e's band, 
■Wlio waited not their lord's command. 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew. 
His mantle from liis shoulders threw, 
His pistols in liis belt he placed. 
The green-wood gain'd, the footsteps traced, 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
" To cover, hark !"— and in he bounds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry, 
" Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly — 
But ventm-e not, in useless strife, 
On ruflian desperate of his life. 
Whoever finds him, shoot him dead !' 
Five himdred nobles for liis head !" 

XXVII. 

The horsemen gaUop'd, to make good 

Each path that issued from the wood. 

Loud from the thickets rung the shout 

Of Redmond and his eager rout ; 

With them was Wilfrid, stung with ub, 

And envying Redmond's martial fire,'^ 

And emtdous of fame. — But where 

Is Oswald, noble Mortham's hen- ? 

He, bound by honor, law, and faitli, 

Avenger of his kinsman's death ? — 

Leaning against the elniin tree, 

With drooping head and slacken'd knet,, 

And clenched teeth, and close-clasp'd hancb, 

In agony of soul he stands ! 

His downcast eye on earth is bent. 

His soul to every sound is lent : 

For in each shout that cleaves the air, 

May ring discovery and despair.' 

XXVIIL 
What 'vail'd it him, that brightly play'd 
The morning sun on Mortham's glade 1 
All seems in giddy roiuid to niie, 



use epithets, and is hallooing after the men, by this time e. 
tering the wood. The simpler the line the better. In la^ 
humble opinion, shoot him dead, was much 'letter than any 
other. It implies. Do jtot even approach him; hill him at a 
distance. I leave it, however, to you, only saying, that 1 
never shun common words when they are to the purpose. As 
to your criticisms, X cannot but attend to them, because they 
teach passages with which I am myself discontented. — W. S." 
6 MS. — " Jealous of Retlmond's noble fire." 
8 " Opposed to this animated picture of ardent courage and 
ingenuous youth, that of a guilty conscience, which irnin^ 
diatcly follows, is indescribably terrible, and calculated to 
achieve the highest and noblest purposes of dramatic fiction.*' 
'—Critical Review. 



1 
314 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto in 


Like objects on a stormy tide, 


Unwilling takes his proffer'd aid, 


Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 


While conscious passion plainly speaks 


Imperfectly to sink and swim. 


In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 


What Vail'd it, that the fair domain. 


Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh, 


Its battled mansion, hill, and plain. 


And all her soul is in her eye ; 


On wliich the sun so brightly shone, 


Yet doubts she .still to tender free 


Envied so long, was now his own ?' 


The wonted words of courtesy. 


Tlie lowest dungeon, m that hour. 


These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore sigh. 


Of Brackenbury's dismal tower,' 


And wipe, effeminate, tiiine eye ! 


Had Ijeen liis choice, could such a doom 


Thine shall she be, if thou attend 


Uavc opcu'd Mortham's blooily tomb ! 


The counsels of thy sire and friend. 


Forced, too, to turn unwilhng ear 




To each surmise of hope or fear. 


XXXI. 


Murmur'd among the rustics round. 


" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light* 


Who gather'd at the 'larura sound ; 


Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 


He dared not turn liis head away. 


Brave CromweU turn'd the doubtful tide, 


E'en to look up to heaven to pray, 


And conquest bless'd the rightful side ; 


Or call on hell, in bitter mood. 


Three thousand cavaUers he dead. 


For one shai'p death-shot from the wood ! 


Rupert antl that bold Marquis fled ; 




Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 


XXIX. 


Must fine for freedom and estate. 


At length, o'erpast that dreadful space. 


Of these, committed to my charge, 


Back straggling came the scatter'd chase ; 


Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 


Jaded and weary, horse and man, 


Redmond, liis ])age, arrived to say 


Return'd the troopers, one by one. 


He readies Barnard's towers to-day. 


Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, 


Right heavy shall liis ransom be. 


AU trace was lost of Bertram's way, 


Unless that maid compound with thee !" 


Though Redmond still, up Brignal wood,' 


Go to her now — be bold of cheer, 


The hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 


While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear ; 


0, fatal doom of human race ! 


It is the very change of tide. 


What tyrant passions passions chase I 


When best the female heart is tried — 


Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone. 


Pride, prejudice, and modesty. 


Avarice and pride resume their throne ;' 


Are in the current swept to sea ;' 


The pang of instant terror by. 


And the bold swain, who phes his oar, 


They dictate us their slave's reply : — 


May lightly row his bark to shore." 


XXX. 

" Ay — let Iiim range like hasty hound ! 






And if the grim wolf's Ian- be found. 


Rolicbg. 


Small is my care how goes the game 


With Redmond, or with Rishigham. — 
Xay, an.swer not, thou simple boy I 
Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
To thee, is of another mood 






CANTO THIRD. 




To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 


I. 


Thy ditties will she freely praise, 


The hunting tribes of air and earth 


And pay thy pains with courtly phrase 


Respect the brethren of their birth ;* 


In a rough path will oft command — 


Nature, wlio h)ves the clauu of kind, 


Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 


Less cruel chase to each assign'd. 


His she avoids, or, m'ged and pray'd, 


The falcon, poised on soaring w ing, 


1 " The contrast of the beautiful morning, and the prospect 


Now nurses more ambitious sc.ieiiips." 


of the rich domain of >'ortIiam, which Oswald was come to 


6 MS.— "Tliis Redmond brought, at peep of light, 


Beixe, with the dark remorse and misery of hig mind, ia powei^ 


The news of Marston's happy fight." 


fully represented: (.Vou domus ct fundus I'^ &c. Sec.) — • 


c See Appendix, Note Y. 


Monthly Review. 


1 MS. — " In the warm ebb are swept lo sea." 


2 See Appendi-K, Note X. 


8 MS.—" The """^ ' inlies of eiirth and air. 


3 " Though Redmond still, as uusubdoed." 


meaner S ' 


» Tne MS. adds :— 


In the wild chasR tlicir kindred spare.* 


" Of MortJiam'p treasure now he dreams, 


Ttic :t> ' 3 couplet in rj.o'aied. 



CANTO III. ROKEBY. 315 


Watches tlie wild-duck by the spring ; 


These arts he proved, his life to save, 


The slo-w-liound walio^ tlie fox's hiir ; 


In peril oft by land and wave, 


Tlie greyhuund presses on the hare ; 


On Arawac.a's desert shore. 


The eagle pounces on the hirab ; 


Or where La Plata's billows roar. 


The wolf devours the fleecy dam: 


Wlien oft the sons of vengeful Spain 


Even tiger fell, and sullen bear. 


Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. . 


Their Ukeness and their lineage spare. 


These arts, in Indian warfare tried, 


Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan. 


Must save him now by Greta's side. 


And turns the fierce pursuit on man; 


■ 


Plying war's desultory trade, 


IV. 


Incursion, flight, and ambuscade," 


'Twas then, in hour of utmost need. 


Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son, 


He proved his courage, art, and speed. 


At first the bloody game begun. 


Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace. 




Now started forth in rapid race. 


II. 


Oft doubling back in mazy train, 


Tlie Indian, prowling for liis prey, 


To blind the trace the dews retain :* 


M^io hears the settlers track his way, 


Now clombo the rocks projecting high, 


And knows in distant forest far 


To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 


Camp liis red brethren of the war ; 


Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 


He, when each double and disguise 


Tlie echo of Iiis footsteps drovm'd. 


To baffle the pursuit he tries. 


But if the forest verge he nears, 


Low crouchhi^ now his head to hide. 


There trample steeds, .and glimmer spears 


Where swampy streams through rushes glide,^ 


If deeper down the copse he drew. 


Now covering with the wither'd leaves 


He heard the rangers' loud halloo. 


The foot-prmts that the dew receives;^ 


Beating each cover while they came. 


He, skill'd in every silvan guile. 


As if to start the silvan game. 


Ivuows not, nor tries, such various wile, 


'Twas then — hke tiger close beset' 


As Risingham, when on the wind 


At every pass with toil and net, 


Arose the loud pursuit behind. 


'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare. 


In Redesdale his youth had heard 


By clashing arms and torches' flare, 


Each art her wily dalesmen dared. 


Who meditates, with furious bound. 


When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high. 


To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, — ' 


To bugle rung and blood-homid's cry,* 


'Twas then that Bertr.am's soul arose. 


Announcing Jeilwood-axe and spear. 


Prompting to rush upon his foes : 


And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 


But as that crouching tiger, cow'd 


And well his venturous hfe had proved 


By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd, 


The lessons that Ills childhood loved. 


Retreats beneath the jungle's sliroud, 




Bertram suspends his purpose stern. 


m. 


And couches in the brake and fern, 


oft had he shown, in climes afar, 


Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 


Each attribute of roving war ; 


The sparkle of his swarthy eye." 


The sharpen'd ear. the piercing eye, 




Tlie quick resolve in danger nigh ; 


V. 


The speed, that in the flight or chase, 


Then Bertram might the bearing trace 


Outstripp'd the Charib's rapid race ; 


Of the bold youth who led the chase ; 


Tlie steady brain, the sinewy hmb. 


Who pauseil to list for every sound. 


To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 


Climb every height to look around. 


Tlie iron frame, inured to bear 


Then rushing on with naked sword, 


Each dire mclemency of air. 


Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 


Nor less confirm'd to undergo 


'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ; 


Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 


Twaa Redmond — by the locks that fly 


1 MS.—" Invasion, flight, and ambuscade." 


And oft. like tiger loil-beset. 


^ MS. — " Where tlie slow waves tlirough rashes glide." 


That in each pass finds foe and net," Aco. 


^ J^ee Appendix, Note Z. 


' In the MS. the stanza concludes thus : 


* See Appendix, Note 2 A. 


" Suspending yet his purpose stem. 
He conch'd him in the brake and fern ; 


3 M.^, — 'Adhere tnir.es in the dew remain." 


Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 1 


•* MS. — " And olt his soul within him rose. 


The sparkle of his swarthy eve ' 


Prompting to rush upon his foes. 


» See Appendix, Note 2 B. 



816 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto 


III. 


Disorder'd from his glowing clieek ; 


Thu.s, circled in his coil, the snake, 




Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak. 


When roTUig hunters beat the brake, 




A form more active, light, and strong, 


Watches with red and ghsteuing eye. 




Ne'er shot the ranks of wiu- along ; 


Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh. 




The modest, yet the manly mien, 


With forked tongue and veuom'd fang 




Might grace the court of maiden queen ; . 


Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 




A face more fair you well might find,' 


But if the intruders turn aside, 




For Redmond's knew the sun and wind, 


Away Ills coils unfolded glide, 




Nor boasted, from their tinge when free. 


And through the deep savannah wind. 




The charm of regularity ; 


Some undisturb'd retreat to find. 




But every feature had the power 






To aid the expression of the hour : 


VII. 




AVliether gay wit, and humor sly. 


But Bertram, as he backward drew, 




Diuiced laughing m his light-blue eye ; 


And heard the loud piu-suit renew. 




Or bended brow, and glance of fire. 


And Redmond's hollo on the wind. 




And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 


Oft mutter'd in his savage muid — 




Or soft and sadden'd glances show 


" Redmond O'Neale 1 were thou and I 




Her ready sym])athy with woe ; 


Alone this day's event to try. 




Or in that wayward mood of mind, 


With not a second here to see. 




When various feelings are combined. 


But the gray cliff and o.aken tree, — 




When joy and sorrow mingle near. 


That voice of thine, that shouts so loud. 




And liope's bright wings are check'd by fear; 


Should ne'er repeat its summons proud 1 




And rising doubts keep transport down, 


No ! nor e'er try its meltuig power 




And anger lends a short-lived frown ; 


Again in maiden's summer bower." 




In that strange mood which maids approve 


Eluded, now behind him die. 




Even when they dare not call it love ; 


Faint and more faint, each hostile cry ; 




With every change his features play'd. 


He stands in Scargill wood alone, 




As aspens show the light and shade.'' 


Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Thau the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry, 




VI. 


Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 




Well Risingham young Redmond knew ; 


And on the dale, so lone and wild. 




And much he marvell'd that the crew, 


The summer sun in quiet smiled. 




Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, 






Were by that Mortham's foeman led ; 


VIII. 




For never felt his soul the woe. 


He hsten'd long with anxious heart. 




That wails a generous foeman low. 


Ear bent to liear, and foot to start,'' 




Far less that sense of justice strong. 


And, while his stretch'd attention glows, 




That wi-eaks a generous foeman's wrong. 


Refused his weary fratne repose. 




But small his leisure now to pause ; 


'Twas silence all — he laid him down. 




Redmond is first, whate'er the cause :' 


Wliere purple heath profusely strown. 




And twice that Redmond came so near 


And throatwort, with its azure bell,* 




Where Bertram couch'd like hunted deer, 


And moss and thyme liis cusliion swell. 




The very boughs his steps displace 


Tliere, spent with toil, he listless eyed 




Rustled against tlie ruffian's face. 


Tlie course of Greta's phxyful tide ; 




Wl>o, desperate, twice prepared to start, 


Beneath, her banks now eddying dun. 




And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 


Now brightly gleaming to tlie sun. 




But Redmond tum'd a different way, 


As, dancing over rock ami stone. 




And the bent boughs resumed their sway. 


In yellow light her currents shone. 




And Bertram held it wise, unseen. 


Matching in hue tlie favoiite gem 




Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 


Of Albin'a mountain-diadem. 




1 These six coupler were ol'ten quoted by the late Lord 


" MS. — " The chase he heads, whate'er the cause." 




Kiniieililer as giving, in Ins tuiinion, an excellent portrait of 
the author liimsRlf. — Rd. 


AUC* it H....I K-«^l,n t^ .^Ari^a 




4 i*lO. and limus 10 Siarl, 

And, while liis slretcliM .■iltenlion glows. 




2 In the MS. this image eomes after the line " to aid the ex- 


Scarce felt his weary Tranie repose." 




pression of the hour," and the couplet stands : 


5 The Campanula Lntifolia, granJ throatwort. or Canter 1 




bury bells, grows in profusion ujmn the beautiful b;mks (/ 


tha 


" And like a flexile aspen play'd 


river Greta, where it divitles the manors of Brigiiall and Scar [ 


Alternately in light and shade." 


gill, about three miles above Greta Bridge. 





CANTO III. 



ROKEBY. 



317 



Then, tired to watch the current's play. 

He tuni'd liis weary eyes away, 

To where the bank opposing show"<l 

Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood.- 

One, prominent above tlie rest, 

Re:u''d to the sun its p:ile gray breast ; 

Around its broken summit grew 

Tlie hazel rude, and sable yew ; 

A thousand varied lichens dyed 

Its waste and weatiier-beaten side, 

And round its rugged basis lay, 

By time or thunder rent .away, 

Fr.igments, that, from its frontlet torn, 

Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 

Such was the scene's wild majesty. 

That fill'd stern Bertram's gazing eye.' 

IX. 

In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
Revolving, in his stormy mind, 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, 
His patron's blood by treason spilt ; 
A crime, it seem'd, so dire and dread, 
That it had power to wake the dead 
Then, pondering on his Kfe betrayed' 
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade. 
In ti eacherous purpose to witlihold. 
So seem'd it, Mortham's promised gold, 
A deep and full revenge he vow'd 
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud ; 
Revenge on "Wilfrid^-on his sire 
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire ! — 
If in such mood (as legends say, 
And well believed that simple day), 
Tlie Enemy of Man has power 
To profit by the evil hour, 
Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge !* 
But though liis vows, with such a fire 
Of earnest and intense desire 
For vengeance dark and fell, were made,^ 
As well might reach hell's lowest shade, 
No deeper clouds the grove embrown'd, 
No nether thunders shook the ground ; — 
The demon knew his vassiil's heart. 
And spiued temptation's needless art." 



iMS.- 



'show'd, 



With many a rocky fragment rode, 
Its old gray cliffs and shaggy wood." 

5 Tho MS. adds : 

" Yet as he gazed, he fail'd to find 
According image tonch his mind." 
a MS — "Then thought he on his life betray'd." 
* See Appendi.x, Note 2 C. 

6 MS. — " For deep and dark revenge were made. 

As well might wake hell's lowest shade." 
" " Bertram is now alone : the landscape around is tmly 
grand, partially illuminated by the son ; and we are reminded 



Oft, mingled with tho direful theme. 

Came Mortham's form — Was it a dream f 

Or had he seen, in vision true, 

That very Mortham whom he slew ? 

Or liad in living flesh appoar'd 

The only man on earth ho fear'd ? — 

To try the mystic cause intent. 

His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, 

'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance. 

Like stmbeam flash'd from sword or lance. 

At once he started as for fight, 

But not a foeman was in sight ;' 

He heard tho cushat's murmm- hoarse, 

He heard the river's sounding coiu'se ; 

Tho solit.ary woodlands lay. 

As slumbering in the summer ray. 

He gazed, like lion roused, around. 

Then sunk again upon the ground. 

'Twas but, he thouglit, some fitful beam, 

Glanced sudden from tiie sparkling stream; 

Then plunged him from his gloomy train 

Of iU-connected thoughts again, 

Until a voice behind liim cried, 

" Bertram ! well met on Greta side." 

XI. 

Instant his sword was in his hand, 

As instant sunk the ready brand ; 

Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 

To him tliat issued from the wood: 

" Guy Denzil ! — is it tliou ?" he said ;- 

" Do we two meet in Scargill shade ! — 

St.and back a space ! — thy purpose show, 

Whether thou comest as friend or foe. 

Report hath said, that Denzil's name 

From Rokeby's band was razed with shame." — 

" A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 

Who told liis knight, in peevish zeal. 

Of my marauding on the clowns 

Of Calverley and Bradford downs.' 

I reck not. In a war to strive. 

Where, save the leaders, none can thrive. 

Suits ill my mood ; and better game 

Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same 

Unscruptdous, bold Risingham," 

of the scene in The Robbers, in which something of a siniihr 
contrast is exhibited between the beauties of external nature 
and the agitations of human passion, ft is in such ])icltirca 
that Mr. Scott delights and excels." — Monthly Review. One 
is surprised that the reviewer did not quote Milton rathel 
than Schiller : 

" The fiend 

Saw nndclighted all delight."— Ed. 

' MS. — " Look'd round — no foeman was in sight ' 

f See .\ppendix. Note 2 D. 

8 MS. — " Unscrupulous, gallant Risingham.* 



318 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO in. 



Who wateh'd with me in midnight dark, 


XIV. 


To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 


With wonder Bertram heard witliin 


How think'st thou ?" — " Speak thy purpose out ; 


The flinty rock a murmuj''d din ; 


I lore not mystery or doubt." — ' 


But when Guy pull'd the wilding spray. 




And brambles, from its base away,'' 


XII. 


He saw, appearing to the air. 


"Then Hst.— Not far there lurk a crew 


A little entrance, low and square, 


Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, 


Like opening cell of hermit lone. 


Gleau'd from both factions — Roundheads, freed 


Dark, winding through the living stone. 


prom cant of sermon and of creed ; 


Here enter'd DenzU, Bertram here ; 


And Cav.aliers, whose souls, like mine, 


And loud and louiler ou their ear, 


Spui'n at the bonds of discipline. 


As from the bowels of the earth, 


Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 


Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 


A warfare of our own to hold, 


Of old, the cavern strait and rude, 


Than breathe our last on battle-down, 


In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 


For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 


And Brignall's woods, and ScargiU's, wave, 


Our schemes ai-e laid, our purpose set, 


E'en now, o'er many a sister cave," 


A cliief and leader lack we yet. — 


■Where, far within the darksome rift. 


Thou art a wanderer, it is s;ud ; 


The wedge and lever ply their thi-ift. 


For Mortham's death, thy steps waylaid,' 


But war had silenced rural trade, 


Thy head at price — so say om* spies, 


And tlie deserted mine was made 


Who range the valley in disguise. 


The bancjuet-hall and fortress too. 


Join then with us : — though M'ild debate 


Of Denzil and his desperate crew. — 


And wrangling rend om" inf;mt state, 


There Guilt his anxious revel kept ; 


Each to an equal loth to bow. 


There, on his sordid pallet, .slept 


Win yield to chief renown'd as thou." — 


Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd 




Still in liis slumbering grasp retam'd ; 


XIIL 


Regret was there, his eye stiU cast 


** Even now," thought Bertram, passion-stirr'd. 


With vain repining on the past ; 


" I caU'd on hell, and hell has heard P 


Among the feasters waited near 


What lack I, vengeance to command. 


Sorrow, and umepentant Fear, 


But of stanch coini-ades such a band ?^ 


And Blasphemy, to phrensy driven. 


This Denzn, vow'd to every evil 


With his own crimes reproaching heaven ; 


Might read a lesson to the devU. 


While Bertram show'd, amid the crew. 


Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 


The Master-Fiend that Milton drew. 


Shall serve as my revenge's tool."— 




Aloud, "I take thy proffer, Guy, 


XV. 


But tell me where thy coim-ades lie i" — 


Hark ! the loud revel wakes again. 


" Not far from hence," Guy Deuzil said ; 


To greet the leader of the train. 


" Descend, and cross the river's bed. 


Behold the group by the pale lamp. 


Where rises yonder cliff so gray." — 


That struggles with the earthy damp. 


*' Do thou," said Bertnuu, '' lead the wav." 


By what str.ange features Vice hath known. 


Tlien mutter'd, " It is best make sure ; 


To single out and mark her own ! 


Guy Denzil's faith was never pm-e." 


Tet some there are, whose brows retain 


He follow'd down the steep descent. 


Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain. 


Tlien through the Greta's streams they went ; 


See yon pale striplmg !° when a boy. 


.'Vnd, when they reach'd the f:u-ther shore. 


A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 


■Phcy stood the lonely cUff before. 


Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined. 


' MS. — " Thy head at price, thy steps waylaid." 


acters of the drama, had not one of its subordinate personages 


' "I bat half wish'd 


been touched with a force of ima^'inalion, which renders it 


To see the devil, and he's here already." — Otwav 


worthy even of prominent regard and attention. The poet has 


» MS. — " What lack 1, my revenue to quench, 


just presented us with the picture 01 a K'l'i-I of banilitti, on 


But such a band of comrades stanch ?' ' 


which he has bestowed some of the most gloomy coloring of 


* MS. — " But when Guy Denzil pull'd the spray. 


his powerful pencil. In the midst of this horrible gronp, is 


And brambles, from its roots away. 


distinguished the exquisitely natural and interesting portrait 


He saw, forth issuing to the air." 


which follows : — 


» See Appendix, Note 2 E. 


' See yon pale stripling !' &c." 


• " We should here have concluded our remarks on the char- 


Critical Review, 



' *NTO III. 



ROKEBY. 



319 



An early image fills his mind : 

The cottage, once liis sire's, he sees, 

Embower'd upon the banks of Tees ; 

He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, 

And shares the dance on Gainford-greeu. 

A tear is springing — but the zest 

Of some wild tale, or brutal jest. 

Hath to loud laughter stu-r'd the rest. 

On him the}- call, the aptest nuite 

For jovial song and merry feat : 

Fast flies his dreain— with dauntless air. 

As one victorious o'er Despair, 

He bids the ruddy cup go round. 

Till sense and sorrow both are drown'd ; 

And soon, in merry wassail, he,' 

The life of all their revehy. 

Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found 

Her blossoms on the wildest ground, 

'Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd. 

Themselves all profitless and rude. — 

■With desperate merriment he sung. 

The cavern to the chorus rung: 

Tet mingled with his reckless glee 

Remorse's bitter agony. 

XVI. 
Sonfl.' 
0, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 

And Greta woods ai'e green. 
And you may gather garlands there, 

Would grace a summer queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton-liall, 

Beneath the turi'ets high, 
A Maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

'■ 0, Brignall banks are fresh and fan-, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 

Thau reign our English queen." — 

" If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me. 
To leave both tower and town. 

Thou first must guess what hfe lead we. 
That dwell by dale and down ? 



' MS. — " And soon tlie londest \va5=.iiler he, 
And life of all their revelry." 

3 Scott revisited Rokeby in 1812, for the purpose of refresh- 
ing his memory; and Mr. Morritl says. — " 1 had, of course, 
had many jirevious opportunities of testing the almost con- 
scientious liilelity of his local ilescriptioiis ; but i could not 
help being singularly strock with the lights which this visit 
threw on that characteristic of his compositions The mom- 
jng after he arrived he said, ' Vou have often given me mate- 
rials for romance — now I want a good robber's cave and an old 
church of the right sort.' We rode out, and be found what he 
wanted in the ancient slate quarries of Brignall and the ruined 
Abbey of Egliston. I observed him noting down even the 
peculiar little wild-llowera and herbs that accidentally grew 



And if thou canst that riddle read. 

As read fuU well you may. 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou 
speeii, 

As blithe as Queen of May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Eihnund there, 

Than reign om' EngHsh queen. 

XVII. 
" I read you, by your bugle-horn, 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn. 

To keep the king's greenwood." — 
" A Ranger, lady, winds his horn. 

And 'tis at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry mom 

And mine at dead of night." — 

CHORUS. 

Tet simg she, " BrignaU banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I woidd I were with Edmund there. 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

" With bm-nish'd brand and musketoon. 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum." — 
" I list no more the tuck of drum. 

No more the trumpet hear ; 
But when the beetle soimds his hiun. 

My comrades take the spear. 

CHORUS. 

" And, ! though Brignall banks be fair. 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Tet mickle must the maiden dare. 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

XVIII. 
" Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I'U die ; 
The fiend, whose lantern Mghts the mead,' 

Were better mate than I ! 



round and on the side of a bold crag near his intended cave »( 
Guy Denzil ; and could not help saying, that as he was not U) 
be upon oath in his work, daisies, violets, and primroses would 
be as poetical as any of the humble plants he was examining. 
1 laughed, in short, at his scrupulousness, but I understood 
liim when he replied, 'that in nature herself no two scenes 
were exactly alike, and that whoever copied truly what was 
before his eyes, would possess the same variety in his descrip- 
tions, and exhibit apparently an imagination as boundless a« 
the range of nature in the scenes he recorded ; whereas — who- 
ever trusted to imagination, would soon find his own mini! 
circumscribed, and contracted to a few favorite images **— 
Life of Scut, vol. iv. p. 19. 
3 M3. — " The goblin-light on fen or mead." 



320 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto hi. 




And when Pm with my comrades met,' 


He blush'd to thuik, that he should seem 


Buueath the greenwood bough, 


Assertor of an airy dream. 




' What once we were we all forget. 


And gave hi^ wrath another theme. 




' Nor think what we are now. 


" Denzil," he says, '* though lowly laid. 




CHORUS. 


Wrong not the memory of the dead ; 




" Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 


For, wliile he Uved, at Mortham's look 




And Greta woods are green, 


Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 




And you may gather garlands there 


And when lie tax'd thy breach of word 




Woidd grace a summer queen." 


To yon iiiir Rose of AUenford, 

I saw thee crouch I'lke chasten'd hoimd,^ 




Wlien Edmund ceased his simple song, 


Whose back the huntsman's lash hath 




Was silence on the sullen tlu-ong. 


foimd. 




Till waked some ruder mate their glee 


Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 




With note of coarser minstrelsy. 


The spoil of phacy or stealth ; 




But, far apart, in dark divan. 


He won it bravely with his brand. 


1 


Denzil and Bertram many a plan. 


When Spain waged warfare with oiu- land.' 


1 


Of import fold and fierce, design'd. 


Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer. 




While still on Bertram's grasping mind 


Kor couple Bertram's name with fear ; 




Tlie wealtli of murder'd Mortham hung ; 


Mine is but half the demon's lot. 




Tliough half he fear'd his daring tongue. 


For I believe, but tremble not. — 




When it alioidd give his wishes birth,'^ 


Enough of this. — Say, why tliis hoard 




Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 


Tliou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored ; 
Or, think'st that Mortham would bestow 


1 

1 


XIX. 


His treasure with his faction's foe ?" 




At length his wondrous tale he told : 






When, scornful, smiled his comrade bold ; 


XXI. 




For, train'd in license of a court. 


Soon queneh'd w.as Denzil's ill-timed mirth ; 




Religion's self was DenzU's sport ; 


Rather he would have seen the earth 


1 


Then judge in what contempt he held 


Give to ten thousand spectres bu-th. 




The visionary tales of eld 1 


Than veutm-e to awake to flame 




His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd 


The deadly wratli of Risingham. 




The unbeliever's sneermg jest. 


Submiss he answer'd, — " Mortham's mind, 




■' 'Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seer,' 


Thou know'st, to joy was iU inclined. 




To speU the subject of yoiu- fear ; 


In youth, 'tis said, a gaUant free, 




Nur do I boast tlie art renowu'd. 


A lusty reveller was lie ; 




Vision and omen to e.xpomid. 


But since return'd from over sea," 




Yet, faith if I must needs afford 


A sullen and a silent mood 




To spectre watcliing treasured hoard. 


Hath nunib'd the current of his blood. 




As bandog keeps his master's roof. 


Hence he refused each kindly caU 




Bidding tlie plunderer stand aloof, 


To Rokeby's hospitable had, 




This dou^t remains — thy goblin gaunt 


And our stout knight, at dawn of morn 




Hatli chosen iU his ghostly haunt ; 


■ftlio loved to hear the bugle-horn, 




For why his guard on Mortliani hold, 


Nor less, when eve liis oaks embrown'd. 




Wlien Rokeby castle liath the gold 


To see the ruddy cup ^.-o round, 




Tliy patron won on Indian soil,^ 


Took umbrage that a friend so near 




By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ?" 


Refused to sliare liis chase and cheer ; 
Thus did the kindred barons jar. 




XX. 


Ere they divided m the war. 




At this he paused — for angry shame 


Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fan- 




Lower'd on the brow of Risingham. 


Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." — 


t 


MS. — " And were I with my true love set 


Dark dreams and omens to expoand. 




Under tlie greenwood bongh, 


Yet, if ray faith I must afford,' " &o 




What once I was she must forget. 


* MS. " hath his gold. 




Nor think what I am now." 


The gold he won on Indian soil." 




MS. "give the project birth.'* 


5 MS.. " like rated hound." 




' MS. — " ' 'Twere hard, my friend,' he said, ' to spell 


s Pee Appendix, Note 2 F. 




Tile morning vision that you tell ; 


T MS. " Denzil's mood of mirth , 




Nor am I seer, for art renown'd, 


He would have rather seen the earth," &o. 





CANTO III. 



ROKEBY. 



321 



XXII. 

'• Destiued to Iier ! to yon slight maid I 
Tlie prize my life had welluigli jjaid, 
AVhou "gainst Lavocho, by Cayo's wave, 
I fought my patron's wealth to save ! — ' 
Duiizil, I know Iiim long, yet ne'er 
Knew liim tliat joyous cavaUer, 
Wiom youthful friends and early fame 
Call'i! soul of gaUantry and game. 
A moody man, he i^ought our crew. 
Desperate juid dark, wliom no one knew ; 
And rose, as men with us must rise. 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he roved, 
As danger for itself he loved ; 
On Ills sad brow nor mh'th nor wine 
Could e'er one wriukled knot untwine ; 
111 was the omen if he smiled. 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
But when he laugh'd, each luckless mate 
Slight Iiold our fortune desperate.' 
Foremost he fought in every broil. 
Then scornful turn'd him from the spoil ; 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching, even then, to such as we, 
Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
Of mercy and Immanity. 

XXIII. 
" 1 loved him well : his fearless part. 
His gallant leaduig, won my heart. 
And after each victorious fight, 
'Twas I that wrangled for his right,* 
Redeem'd his portion of the prey 
Tliat greedier mates had torn away : 
In field and storm thi'ice saved his life. 
And once iunid our comrades' strife. — * 
Yes, I have loved thee 1 Well hath proved 
My toU, my danger, how I loved ! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
Xngrate in life, in death ingrate. 
Rise if thou canst !" he look'd around, 
And sternly stamp'd upon the ground — 
" Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
Even as this mom it met mine eye, 

1 Tlie MS. has not this couplet. 

• " There was a laughing devil in his sneer, 
That raised emotions both of rage and fear ; 
.\nd where his frown of hatred darkly fell, 
Hope withering fled — and Mercy sigh'd farewell." 

Bvro-n's Works, vol. ix. p. 272. 

s MS.—" And when j ' ( hloody 6ght was done 
' his J 

I wrangled for the share he won." 
< See Appendix. Note 2 G. 
MS. — "To thee, my friend, I need not tell, 

What thou hast cause to know so well." 
^ MS — " Around thy captain's moody mind." 
41 



And give me, if thou darcst, the lie !" 
He paused — tlien, calm and passion-freed. 
Bade Denzil witli his tale proceed. 

XXIV. 
" Bertram, to.tltee I need not tell. 
What thou liast cause to wot so well,' 
How Superstition's nets were twined 
Around the Lord of Mortham's mind !' 
But since he drove thee from his tower, 
A maid he found in Greta's bower, 
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway, 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved 
Remembrance of the wife he loved ; 
But he would gaze upon her eye, 
Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. 
He, whom no livmg mortal sought 
To question of his secret thought, 
Now every thought .and care confess'd 
To his fiiu- niece's faithful breast ; 
Nor was there aught of rich and rare. 
In earth, m ocean, or in air, 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still bound limi unto life f 
But then awoke the civil strife. 
And menials bore, by his commands, 
Three coffers, with their iron bands. 
From Mortham's vaidt, at midnight dee{j, 
To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride,' 
His gift, if he in battle died." — 

XXV. , 

" Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, 
These non-banded chests to gain ; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here,' 
Where many a peril waits him near. 
For all his feats of war and peace. 
For plunder'd boors, and harts of greese !'° 
Since through the hamlets as he fared, 
What he.arth lias Guy's marauding spared. 
Or where the chase that hath not rung" 
With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung ?"- - 
" I hold my wont — my rangers go. 
Even now, to track a milk-white doe." 

' MS. — *' But it must he Matilda's share 

This, too, still hound him unto life." 
8 MS. — " From a strong vault in Mortham lower, 

In secret to Matilda's bower. 

Ponderous with ore and gems of pride.** 
• MS. — " Tlien may I goess thou hast some train. 

These iron-handed chests to gain ; 

Else, why should Denzil hover heie." 
w Deer in season. 
" MS. " that doth not know 

The midnight clang of Denzil's tow. 

— I hold my sport," &c. 
■? See Appendii, Note 2 H. 



322 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO lU. 



By Rokeby-hall she tates her lair, 

In Greta wood she )iarbors fair, 

And wlien my Imntsman marks her way. 

What tliink'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 

Were Rukeby's daughter in our power. 

We rate her ransom at her dower." — 

XXVI. 

■' 'Tis well ! — there's vengeance in the thought ; 

Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 

And hot-brain'd Redmond, too, 'tis said. 

Pays lover's homage to tlie maid. 

Bertram she scorn'd — If met by chance, 

She turu'd from me lier shuddering glance. 

Like a nice dame, that will not brook 

On what she hates and loathes to look ; 

Slie told to Mortham she could ne'er 

Behold me witliout secret fear. 

Foreboding evU ; — She may rue 

To find her prophecy fall true ! — 

The war has weeded Rokeby's train. 

Few followers m his halls remain ; 

If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold. 

We are enow to storm the hold, 

Bear off the plunder, and the dame, 

And leave the castle all in flame." — 

XXVII. 

" Still art thou Valor's venturous son ! 

Yet ponder first the risk to run : 

The menials of the castle, true, 

And stubborn to their charge, though few ;' 

The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 

The wickef-grate — the inner fosse" 

— " Fool ! if we blench for toys like these, 

On what fair guerdon can we seize P 

Our hardiest venture, to explore 

Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 

And the best prize we bear away, 

The earnings of his sordid d.ay." ^ 

" A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 

In sight of road more sure and fair, 

Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath. 

Or wantonness, a desperate path ? 

List, then ; — for vantage or assault. 

From gdded vane to duugeon-vault. 

Each pass of Bokcby -house I know : 

There is one postern, dark aud low, 

1 MS. — " Tlie menials of the castle few. 

But stubborn to their charge, and true." 
3 MS. — " What prize of vantage sliall we seize 1" 
3 MS. — " Tliat issues level with llie moat * 
* MS.— " I care not ifa fox I wind." 

5 .MS. " our merry-men again 

Are frolicking in blithesome strain." 
« MS. — '• A langhing eye, a dauntless mien." 
T MS. — '■ 'I'" Ihc PrinU-r : — The abruptness as to the song is 
jnavoiilable. The music of the (Iriiiking party could only oper- 



That issues at a secret spot,' 
By most neglected or forgot. 
Now, could a spial of om- train 
On fair pretex t admittance gain, 
That sally-port might be unbarr'd : 
Then, vain were battlement and ward !"■ 

xxvin. 

" Now speak'st thou well : — to me the same, 
If force or art shall urge the game ; 
Indifferent, if like fox I wind,' 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But, hark ! our meixy-men so gay 
TroU forth another roundelay."' 

Soit(j. 
" A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A Ughtsome eye, a soldier's mien,' 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lmcoln-green, — 

No more of me you knew. 

My love ! 
No more of me you knew. 

" This mom is meiry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding faui ;' 
But she shall bloom m winter snow. 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake. 

Upon the river shore,' 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 

Said, " Adieu for evermore, 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." — ' 

XXIS. 
" What youth is this, your band among. 
The best for minstrelsy and song 3 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasm-e and regret." — 
" Edmond of Winston is his name ; 
Tlie hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes liis childhood gave, — 
Now center'd all in BrignaU cave ! 
I watch him well — his wayward coiu'se 

ale as a sudden interruption to Bertram's conversation, how- 
ever naturally it might be introdu.ec' among the fea^ters, who 
were at some distance. 

" Fain, in old English and Scotch, esi.resses, I think, a pro 
pensity to give and receive pleasurable emotions, i sort of fond 
ness which may. witliout harshness, 1 think, be applied to a 
rose in the act of blooming. You remember ' Jockey fow and 
Jenny fain.'— W. S." 

e MS.— " Upon the L*'''"",, N 
> Scottish * 

• See Appendi.^, Note 2 I. 



[ shore.' 



ROKEBY. 



323 



Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 

Some early love-sliaft grazed his heart,' 

And oft the scar will ache and smart. 

Yet is he useful ; — of the rest, 

By tits, the darling and the jest, 

His liarp, his story, and his lay, 

Oft aid the idle hours away :" 

Wlien unemploy'd, each fiery mate 

Is ripe for mutinous debate. 

He tuned his strmgs e"en now — again 

He wakes them, with a blither strain." 

XXX. 

Song. 

AI.LEN-.\-D.\LE. 

AUen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Tet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale I 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth' prances in pride. 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for liis net, and the land for his game. 
The chase for the wUd, and the park for the tame ; 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-dale ! 

AUen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, [bright ; 
Tliough his spm' be as sharp, and his blade be as 
Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 
Yet twenty tall yeomen* will draw at his word ; 
And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, 
Who at Rere-cross' on Stanmore meets Allen-a- 
Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 

Tlie mother, she aak'd of his household and home : 

" Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the 

hill. 
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter stiU ; 
'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so 

pale, [Dale. 

And with .xU its bright spangles!" said Alleu-a- 

Tlie father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
Tliey lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye, 



' MS.- 



Scathed 
Seared 



bis heart. ' 



3 MS. — " Oft help the weary night away." 

3 Tile ruins ol' Ravensworth Castle stand in the North Ri- 
ding of Yorlishire, about three miles from the town of Rich- 
»iontl, and adjoining to the waste called the Forest of Arkin- 
»arth. It belonged originally to the powerful family of Fitz- 
Hugh, from nhom it passed to the Lords Dacre of the Sooth. 



And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXI. 

" Thou soe'st that, whether sad or gay, 

Love mingles ever in his lay. 

But when his boyisli wayward fit 

Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 

1 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 

Each dialect, each various shape." — 

"Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy — 

Soft ! who comes here ?" — " My trusty spy. 

Speak, HamUn ! hast thou lodged om' deer 8" — ' 

" I have — but two fair stags are near. 

I watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd 

From EgUston up ThorsgiU glade ; 

But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side. 

And then young Redmond, in his pride, 

Shot down to meet them on their way : 

Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say : 

There's time to pitch both toil and net. 

Before their path be homeward set." 

A hurried and a whisper'd speech 

Did Bertram's will to DenzU teach ; 

Who, turning to the robber band. 

Bade fom', the bravest, take the brand. 



Rokcbg. 



OANTO FOUETH. 



When Denmark's raven soar'd on high. 
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky. 
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke ' 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blacken'd each cataract and spring. 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his som-ce, 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force ;' 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name,' 
Rear'd high their altar's rugged stone, 
And gave their Gods the land they won. 
Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine, 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 

* MS. — " But a score of good fellows," &c. 

6 See Appendix, Note 2 K. o Ibid. Note S L. 

' See Appendix, Note 2 M. 

8 The Tees rises about the skirts of Crossfell, and falls over 
the cataracts named in the text before it leaves the mountains 
which divide the North Riding from Cumberland. High-Force 
s seventy-tive feet in height. 

* li^ee .\ppeodii, Note 2 M. 



324 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv. 


And 'Wodcn'3 Croft did title gain 


Then gray Philosophy stood nigh. 


From the sterr. Father of the Slain ; 


Though bent by age, in spbit high : 


But to the MoniL'-ch of tlie Mace, 


There rose the scar-seam'd veteran's spear, 


Tliat hekl in fi^'hl the foremost place, 


There Grecian Beauty bent to hear. 


To Odin's son, and Slfia's spouse, 


Wlule Cluldliood at her foot was placed. 


Near Stratforth high they paid then- vows, 


Or clmig delighted to her waist. 


Eeraember'd Thoi-'s T'ctorious fame. 




And gave the dell the Tliunderer's name. 


IV. 




" And rest we here," Matilda said, 


n. 


And sat her in the varying shade. 


Yet Scald or Kemper err 1, I ween, 


" Chance-met, we well may steal an hour. 


Wlio gave that soft and quiet scene, 


To friendship due, from fortune's power. 


With all its varied light and shade. 


Thou, Wilfred, ever kind, must lend 


And every little suimy glade, 


Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 


And tlie blithe brook that stroUs along 


And, Redmond, thou, at my behest. 


Its pebbled bed with summer song. 


No farther urge thy desperate 'quest. 


To the grim God of blood and scar, 


For to my care a charge is left. 


The grisly King of Northern War. 


Dangerous to one of aid bereft ; 


0, better were its banks assign'd 


Welluigh an orphan, and alone. 


To spirits of a gentler kind ! 


Captive her she, her house o'erthi-own." 


For where the tliicket-groups recede. 


Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced, 


And tlie rath prunrose decks the mead," 


Beside her on the tinf she placed ; 


The velvet grass seem.s carpet meet 


Then paused, with downcast look and eye. 


For the light faii-ies' lively feet. 


Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh. 


Ton tufted knoU, with daisies strown. 


Her conscious diffidence he saw. 


Might make proud Oberon a throne. 


Drew backward, as in modest awe. 


While hidden in the tliicket nigh. 


And sat a httle space removed. 


Puck should brood o'er his froUc sly ; 


Unmark'd to gaze on her he lovei 


And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 




Round ash and elm, 11 verdant rings, 


V. 


Its pale and azure-pencill'd iiower 


Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 


Should canopy Titania's bower. 


Half hid Matilda's forehead fair. 




Half liid and half reveal'd to view 


III. 


Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 


Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 


The rose, with faint and feeble streak, 


But. skirting every sunny glade. 


So sUghtly tinged the maiden's cheek. 


In fair variety of green 


That you had said her hue was pale -^ 


The woodland lends its silvan screen. 


But if she faced the summer gale. 


Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak. 


Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved, 


Its bouglis by weight of ages broke ; 


Or heard the praise of those she loved, 


And towers erect, in sable spire. 


Or when of interest was express'd' 


The pine-tree scathed by hghtning-fire ; 


Aught that waked feehng in her breast. 


The (h'ooping ash and birch, between. 


The mantling blood in ready play 


Hang their fair tresses o'er the green. 


RivaU'd the blu.sh of rismg day. 


And all beneath, at random gi'ow 


There was a soft and pensive grace, 


Each coppice dwarf of varied snow, 


A cast of thought upon her face, 


Or, round the stems profusely twined. 


Tliat suited well the forehead high. 


Fling summer odors on the wind. 


The eyelash dark, and downcast eye ; 


Such varied group Urbino's hand 


The mild expression spoke a mind 


Round Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd, 


In duty firm, composed, resign'd ; 


What time lie bade proud Alliens own 


'Tis that wliich Roman ai-t has given, 


On Mars's Mount the God Unknown 1 


To mai-k their maiden Queen of Heavea 


' MS. — '■ The early primrose decks the mead, 


Or longer spoke, or quicker moved." 


And the short velvet grass seems meet 


' MS. — " Or aught of interest was express'd 


For the light fairies' frolic feet." 


That waked a feeling in her breast. 


* MS. — "Thai you had said her cheek was pale; 


The mantling blood, S ''""^ ""'"''"S ''^'"^ 


But if she faced the morning gale, 


' iu ready play.** 



CANTO IV. 



ROKEBY. 



.325 



In hours of sport, that mood gave way' 


Safe and unransom'd sent them home, 


To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 


Loaded with many a gift, to prove 


And when tlie dance, or tale, or song, 


A generous foe's respect and love. 


In harndess mirth sped time along. 




Full oft her doating sire would call 


VII. 


His Maud the merriest of them all. 


Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 


But days of war and civil crime. 


Some touch of early snow was shed ; 


Allow'd but ill such festal time, 


Calm he enjoy'd, by Greta's wave. 


And her soft pensiveness of brow 


Tlie peace which James the Peaceful gave 


Had deepen'd into sadness now. 


Wliile Mortham, far beyond tlie main, 


In Marston field her father ta'en. 


Waged his fierce wars on Indian S]xiin. — 


Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain. 


It chanced upon a wintry night," 


While every ill her soul foretold. 


Tliat whiten'd Stanmore's stormy height, 


From Oswald's thirst of power and gold, 


Tlie chase was o'er, the stag was kill'tl. 


And boding thoughts that she must part 


In Rokeby-hall the cups were fill'il, 


With a soft vision of her heart, — ' 


And by the huge stone cliimney sate 


All lower'd around the lovely maid, 


The Knight in hospitable state. 


To darken her dejection's shade. 


Moonless the sky, the hour was late. 




When a loud summons shook the gate. 


VI. 


And sore for entrance and for aid 


Who has not heard — wliile Erin yet 


A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 


Strove 'gain.st the S.axon's iron bit^ 


The porter answer'd to the call. 


Wlio has not heard how brave O'Neale 


And instant rush'd into the hall 


In English blood imbrued his steel,' 


A Man, whose aspect and attine' 


Against St. George's cross blazed high 


Startled the cu-cle by the tire. 


The banners of his Tanistry, 




To fiery Essex gave the foil. 


vni. 


And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil ? 


His plaited hair in elf-locks spread'" 


But chief arose his victor pride, 


Arounil liis bare and matted head ; 


When that brave Mar.shal fought and died,' 


On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim. 


And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 


His vesture show'd tlie smewy limb ; 


His billows red with Saxon gore. 


In saffron dyed, a Unen vest 


'Twas first in that disastrous tight. 


Was frequent folded round his breast ; 


Rokeby and Mortham proved theii" might.' 


A mantle long and loose he wore, 


There had they fallen 'mongst the rest. 


Shaggy with ice, and stain'd witli gore. 


But pity touch'd a chieftain's breast ; 


He clasp'd a burden to his heart, 


The Tanist he to great O'N'eale •," 


And, resting on a knotted dart. 


He check'd his followers' bloody zeal, 


The snow from hair and beard he shook, . 


To quarter took the kinsmen bold. 


And round him gazed with wUder'd look. 


And bore them to his mountain-hold, 


Then up the hall, witli staggering pace, 


Gave them each silvan joy to know, 


He hasten'd by the blaze to place. 


Slieve-Donard's cUffs and woods could show,'' 


Half Ufeless from the bitter air. 


Shared with them Erm's festal cheer. 


His load, a Boy of beauty rare. 


Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer, 


To Rokeby, next, he louted low. 


And, when a fitting time was come, 


Then stood erect liis tale to show," 


' MS. — " In fitting honre the mood gave way 


6 MS.—" A kinsman near to great O'Neale." 


To Fancy's liglil and frolic play, 


See Appendix, Note 2 Q. 


When the blithe dance, or tale, or song. 


' MS.—" Gave them each varied joy to know, 


In harmless mirth sped time along, 


The words of Ophalie could show." 


When oft her doting sire would call 




His Maudlin merriest of them all." 


s MS. "stormy night. 


2 MS.—" With a soft vision of her heart. 


When early snow clad Stanmore's height.' 


That stole its seat, ere yet she knew 


» MS.—" And instant into Rokeby-hall 


The guard to early passion due." 


A stranger rush'd, wiiose wild attire 


3 See Appendix, Note 2 0. * Ibid. Xote 2 P. 


Startled," &c. 


6 MS. -" And. by the deep resounding More, 


10 See Appendix, Note 2 R. 


The English veterans heap'd the shore. 




It was in that dis.astrous fight 


" MS. — " Shaggy with snow, and stain'd with gore. 


That Rokeby proveil his youthful j ^ j^^ „ 
Rokeby and Mortham proved their j 


His features as his dress were wild. 


And in his arms he bore a child. 



826 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With wUd majestic port and tone,' 
Like envoy of some barbarous throne.' 
" Sir Ricliard, Lord of Rokeby, hear ! 
Turlougli O'NealR salutes thee dear ; 
He graces thee, and to thy care 
Young Redmond gives, liis grandson fair. 
He bids thee breed him as tliy son, 
For Turlough's days of joy are done; 
And otlier lords liave seized his land, 
And faint and feeble is his hand; 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapor flown 
To bind the duty on thy soul, 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl 1' 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steeL 
To Morthara first tliis charge was due, 
But, in his absence, honors yon. — 
Now is my master's message by, 
And Ferraught will contented die." 

IX. 

His look grew fix'd, his cheek grew pale, 
He sunk wlien he had told his tale ; 
For. hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
"Vain was all aid — in terror wild. 
And sorrow, screani'd the t)rphan Child. 
Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes. 
And faintly strove to soothe liis cries; 
All reckless of liis dying pain. 
He blest and blest him o'er again 1 
And kiss'd the little liands outspread. 
And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head. 
And, in his native tongue and plu-ase, 
Pray'd to each saint to watch his days ; 
Tlien all Ids strenj.tli together drew, 
The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
Wlien half was falter'd from his breast, 
And half by dying signs express'd, 
" Bless the O'Neale !" he faintly said, 
And thus the faithful spii-it fled. 

X. 

'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the Child to un I the tide ; 
And tlien he said, that from his home 
His grandsire had been forced to roam. 
Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Had but had strength to draw the brand, 

With staggering and unequal pace, 
He ha«ten'd by the biaze to place. 
Half lifeless from the hitter air, 
His load, a Boy of beauty rare. 
To Rokeby, then, with solemn air, 
He turn'd his errand to declare." 

I This couplet is no', in the MS. 

See .^upoii^lis. Note 2 S. 



The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
That hung beside the gray wolf's head. — 
'Twas from his broken plu-ase descried, 
His foster-father was liis guide,* 
Wlio, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met them in tlie wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood. 
Till wounded and o'erpower'd at length. 
And stripp'd of all, his faiUng strength 
Just bore him liere — and then the child 
Renew'd again his moaning wild.^ 

XL 

Tlie tear down childhood's cheek tliat flows. 
Is hke the dewdrop on the rose ; 
Wlien next the summer breeze conies by, 
And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 
Won by their care, the orphan Clidd 
Soon on liis new protector smiled. 
With dimpled cheek and eye so fair, 
Tlirough his thick curls of flaxen hair. 
But blithest laugh'd that cheek and eye 
When Rokeby's little Maid was nigh ; 
'Twas his, with elder brother's pride, 
Matilda's tottering steps to guide ;' 
His native lays in Irish tongue, 
To soothe her infant ear he sung. 
And primrose twined with daisy fair. 
To form a chaplet for her hau-. 
By lawn, by grove, Ijy brooklet's strand, 
The cliildren still were hand in hand. 
And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kindly tied. 

XIL 

But summer months bring wilding shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit , 
And years draw on our human span. 
From child to boy, from boy to man ; 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to w.ike the felon boar. 
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore. 
And loves, against the deer so dun. 
To draw the sliaft, or lift the gun: 
Tet more he loves, in autumn prime. 
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb. 
And down its cluster'd stores to hail, 
Where young Matilda holds her veiL 

3 MS. — " To bind the charge upon thy soul. 
Remember Erin's social bowl.'* 

< Sec Appendix, Note 2 T. 

6 Here follows in the MS. a stanza of sixteen lines, whicn 
the author subsequently dispersed through stanzas xv. ant* 
xvi., po^t. 

s MS. — " Three years more old, 'twas Redmond's pride, 
Matilda's tottering steps to guide." 



CANTO IV. 



KOKEBY. 



327 



And she, whose veil receives the shower,' 


Now must Matilda stray apart. 


Is alter'ii too, aud knows her power ; 


To school her disobedient heart ; 


Assumes a nionitrcss's pride. 


And Redmond now alone must rue 


Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide ; 


The love he never can subdue. 


Yet listens still to hear him tell 


But factions rose, and Rokeby sware,' 


How the grim wUd-boar' Ibught and fell. 


No rebel's son shotdd wed his heir ; 


How at his ftill the bugle rung, 


And Redmond, nurtured wliile a cldld 


Till rock and greenwood answer flung ; 


In many a bard's traditions wild. 


Then blesses her, tliat man can find 


Now souglit the lonely wood or stream, 


A pastime of such savage kind !^ 


To cherish there a happier dream, 




Of maiden won by sword or lance. 


XIII. 


As in the regions of romance ; 


But Redmond knew to weave his tale 


And count the heroes of his line,' 


So well with praise of wooil and dale. 


Great Nial of the Pledges Nine,' 


And knew so well each point to trace, 


Shane-Dymas" wild, and Geraldine,' 


Gives living interest to the chase. 


And Connan-more, who vow'd Iiis race 


And knew so well o'er all to tlirow 


For ever to the fight and chase. 


His spirit's wild romantic glow, 


And cursed him. of his lineage born. 


That, while she blamed, and wliile she fear'd, 


Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn. 


She loved each venturous tale she heard. 


Or leave the mountain and the wold, 


Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 


To shroud himself in castled hold. 


To bower and hall their steps restrain. 


From such examples hope he drew. 


Together they explored tlie page 


And brighten'd as the trumpet blew. 


Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 




Oft, placed the evening fire beside. 


XV. 


The minstrel art alternate tried. 


If brides were won by heart and blade, 


While gladsome harp and lively lay 


Redmond had both his cause to aid, 


Bade winter-night flit fast away : 


And all beside of nurture rare 


Thus, from their childhood, blending still 


That might beseem a baron's heir. 


Their sport, their studv, and their skill, 


Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife. 


An union of the soul they prove, 


On Rokeby's Lord bestow'd his life. 


But must not think that it was love. 


And well did Rokeby's generous Knight 


But though they dared not, envious Fame 


Young Redmond for the deed requite. 


Soon dared to give that union name ; 


Nor was his liberal care and cost 


And when so often, side by side. 


Upon the gallant stripling lost: 


From year- to year the pair she eyed. 


Seek the North-Riding broad and wide. 


She sometimes blamed the good old Knight, 


Like Redmond none could steed bestride ; 


As dull of ear and dim of sight. 


From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 


Sometimes his purpose -n^ld declare. 


Like Redmond none could wield a brand ; 


That young O'Ncale should wed his heir. 


And then, of humor kind and free. 




And bearing liim to each degree 


XIV. 


With frank and fearless com-tesy. 


The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 


Tliere never youth was form'd to steal 


And bandage from the lovers' eyes ;' 


Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 


'Twas plain that Oswald, for liis son, 




Had Rokeby's favor wellnigh won. 


XVL 


Now nmst they meet with change of cheer, 


Sir Richard loved Mm as his son ; 


With mutual looks of shame and fear; 


And when the days of peace were done. 


' M-^.— " And she on whom tliese treasures shower." 


Grea; Nia! of the Pledges Nine, 


' MS.—" Grim sanglier." 


Shane-Dymas wild, and Connan-^Iar, 


s M.S.—*' Tlieii bicss'd himself thai man can find 


Who vow'd his race to wounds an<l war. 


.\ pastime of sach crnel kind.'* 


And cun-ed all. of his lineage born. 


• M>. — " From their hearts and eyes." 


Who sheathed the sword to reap the com 


^ Mi-. — " .'Vnii Redmond, too, apart mast roe, 


Or left the gT«en-wood and the wold, 


The love he never can subdue ; 


To shroud himself in hoase or *iold." 


Ttien eame the war, and Rokehy said, 




No rebel's son should wed his maid." 


' See Append i.x , Note 2 U. "Ibid. Note S T 


'MS.— • Thought on the ! Jl"'*,' fofhisUne, 




f founders j 


olbid. Notes W. 



328 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv. 


And to the galea of ■war he gave 


On the dark visions of their soul. 


The banner of his sires to wave, 


And bade their mournful musing fly 


Redmond, distinguisliVl by his care, 


Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 


He chose that honor'd flag to bear,* 




And named his page, the next degree, 


xvin. 


In that old time, to chivalry.^ 


" I need not to my friends recall. 


In five pitch'd fields he well maintain'd 


How Mortham shunn'd my father's hal! ; 


Tlie honor'd place Iiis worth obtain'd. 


A man of silence and of woe. 


And high was Redmond's youthful name 


Tet ever anxious to bestow 


Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 


On my poor self whate'er could provo 


Had fortune smiled on Marston fight, 


A kinsman's confidence and love. 


Tlie eve had seen liim dubb'd a knight; 


My feeble aid could sometunes chase 


Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife, 


The clouds of sorrow for a space ; 


Of Rokeby's Lord he .saved the life, 


But oftener, fix'd beyond my power,' 


But when he saw liim prisoner made. 


I mark'd his deep despondence lower. 


He kiss'd and then resign'd his blade,^ 


One dismal cause, by all unguess'd, 


And yielded him an easy prey 


His fearful confidence confess'd ; 


To those who led the Knight away ; 


And twice it was my hap to see 


Resolved Matilda's sire should prove 


Examples of that agony. 


In prison, as in fight, his love. 


Which for a season can o'erstrain 




And wreck the structure of the brain. 


XVII. 


He had the awful power to know 


Wlien lovers meet in adverse hour. 


Tlic approaching mental overthrow. 


'Tis like a sun-glimpse through a shower, 


And while his mind had courage yet 


A watery ray, an instant seen 


To struggle with the dreadful fit. 


The darkly closing clouds between. 


Tlie victim writhed ag;iinst its thi-oes,' 


As Redmond on the turf recUned, 


Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 


The past and present fill'd liis mind :' 


This malady, I well could mark. 


" It was not thus," Affection said. 


Sprung from some direful cause and dark • 


"I dream'd of my return, dear maid! 


But still he kept its source conceal'd, 


Not thus, when from thy trembhng hand, 


Tin arming for the civil field ; 


I took the banner and the brand, 


Then in my charge he bade me hold 


When round me, as the bugles blew, 


A treasm-e huge of gems and gold. 


Their blades three hundred warriors drew. 


With this disjointed dismal scroll, 


And, while the standard I unroU'd, 


That tells the secret of liis soul. 


Clash'd theh* bright arms, with clamor bold. 


In such wild words as oft betray 


■^ATiere is tliat baimer now ? — its pride 


A mind by auguish forced astray." — 


Lies 'whelm'd in Ouse's sullen tide ! 




Where now those warriors f — in their gore. 


-^LX. 


They cumber Marston's dismal moor ! 


mortham's history. 


And what avails a useless brand. 


" Matilda ! thou hast seen me start 


Held by a captive's shackled hand, 


As if a dagger tliiill'd my heart. 


That only woidd liis life retain, 


Wlien it has hap'd some casual plu-ase 


To aid thy she to bear his chain !" 


Waked memory of my former days. 


Tims Redmond to himself apart ; 


Beheve, that few can backward cast 


Nor fighter was his rival's heart ; 


Their thoughts witli pleasure on the past 


For Wilfrid, while liis generous soul 


But I ! — my youth was rash and vain,' 


Disdain'd to profit by control, 


And blood and rage my manhood stain, 


By many a sign could mark too plain. 


And my gray hairs must now descend 


Save with such aid, liis hopes were vain. — 


To my cold grave without a friend ! 


But now Matilda's accents stole 


Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 


1 Apiiendix, Note 2 X. » Ibid. Note 2 Y. 


» MS. — *' But oftener 'twas my hap to see 


3 MS.—" His valor saved old Eokebj 's life. 


Such storms of bitter agony, 


But when he saw him prisoner made, 


As for the moment would o'erstrain 


He kiss'd and lhe:i flung down his blade." 


Aitd wreck the balance of the brain." 


• Ailer this line the Ms. has :— 






6 M3. " beneath his throes." 


'* His ruin'tl hopes, impending wots — 




Till in his eye the tear-drop rose." 


' MS. — " My youth was folly's reign." 



CANTO IV. KOKEBY. 328 


Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 


Then pray'd it might not chafe my mooil— 


Anil must I lift the bloddy veil 


'There was a gallant in the wood '.' 


Thiit liides my dark and fatal tale ! 


We had been shooting iit the deer ; 


I must — I will — I'ale phantom, cease ! 


My cross-bow (evil chance !) wjts near : 


Leave me one little hour ui peace ! 


lliat ready weapon of my wiath 


Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill 


I caught, and, hasting uj) the path,' 


Tliine own commission to fultil '( 


In the yew grove my wife I found : 


Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce, 


A stranger's arms her neck had bound 1 


Thj' blighted check, thy bloody hearse, 


I mark'd his heart — the bow I cU-ew— 


How can I paint thee as thou wert, 


I loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true t 


So fair in face, so warm in heart ! 


I found my Edith's dying charms 




Lock'd in her miu-der'd brother's arm.s '. 


XX. 


He came in secret to inquire 


" Yea, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou 


Her state, ;md reconcile her sire.'' 


Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 




But hers was like the sunny glow, 


XXIL 


lliat laughs on earth and all below I 


" All fled my rage — the villain first, 


We wedded secret — there wiis need — 


Whose craft my jealousy had nursed ; 


Differing in country and in creed ; 


He sought in far and foreign cliiue 


And, when to Mortham's tower she came, 


To 'scape the vengeance of liis crime. 


We mentioned not her race and name. 


The manner of the slaughter done 


Until thy sire, who fought afiir,' 


Was known to few, my guilt to none ; 


Should turn him home from foreign war. 


Some tale mv faithful steward framed — 


On whose kind influence we reUed 


I know not what — of shaft mis-aim'd ; 


To soothe her father's ire and pride. 


And even from those the act who Imew, 


Few months we hved retired, unknown. 


He hid the hand from which it flew. 


To all but one dear fi-iend alone. 


Untouch'd by human laws I stood. 


One darling friend — I spare his shame. 


But God had heard the cry of blood ! 


I win not write the villain's name ! 


There is a bhank upon my mind. 


My trespasses I might forget,'' 


A fearful vision ill-defined. 


And sue in vengeance for the debt 


Of raving till my flush was torn, 


Due by a brother worm to me. 


Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn — 


Ungrateful to God's clemency,' 


And when I waked to woe more mild, 


Tliat spared me penitential time. 


And question'd of my infant child — 


Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 


(Have I not written, that she bare 




A boy, like summer morning fair ?) — 


XXI. 


With looks confused my menials tell 


" A kindly smile to all she lent. 


That armed men in Mortham deU 


But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 


Beset the nurse's evening way, 


So kind, that from its harmless glee,' 


And bore her, with her charge, away. 


The wretch misconstrued villany. 


My faithless friend, and none but he. 


Repulsed hi his presumptuous love. 


Could profit by tliis villany ; 


A 'vengeful snare the traitor wove. 


Hun then, I sought, with purpo.se dread 


Alone we sat — the flask had flow'd, 


Of treble vengeance on his head ! 


My blood with heat unwonted glow'd, 


He 'scaped me — but my bosom's wound 


When through the alley'd walk we spied 


Some famt relief from wandermg found; 


With hurried step my Edith glide, ' 


And over distant land and sea 


Coweiing beneath the verdant screen, 


I bore my load of misery. 


As one unwiUing to be seen. 




Words cannot paint the fiendish smile. 


XXIII. 


That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while 1 


" "Twas then that fate my footsteps led 


Fiercely I question'd of the cause ; 


Among a daring crew and dread,' 


He made a cold and artful pause, 


With whom full oft my hated life 


1 MS.— "Until thy father, then afar." 


The readiest weapon of my wrath. 


' MS. — •' I, a poor deiitor, Fhould forget.'* 


And hastening up the Greta path." 


3 MS. — " Forgetting God's own idemency." 


8 This coaplct is not in the MHt. 


' M.^.— " So llindly, that from harmless glee." 


I MS - " 'Twas then that fato my footsteps Iht»» 


* MS. — " I caoj^ht a cross-bow that was near, 
42 


Among a wild and daring crew " 



1 
330 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto nr, 


1 vyntm-ed iii such desperate strife, 
That even my fierce associates saw 
My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 
Much then I learn'd, and much can show, 


An art that thou wilt gladly know. 
How thou inayst safely quell a foe." 

XXVI 


01' himian guilt and liunian woe. 


On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 


Yet ne'er have, in my wandermgs, known 


The spreading bhch and hazels through. 


A wTetclj, whose sorrows match'd my own ! — 


Till he had Redmond full m view, 


It clianced, that after battle fr.ay, 


The gim he level'd — Mark Uke this 


'J poll tile bloody field we lay; 


Was Bertram never Icnown to miss. 


Tile yellow moon her lustre shed 
I'pon the wounded and the dead, 


When fau' opposed to ami there sate 
An object of liis mortal hate. 


AVhile, sense in toil and wassail drown'd, 


That day young Redmond's death had "een, 


Mv ruffian comrades slept around. 


But twice Matilda came between 


There came a voice — its silver tone 


The carabine and Redun)nd"s breast, 


Was soft, Matild.a, as thine own — 

* Ah, wretch !' it said, ' what makest thou here, 


Just ere the spring his finger press'd. 
A deadly oath the ruffian swore, 


Wlule unavenged my bloody bier, 
Wliile unprotected lives mine heir. 


But yet liis fell design forbore : 

" It ne'er," he mutter'd, " shall be said, 


Without a father's name and care ?' 


That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid !" 


XXIV. 


Then moved to seek more open aim, 
When to liis side Guy DenzU came : 


" I lieard — obey'd — and homeward drew ; 


" Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 


The fiercest of our desperate crew 


Forever, if thou fire the gun. 


I brought at time of need to aid 


By all the fiends, an armed force 


My piu'posed vengeance, long delay'd. 
But, humble be my thanks to Heaven, 


Descends the dell, ^f foot and horse ! 
We perish if they hear a shot — 


That better hopes and thoughts has given, 


Madman ! we have a safer plot — 


And by om- Lord's dear prayer has taught 
Mercy by mercy must be bought 1 — 


Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back ! 
Behold, down y^onder hollow track, 


Lot me in misery rejoice — 


The warlike leader of the band 


I've seen his face — I've heard his voice — 


Conies, with his broadsword in his hand." 


I claim'd of him my only child. 


Bertram look'd up ; he saw, he knew 


As he disown'd the theft, he smiled ! 


That Deiizil's fears had counsell'd true, 


That very calm and callous look. 


Then cursed his fortune .and withdrew. 


That fiendish sneer his visage took. 


Threaded the woodlands undescried. 


As when he said, in scornful mood, 


And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 


' There is a gallant in the wood !'— 

I did not slay him as he stood — 

All praise be to my Maker given ! • 


xxvn. 

They wlinm dark Bertram, in Ins wrath. 


Long suffrance is one ]>ath to heavea" 
XXV. 


Doom'd to captivity or death. 

Then- thoughts to one sad subject lent, 

Saw not nor heard the ambushraent. 


Tlius far the woful tale was heard, 


Heedless and unconcern'd tiiey sate. 


When something in the tliieket stirr'd. 


Wliile on the very verge of fate ; 


Up Redmond sprung ; the villain Guy 
(For he it was that lurk'd so nigh), 


Heedless and unconcern'd remain'd, 

When Heaven the murderer's arm restrain'd 


Drew back — he durst not cross his steel 
A moment's space witli brave O'Neale, 
For all the treasured gold that rests 
Tr Mortham's U'on-banded chests. 


As ships drift d.orkliug down the tide. 
Nor see the slielves o'er wliicli they glide. 
Uninterrupteil thus they heard 
What Mortliam's closing tale declared. 


Redmond resumed his seat ; — he said, 
Some roe was rustling in the shade. 


He spoke of wealth as of a load, 
By Fortune on a wretch bestow'd, 


Bertram laugh'd grimly when he saw 


In bitter mockery of hate. 


His timorous comrade backivard draw, 


His cureless woes to ;iggravate ; 


" A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer, 
nivu me thy cai'abine — I'll show 


But yet he pray'd Matilda's care 
Might save that treasure for his lieir — 
His Edith's son — for still he raved 
As confident his life was saved ; 



CANTO IV. 



ROKEBY. 



331 



In frequent vision, lie averr'd, 


And for such noble use design'd. 


Tie saw liis face, his voice lie lieard ; 


" Was Baniard Castle then her choice," 


Tlieu argued calm — bad murder been. 


Wilfritl inquired with hasty voice, 


The blood, the corpses, had been seen; 


"Since there the victor's laws ordain 


Some had pretended, too, to mark 


Her father must a space remain V 


On Windermere a stranger bark, 


A flutter'd hope his accents shook, 


Whose crew, with zealous care, yet mild, 


A flutter'd joy was in his look. 


Guarded a female and a chUd. 


Matilda hasten'd to reply. 


Wliile these faint proofs he told and press'd, 


For anger flash'd in Redmond's eye ; — 


llnpe seem'd to kindle in his breast ; 


" Duty," she said, with gentle grace. 


Though inconsistent, vague, and vain. 


*' Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 


It warp'd his judgment, and his brain.' 


Else had I for my sire assign'd 




Prison less galling to his mind. 


XXVIII. 


Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees 


These solemn words his story close : — 


And hears the murmur of the Tees, 


" Heaven witness for me. that I chose 


Recalling thus, with every glance. 


Jly part in this sad civil fight. 


Wh.at captive's .son-ow can enhance ; 


Jloved by no cause but England's right. 


But where those woes are highest, there 


My country's groans have bid me draw 


Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care." 


Jly sword for gospel and for law : — 




These righted, I fling arms aside, 


XXX. 


And seek my son through Europe wide. 


He felt the kindly check she gave. 


ily wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 


And stood abash'd — then answer'd grave : — 


Alread3' casts a grasping eye. 


" I sought thy purpose, noble maid, 


With thee may unsuspected lie. 


Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 


When of my death Matilda hears. 


I have beneath mine own command. 


Let her retain her trust tlu-ee years; 


So wills my sire, a gallant band, 


If none, from me, the treasure claim, 


And well could send some horseman wight 


Porish'd is Mortham's race and name. 


To bear the treasure forth by night, 


Then let it leave her generous hand. 


And .so bestow it as you deem 


And flow in bounty o'er the land ; 


In these ill days may safest seem." — 


Soften the wounded prisoner's lot, 


" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said : 


Rebuild the peasant's ruin'tl cot ; 


" 0, be it not one day delay'd ! 


So spoils, acquu-ed by fight afar, 


And, more, thy sister-friend to aid, 


Shall mitigate domestic war." 


Be thou thyself content to hold. 




In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold, 


XXIX. 


Safest with thee." — While thus she spoke. 


The generous youths, who well had known 


Arm'd soldiers on their converse broke. 


Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone, 


Tlie same of whose approach afraid, 


To that high mind, by sorrow swerved. 


The ruffians left their ambuscade. 


Gave sympathy his woes deserved ;' 


Their chief to Wilfriil bended low. 


But Wilfrid cliief, who saw reveal'd 


Then look'd around as for a foe. [said 


Whv Mortham wish'd his life conceal'd, 


" Wh.at mean'st thou, friend," young Wycldiffe 


In secret, doubtless, to pursue 


" Why thus in arms beset the glade ?" 


The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew. 


" That would I gladly learn from you ; 


Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell. 


For up my squadron as I drew, 


That she would share her father's cell, 


To exercise our martial game 


His partner of captivity, 


Upon the moor of Barninghame,' 


Where'er his prison-house should be ; 


A stranger told you were waylaid. 


Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall, 


Surrotmded, and to death betray'd. 


Dismantled and forsook by all. 


He had a leader's voice, I ween. 


Open to rapine and to stealth, 


A falcon glance, a wairior's miea 


Had now no safeguard for tlie wealth 


He bade me bring you in,stant aid ; 


Intrusted by her kinsman kind, 


I doubted not, and I obey'd." 


MS. — " Hope, inconsistent, vn^ue. and vain. 


The pity gave his woes deserved.** 


SeeniM on the tlieme to war[i his brain." 


- MS. — " In martial exercise to move 


> MS — " To tliat high mind Ilius warp'd and swerved. 


Upon the open moor above " 



332 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. caisto v 


i XXXI. 


II. 


Wilfrid clianged color, and, amazed, 


The eve, that slow on upland ftides. 


Turn'd short, and on the speaker £^azed ; 


Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades. 


WhUe Redmond every thicket round 


Where, sunk witliin theu' banks profound. 


Ti'ack'd earnest as a questing liound, 


Her guarthan streams to meeting wound 


And Denzil's carabine he found ; 


The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 


Sure evidence, by which they knew 


Of noontide make a twilight brown, 


'n)e warning was as kind as true.' 


Impervious now to fainter liglit. 


Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed 


Of twilight make an early night.' 


To leave the t.!ell. It was agreed. 


Hoarse mto middle air arose 


That Redmond, with Matilda fair. 


The vespers of the roosting crows. 


And fitting gtiard, should home repair ;' 


And with congenial murmurs seem 


At nightfall Wilfrid should attend. 


To wake the Genii of the stream ; 


With a strong band, his sister-friend, 


For louder clamor'd Greta's tide. 


To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 


And Tees in deeper voice replied, 


To Barnard Castle's lofty towers, 


And fitful waked the evening wind, 


Secret and safe the banded chests, 


Fitful in sighs its bi-eath resign'd.' 


i In wliich tlie wealth of Mortham rests. 


Wilfrid, wliose fancy-nurtured soul 


This hasty purpose fix'd, they part, 


Felt in the scene a soft control. 


Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 


With lighter footstep press'd the ground. 




And often paused to look around ; 
And, though his patli was to liis love, 






Could not but linger in the grove, 


llolxcbj). 


To drink the thrilling interest dear, 




Of awful pleasure check'd by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we; 




CANTO FIFTH. 


Even when our passions strike the key. 
IIL 


I. 


The sultry summer day is done. 


Now, thi-ough the wood's dark mazes past, 


Tlie western hilk liave liid the sun, 


The opening lawn he reach'd at last, 


But mountain peak and village spire 


Where, silver'd by the moonlight ray, 


Retain reflection of liis (ire. 


The ancient Hall before him lay.® 


Old Barnard's towers are purple still. 


Those martial terrors long were fled, 


To tliose that gaze from Toller-hill ; 


That frown'd of old around its heati : 


Distant and liigh, the tower of Bowes 


The battlements, the turrets gray. 


Like steel upon tlie anvil glows ; 


Seem'd half abandon'd to decay ;' 


And Stanmore's ridge, behmd that lay. 


On barbican and keep of stone 


Ricli with tlie spoils of parting day. 


Stern Tune the foeman's work had done. 


In crimson and m gold array'd. 


Where bamiers the invader braved, 


Streaks yet a wliile the closing shade. 


The harebell now and wallflower waved ; 


Then slow resigns to darkenuig heaven 


In the rude guard-room, where of yore 


The tints wliich brighter hours had given. 


Their weary hours the warders wore, 


Tims aged men, fuU loth and slow, 


Now, wliile the cheerful fagots blaze, 


The vanities of life forego, 


On the paved floor the spindle plays ;" 


And count their youthful follies o'er. 


The flanking guns dismounted lie, 


Till Memory lends her liglit no more.' 


The moat is ruinous and dry," 


1 MS — " Anil they the gunof Deiizil find ; 


* MS. " a darksome night." 


A witness sure to every minil 


B MS. — " By fits awaked the evening wind 


Tlie warning was as true as kind " 


By fits in sighs its breath resign'd." 


V MS. '■ It was agreed. 

That Redmond, with Matilda fair, 
Shouh! straiglit to Rokeby-liall repair, 
And. foes so near them, known so late, 
A guard should tend her to the gate." 

3 " The tiflli canto opens with an evening-scene, of its ac- 


6 MS. — '* Old Rokeby's towers before him lay." 

T See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 

6 MS. — "The weary night the wardcra wore. 
Now by the fagot's gladsome light 
The maidens plied the spindle's sleighL" 


customed beauty when delineated by Mr. Scott. The moun- 


« MS. — " The beams had long forgot to bear 


Hiin fading in the twilight, is nobly imagined." — Monthly 


The trembling drawbridge into air: 


Review. 
1 


The huge portcullis gone.'' &c. 



CANTO V. ROKEBY. 333 | 


Ills grim portcullis gone — and all 


1 

I 

And therefore he had left command | 


Tlie fortress turn'd to peaceful HaU. 


• With those he trusted of his band, 




Tliat they slioiUd be at Rokeby met. 


IV. 


What time the midnight-watcli was set 


But yet precautions, lately ta'en," 


Now Redniiinil came, whose anxious care 


Show'd danger's day revived again ; 


Till then was busied to prepare 


The court-yard wall show'd marks of cai'e, 


All needful, meetly to arrange 


The fall'n defences to repau-, 


The mansion for its mournful change. 


Lending such strength as might withstand 


With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased. 


The insult of marauding band. 


His cold unready hand he seized, 


The beams once more were taught to beai' 


And press'd it, till his kindly striiin 


The trembling drawbridge into air, 


Tlie gentle youth return'd agaiu. 


And not, till question'd o'er and o'er. 


Seem'd as between them this was said. 


For Wilfrid oped the jealous door, 


" A while let jealousy be dead ; 


And when he enter'd, bolt and bar 


And let our contest be, whose care 


Resumed their place with sullen jar ; 


Shall best assist this helpless fair." 


Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch, 




Tlie old gray porter raised his torch. 


VL 


And view'd him o'er, fiom foot to head. 


There was no speech the truce to bmd. 


Ere to the hall liis steps he led. 


It was a compact of the mind, — 


Tliat huge old haU, of knightly state, 


A generous thought, at once impress'd 


Dismantled seem'd and desolate. 


On either rival's generous breast. 


The moon through transom-shafts of stone. 


Matilda well the secret took, 


Wiiich cross'd the latticed oriels, shone. 


From sudden change of mien and look , 


And by the mournful Ught she gave, 


And — for not small had been her feai- 


The Gothic vault seem'd funeral cave. 


Of jealous ire and danger neai" — 


Pemion :md banner waved no more 


Felt, even in her dejected state, i 


O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar. 


A joy beyond the reach of fate. 


Nor glinnnering arms were marshall'd seen, 


They closed beside the chimney's blaze. 


To glance those silvan spoils between. 


And talk'd, and hoped for happier days. 


Those arras, those ensigns, borne away. 


And lent their spirits' rising glow 


Accomplish'd Rokeby's brave array. 


A while to gUd impending woe ;— 


But all were lost on Marston's day ! 


High privilege of youthful time. 


Yet here imd there the moonbeams fall 


Worth all the pleasures of our prime ! 


■Wliere armor yet adorns the wall. 


The bickering fagot sparkled bright. 


Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight. 


And gave the scene of love to sight, 


And useless in the modern tight ! 


Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 


Like veteran relic of the wars, 


Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow. 


Known only by neglected scars. 


Her nut-brown curls and forehead high, 




And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye. 


T. 


Two lovers by the maiden sate. 


Matilda soon to greet bim came. 


Without a ghmce of jealous hate ; 


And bade them light the evening flame ; 


The maid her lovers sat between. 


Said, all for parting was prepared. 


With open brow and equal mien ; — 


And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 


It is a sight but rarely spied. 


But then, reluctant to unfoW 


Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride 


His father's avarice of gold, 




He hinted, that lest jealous eye 


VII 


Shoidd on their precious burden pry. 


While thus in peaceful guise they sate. 


He judged it best the castle gate 


A knock .alarm'd the outer gate. 


To enter when the night wore late ; 


And ere the tardy porter stirr'd. 


MS. — "Bat yet precautioQ show'd, and 
fear. 


For Wilfrid oped the \ "";'''"' J door, 
( jealous 1 


Tliat dread of evil times was here ; 


Anil, on Ills entry, bolt and bar 


Tliere were late marks of jealoas } 


Rcsumetl their place with sullen jar/' 


For there were recent marks of i 


'■' MS. — " CoiifuseJ he f^tootl. as loth to say 


Tlie fall'n defences to repair ; 


What tniglit his sire's base mood display 


And not. till question'd o'er and o'er. 


Then hinted, lest some carious eye '' 



334 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v 


The tinkling of a hari" was heard. 


IX. 


A manly voice of mellow swell, 


Sonji rEsumctJ. 


Bore burden to the music well. 


* I have song of war for knight, 




Lay of love for lady bright. 


SonQ. 


Fairy tale to lull the heir. 


" Summer eve is g-oin^ and past, 


GobHn grim the maids to scare. 


Summer dew is falling fast ; 


Dark the night, and long till day, 


[ li.ave wander'd all the day, 


Do not bid me farther stray 1 


Do not bid me farther stray ! 




Gentle hearts, of gentle kin. 


" Kokeby's lords of martial fame. 


Take the wanderbig harper in !" 


I can count them name by name ;' 




Legends of their line there be. 


But the stern porter answer gave. 


Known to few, but known to me ; 


With " Get thee hence, thou strolUng knave ! 


If you honor Rokeby's kin. 


The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow, 


Take the wandering harper m ! 


Were meeter trade for such as thou." 




At this unkind reproof, again 


" Rokeby's lords had fair regard 


Answer'd the ready Minstrel's strain. 


For the harp, and for the bard ; 




Baron's race tlrrove never well. 


SonQ vcsumct). 


Where the curse of minstrel fell. 


" Bid not me, in battle-field. 


If you love that noble kin. 


Buckler lift, or broadsword wield ! 


Take the weary h.arper in !" — 


All my strength and all my art 




Is to touch the gentle heart,' 


" Hark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope," 


With the wizard notes that ring 


Said Redmond, " that the gate will ope." — 


Fom the peaceful minstrel-string." — 


— " For all thy brag and boast, I trow, 


i " 


Naught know'st thou of the Felon Sow,"' 


The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 


Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 


" Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide ; 


She roam'd, .and Rokeby forest wide ; 


If longer by the gate thou dwell, 


Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 


Trust me, thou shalt not p.art so well." 


To Riclmiond's friars to make a feast. 




Of GUbert Griffiusou the tale 


VIII. 


Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 


With somewhat of appealing look, 


That well could strike with sword amain, 


The harper's part young Wilfrid took : 


And of the valiant son of Spain, 


" These notes so wild and ready thrill, 


Friar Midilleton, and blithe Su- Ralph ; 


Tliey show no vulgar minstrel's skill ; 


There were a jest to make us laugh ! 


Hard were his task to seek a home 


If thou canst tell it, in yon shed 


More distant, since the night is come ; 


Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed." 


And for his faith I dare eng.age — 




Yom' Harpool's blood is sour'd by age ; 


X. 


His gate, once readily display'd. 


Matilda smiled ; " Cold hope," said she. 


To greet the friend, the poor to aid. 


" From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 


Now even to me, thoiigh known of old. 


But, for tills harper, may we dare, 


Did but reluctantly unfold." — 


Redmond, to mend his couch and fare ?" — 


" blame not, as poor Harpool's crkne. 


" 0, ask me not ! — At minstrel-string 


An evU of tliis evil time. 


My heart from infancy woiUd spring ; 


He deems dependent on his care 


Nor can I hear its simplest strain. 


The safetv of his patron's heir. 


But it brings Erin's dream again. 


Nor judges meet to ope tlie tower 


When pl.aced by Owen Lysagh's knee, 


To guest unknown at parting hom-,' 


(The Filea of O'Neale was he,= 


Urging his duty to excess 


A blind and beai-ded man, whose eld 


Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 


Was sacred as a prophet's held.) 


For this poor harper, I would fain 


I've seen a ring of rugged kerne. 


He may relax : — Haik to his strain !" — 


With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern. 


' MS. — " 0, bid not me bear sword and shield, 


2 MS. — " To vagrants at our parting hour." 


Or struggle to tlie bloody field, 


3 Pee Appendix, Note 3 A. 


For gentler art Uiis hand was made." 


< See Appendix, Note 3 B. ' Ibid. Note 3 0. 



^ANTO V. ROKEBY. 335 


Enchanted by the masters lay, 


But rather had it been his choice 


Lintjer aro\in(l the livelong day, 


. To share tliat mel.ancholy hour. 


Sliift from wild rage to wilder glee. 


Tlian, arm'd with all a chieftain's power,* 


To love, to grief, to ecstasy," 


In full possession to enjoy 


And feel each varied change of soul 


Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 


Obedient to tlie bard's control.— 




Ah, Clandeboy ! tliy friendly floor 


XIL 


Slicve-Donard's oak shall light no more ;' 


Tlie blood left Wilfrid's aslieu cheek ; 


Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze. 


Matikia sees, and liastes to speak. — 


Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise ! 


" Happy in friendsliip's ready aid, 


Tlie mantling brambles liide thy hearth. 


Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 


Centre of liospitable mirth ; 


And Rokeby's Maiden will not part 


All undistinguisli'd in the glade. 


From Rokeby's haU with moody heart. 


My sires' glad liome is prostrate laid, 


Tliis night at least, for Rokeby's fame, 


Their vassals wander wide and far, 


The hospitable hearth shall flame. 


Serve foreign lords in distant war, 


And, ere its native heu* retire, 


And now the stranger's sons enjoy 


Fuid for the wanderer rest and fire, 


The lovely woods of Clandeboy !" 


Wltile this poor harper, by the blaze,* 


He spoke, and proudly turn'd aside, 


Recounts the tale of other days. 


The starting tear to dry and hide. 


Bid Harpool ope the door with speed. 




Admit him, and reheve each need. — 


XI. 


Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try 


Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 


Thy minstrel skill ? — Nay, no reply — ° 


■VTas glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 


And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought, 


Ker hand upon his arm she laid, — 


Thy verse with laurels would be bought ; 


It is the will of heaven," she said. 


And poor Matilda, Landless now, 


"And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 


Has not a garland for thy brow. 


From tliis loved home with lightsome heart, 


True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades. 


Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 


Nor wander more in Rreta shades ; 


Even from my infancy was deaa"? 


But sm-e, no rigid jailer, thou 


For in tliis calm domestic bound 


Wilt a short pri.son-walk allow, 


Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 


Where summer flowers grow wild at will. 


Tliat liearth, my sire was wont to grace, 


On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill ;' 


Full soon may be a stranger's place ;' 


Then holly green and lily gay 


Tliis hall, in which a child I play'd. 


Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay.'" 


Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid. 


Tlie mournful youth, a space aside, • 


The bramble and the tliorn may braid ; 


To tune Matilda's harp apphed ; 


Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine, 


And then a low sad descant rung, 


It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 


As prelude to the Lay he sung. 


Yet is this consolation given, 




My Redmond, — 'tis the wiU of heaven." 


XIIL 


Her word, her action, and her phrase, 


3ri)E fflnprcss JlWteatI).' 


Were kindly as in early days ; 


0, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 


For cold reserve had lost its power, 


Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 


In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 


Tco lively glow the lUies light, 


Yoinig Redmond dared not trust his voice ; 


The varnish'd hoUy's all too bright. 


1 MS. " to sympathy." ^ See AppendLt. Note 3 D. 


9 " Mr. Scott has imparted a delicacy (we mean in Ihe co- 


3 MS. — " That hearth, my father's honor'd place, 


loring, for the design we cannot approve), a sweetnr^^ and a 


Full soon may see a stranger's face." 


melancholy smile to this parting picture, that really en':hant 


< MS. "Tanist's power." 


ns. Poor Wilfrid is sadly discomfited by the last in-laiice of 


6 MS.—" Find for the needy room and fire, 


encouragement to Redmond ; and Matilda endeavors to cheer 


And this poor wanderer, by the blaze.*' 


him by requesting, in tlie prettiest, and yet in the most touch- 


* MS. " w hat thinlt'st thou 


ing manner, ' Kind Wycliffe.' to try his minstrelsy. We will 


Of yonder harp ? — Nay, clear thy brow." 


here just ask Mr. Scott, whether this would not be actaal in- 


' Marwood-cliase is the ohl parli extending along the Dnr- 


fernal and intolerable torture to a man who had any soul ? 


ham side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Hill 


Why, then, make his heroine even the unwilling cause of such 


is an eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding 


misery ? Matilda had talked of twining a wreath for her poet 


a superb view of the ruins. 


of holly green and lily gay, and he sings, broken-hearted, 'The 


■■ MS. — " Wliere rose and lily I will twine 


Cypress Wreath.' We have, however, inserted this as one oi' 


In guerdon of a song of thine." 


the best of Mr. Scott's songs." — Monthly Review 



336 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v. \ 

1 


The May-flower and the eglantine 


Who wears a sword he must not draw ; 


May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 


But were it so, in minstrel pride 


But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, 


The land together would we ride, 


Or weave it of the cypress-tree ! 


On prancing steeds, like harpers old, 


1 


Boimd for the halls of barons bold,' 


Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 


Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, 


Witli tendrils of the laugliing vine ; 


From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak, 


The manly oak, the pensive yew, 


Survey wide Albin's mounttdn strand. 


To patriot and to sage be due ; 


And roam green Erm's lov ely land. 


The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 


Wliile thou the gentler souls should move, 


But that Matilda will not give ; 


With lay of pity and of love. 


Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 


And I, thy mate, m rougher strain. 


Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 


Would sing of war and warriors slain. 




Old England's bards were vanquish'd then, 


Let merry England proudly rear 


And Scotland's vamited Hawthornden,'* 


Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 


And, silenced on lernian shore, 


Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 


M'Curtin's harp should charm no more !"' 


With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew ; 


In hvely mood he spoke, to "wile 


On favor'd Erin's crest be seen 


From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile. 


The flower she loves of emerald green — 




But, Lady, twine no wreath for me. 


XV. 


Or twinu it of the cypress-tree. 


" But," said MatUda, " ere thy name. 




Good Redmond, gain its destined fame. 


Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 


Say, wilt tliou kindly deign to call 


The ivy meet for minstrel's hah ; 


Thy brother-minstrel to the haU ? 


And, while his crown of laurel-leaves 


Bid all the household, too, attend. 


With bloody hand the victor weaves, 


E.ach in his rank a humble friend ; 


Let the loud trump Ids triumph tell ; 


I know thc'U- faithful heai'ts wUl grieve. 


But when you hear the passing-bell, 


■ftTien then- poor Mistress takes Iter leave ; 


Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, 


So let the liorn and beaker flow 


And twine it of the cypress-tree. 


To mitigate their parting woe." 




The harper came ; — in youth's first prune 


Ye.s ! twine for me the cypress bough ; 


Himself ; in mode of olden tune 


But, Matilda, twine not now ! 


His garb was fashion'd, to express 


Stay till a few brief months are past. 


The ancient English minstrel's dress,* 


*\nd 1 have look'd and loved my last ! 


A seemly gown of Kendal green. 


Wlien villagers my shroud bestrew 


With gorget closed of silver sheen : | 


Witli panzies, rosemary, and rue, — 


His harp m silken scarf was slung. 


Tlien, Lady, weave a wreath for me, 


And by his side an anlace hung. 


And weave it of the cyjiress-tree. 


It seem'd some masquer's quaint array. 




For revel or for hohday. 


XIV. 




O'Neale observed the starting tear, 


XVL 


And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer — 


He made obeisance with a free 


" No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 


Yet studied air of courtesy. 


When momns the land thy silent lay, 


Eacli look and accent, framed to please. 


Siuill many a wreath be freely wove 


Seem'd to aS'ect a playful ease ; 


By hand of friendsliiji and of love. 


His face was of that doubtful kmd. 


I would not wish that rigid Fate 


That wins tlie eye, but not tlie mind ; 


Had doom'd thee to a captive's state, 


Tet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 


Whose hiuids are bound by honor's law, 


Of brow so young and smooth as tliis. 


1 JIS.— " I would not wish thee \ '" l degree 


Bound for j halls of barons bold.' 


' a i 


Tiiat sought the i 


So lost to hope as falls to me ; 

But S^'"'"'"""'"^'''! in minstrel pride, 
i if tliou Wert. I 

The land we'd travci-se side bj- side, 


3 Drummond oi' Ilawthornden was in the zenith of his repu 


tation as a poet daring tlip Civil Wars. He died in 1649. 


3 See Appendi,\, Note 3 E. 


On prancing steeds, like minstrels old, 


t Ibid. Note 3 F. 



CAKTO V. ROKEBY. 337 


His was the subtle look and sly, 


Wliat should my soaring views make good > 


Tljat, spying all, seems naught to spy ; 


My Harp alone ! 


Riiuud all the gi-oup his glances stole. 




UimiaikM themselves, to mark the whole. 


Love came with all his frantic fire, 


Vet sunk oeneath Matilda's look. 


And wild romance of vain desire ;* 


Nor could the eye of Redmond brook.' 


Tlie baron's daughter heard my lyre, 


To the suspicious, or the old. 


And praised the tone ; — 


Subtle and dangerous and bold 


Wliat could presumptuous hope inspire ? 


Had seem a tins self-invited guest ; 


My Harp alone ! 


But young our lovers, — and the rest, 


/ 


Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 


At manhood's touch the bubble burst, 


At parting of their Mistress dear. 


^Vnil manliood's pride the vision ciu-3t, 


Tear-blinded to the Castle-hall,' 


And all that had my folly nursed 


Came as to bear her funeral pall. 


Love's sway to own ; 




Yet spai-ed the spell that luU'd me fii'st, 


XVII. 


My Harp alone ! 


All that expi-ession base was gone, 




When waked the guest bis miustrel tone ; 


Woe came with war, and want with woe ; 


It fled at inspiration's call. 


And it was mine to undergo 


As erst the demon fled from Saul.' 


Each outrage of the rebel foe : — ' 


More noble glance he cast around, 


Can aught atone 


More free-drawn breath mspired the sound, 


My fields laid waste, my cot laid low* 


His pulse beat bolder and more high, 


My Harp alone ! 


In .all the pride of nunstrelsy ! 




Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 


Ambition's dreams Pve seen depart. 


Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! 


Have rued of penury the smart, 


His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 


Have felt of love the venom'd dart. 


Its vices wild and follies vain, 


When hope was flown ; 


And gave the talent, with him born, 


Yet rests one solace to my heart,— 


To be a common curse and scorn. 


My Harp alone ! 


Such was the youth whom Rokeby'a Maid, 


With condescendmg kindness, pray'd 


Then over mountain, moor, and hiU, 


Here to renew the .strains she loved. 


My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still ; 


At distance heai'd and well approved. 


And when tliis life of want and ill 




Is wellnigh gone. 


XVIIL 


Thy strmgs mme elegy shall thrill, 




My Harp alone ! 


Sonfl. 




THE HARP. 


xrx. 


I was a wild and wayward boy, 


" A pleasmg lay !" Matilda said ; 


My cliildhood scorn'd each childush toy, 


But Harpool shook liis old gray head, 


Retired from all, reserved and coy, 


And took his baton and his torch, 


To rausmg prone. 


To seek liis guard-room in the porch. 


I woo'd my soUtary joy. 


Edmund observed ; with sudden change, 


My Hai-p alone. 


Among the strings his fingers range, 




Until they waked a bolder glee 


My youth, with bold Ambition's mood. 


Of miUtary melody ; 


Despised the humble stream and wood. 


Tlien paused amid the martial sound, 


Where my poor father's cottage stood, 


And look'd with well-feign'd fear around ; — ' 


To fame unknown ; — 


" None to this noble house belong," 


^ MS. — " Nor couM keen Redmond's aspect brook." 


an harp, and played with his hand : So Saol was refreshed 


> MS.—" Came blindlbld to the Castle-hall, 


and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him." — 1 Sam 


As if to bear her funeral pall." 


UEL, chap. xvi. 14. 17, 23. 


3 " But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saol, and an 


■' MS. — ■' Love came, with all his ardent fire. 


Fvil spirit from the Lord troubled him. 


His frantic dream, his wild desire," 1 


" And Sanl said unto his servants, Provide me now a man 


5 MS. — " And doom'd at once to undergo. 


ihat ean play well, and bring him .0 me. And it came to pass, 


Each varied outrage of the foe." 


wliec tile evii spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took 
43 


6 MS.—'* And looking timidly around ** 



338 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He said, " that woiild a Minstrel wrong, 

Wliose fate has been, through good and ill, 

To love his Royal Master stiU ; 

And with your honor'd leave, Tvould fain 

Rejoice you with a loyal strain." 

Then, as assured by sign and look. 

The warlike tone again he took ; 

And Hirpool stopp'd, .■md tui'u'd to hear 

A ditty of the CavaUer. 

XX. 
S n Q. 

THE CAVALIER. 

While the dawn on the mountainwas misty and gray. 
My true love has momited his steed and .away 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down ; 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that tights for 
the Crown! 

He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to 
bear, [hair. 

He has placed his steel-cap o'er his long flowiug 

From his belt to his stu-rup his broadsword hangs 
down, — [the Crown I 

Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for 

For the rights of fair England that broadsword he 

draws. 
Her King is his leader, her Church is his Cause ; 
His watchword is honor, his pay is renown, — 
God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the 

Crown ! 

They may boast of then- Fairfax, theii- Waller, and 

aU 
The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
But tell these bold traitors of London's proud 

town, [Crown!' 

Tliat the spears of the North have enchcled tbe 

There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes ; 

There's Erin's high Ormoud, and Scotland's Mon- 
trose ! [and Brown, 

Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, 

With the Barons of England, that fight for the 
Crown? 

Now joy to the ci-est of the brave Cavalier ! 
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear, 



'MS.- 



' of prond London town, 



That the North has brave nobles to fight for the 
Crown." 

s In the ;\IS. the last quatrain of this song is, 

" If they boast that fair Reading by treachery fell. 
Of Stratton and Laiisdoune the Cornish can tel), 
And the North tell of Bramham and Adderton Down, 



Till in peace and in triumph liis toils he may drown 
In a pledge to fjiir England, her Church, and uer 
Crown." 

XXI. 

" Alas !" Matilda said, " that .strain. 
Good harper, now is heard in vain ! 
The time has been, at such a sound, 
Wlien Rokeby's vassals gather'd roimd. 
An hundred manly hearts would bound ; 
But now the sthring verse we hear. 
Like tritmp in dying soldier's ear !^ 
Listless and sad the notes we own. 
The power to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause. 
Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
Even when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's Heir such power retains, 
Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains : — 
And, lend thy harp ; I fain would try, 
If my poor skill can aught supply. 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall. 
To mourn the cause in which we faU." 

XXII 

The harper, with a downcast look. 
And trembling hand, her bounty took. — 
As yet, the conscious pride of art 
Had steel'd liun in his treacherous part ; 
A powerful sprmg, of force unguess'd. 
That hath each gentler mood suppress'd, 
And reign'd m many a human breast ; 
From his that plans the red campaign. 
To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
The failing wing, the blood-shot eye, — 
The sportsman marks with apathy. 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drown'd in his own successful skill. 
The veteran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the battle's roar,' 
Loves still the triumph of liis art. 
And traces on the pencQl'd chart 
Some stern invader's destined w.ay, 
Through blood and rum, to Iiis prey ; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame. 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares the guilt, though not the fame. 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditating crune ? 

Where God bless the brave gallants who fougp* 
for the Crown.' 
3 MS. — " But now it sinks upon the ear. 

Like dirge beside a hero's bier." 
* MS. — " Marking, with sportive cruelty, 

The failing wing, the blood-shot eye." 
fi MS. — *' The veteran chief, whose broken age. 
No more can lead the battle's rage." 



CASTO V. ROKEBY. 339 


Wliat against pity arms hia heart ! — 


Lands and honors, wealth and power,' 


It 8 the conscious pride of art." 


Well their loyalty repaid. 




Perish wealth, and power, and pride I 


XXIII. 


Mortal boons by mortals given ; 


But principles in Edmund's mind 


But let Consttmcy abide, — 


Were baseless, vague, and umlefined. 


Constancy's the gift of Heavea 


His soul, like bark -with rudder lost. 




On Passion's changeful tide was tost ; 


XXV. 


Nor Vice nor Yutue had the power 


■Wliile thus Matilda's lay was heard. 


Beyond the impression of the hour ; 


A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'd. 


And, ! when Passion rules, how rare 


In peasant hfe he might have known 


Tlie hours that fall to Virtue's share 1 


As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 


Yet now she roused her — for the pride, 


But village notes could ne'er supply 


That lack of sterner guilt suppUed, 


That rich and varied melody ; 


Could scarce support him wlien arose 


And ne'er in cottage-maid was seen 


The lay that moum'd Matilda's woes. 


The easy dignity of mien. 




Claiming respect, yet waiving state. 


Sonfl. 


That marks the daughters of the great. 


THE F.VKEWELL. 


Yet not, perchance, had these alone 


The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, 


His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown ; 


They mingle with the song : 


But while her energy of mind 


Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 


Superior rose to griefs combined. 


I must not hear them long. 


Lending its kindling to her eye. 


From every loved and native haunt 


Giving her form new majesty, — 


The native Heir must stray. 


To Edmund's thought Matdda seem'd 


And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt. 


Tlie very object he had dream'd ; 


Must part before the day. 


When, long ere gtult iiis soul had known. 




In Winston bowers he mused alone. 


Soon from the halls my fathers rear'd, 


Taxing his fancy to combuie 


Their scutcheons may descend. 


The face, the iiir, the voice divine. 


A line so long beloved and feai''d 


Of princess fan-, by cruel fate 


May soon obscurely end. 


Reft of her honors, power, and state,* 


No longer here Matilda's tone 


Till to her rightful reahn restored 


' Shall bid those echoes swell ; 


By destmed hero's conquering sword. 


Yet shidl they hear her proudly own 




The cause in which we fell. 


XXVL 




" Such was my vision 1" Edmund thought ; 


The lady paused, and then again 


" And have I, then, the ruin wrought 


Resumed the lay in loftier strain.' 


Of such a maid, that foncy ne'er 




In fairest vision form'd her peer ? 


XXIV. 


Was it my hand that could unclose 


Let our halls and towers decay, 


The postern to her rutliless foes ? 


Be our name and line forgot, 


Foes, lost to honor, law, and faith. 


Lands and manors pass away, — 


Their kindest mercy sudden death I 


We but share our Monarch's lot. 


Have I done this ? I ! who have swore. 


If no more om- annals show 


That if the globe such angel bore. 


Battles won and banners taken, 


I would have traced its ch-cle broad. 


Still in death, defeat, and woe. 


To kiss the groimd on which she trode ! — 


Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 


And now — ! would that earth would riv«^ 




And close upon me wliile alive I — 


Constant stUl in danger's hour. 


Is there no hope ? Is all then lost ? — 


Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; 


Bertram's already on his post I 


1 " Sorely, no poet has ever paid a finer tribute to the power 


! This couplet is not in the MS. 


of his art, than in the foregoing description of its effects on the 




mind of this unhappy boy 1 and none has ever more justly ap- 


3 MS. — *' Knightly titles, wealth and power." 


preciated the worthle^sness of tlie sublimesl genius, unre- 




Btrained by reason, and abandoned by viitue."— Critical Re- 


* MS. — "Of some fair princcs-s of romance, 


vieto 

1 


The guerdon of a hero's lance." 



S40 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v, 


Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door, 


E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 


I saw his shadow cross the floor 1 


I see it !— Reilmond, Wilfrid, look 1— 


He was to wait my signal stram — 


A human form distinct and clear — 


A little respite thus we gain: 


God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near !" 


By wliat I heard the menials say, 


She saw too true. Stride after stride, 


Young WycHffe's troop are on their way — 


The centre of that chamber wide 


Alai-m precipitates the crime ! 


Fierce Bertram gain'd ; then made a stand, 


My harp must wear away the time." — 


And, proudly waving with his hand. 


And then, in accents faint and low, 


Thunder'd — " Be still, upon your hves ! — 


He falter'd forth a tale of woe.* 


He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives 




Behind their chief, the robber crew 


XXVII. 


Forth from the darken'd portal drew 


aSallaB. 


In silence — save that echo dread 


" And wliither would you lead me, then ?" 


Retm-n'd their heavy measm-ed tread.' 


Quoth the Friar of orders gray ; 


The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 


And the Ruffians twain replied again, 


Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave , 


" By a dying woman to pray." — 


File after file in order pass. 




Like forms on Bauquo's mystic glass. 


" I see," he said, " a lovely sight. 


Then, halting at then- leader's sign, 


A sight bodes little harm, 


At once they form'd and ciu-ved their line, 


A lady as a hly bright. 


Hemming witliin its crescent drear 


With an infant on her arm." — 


Tlieir victims, Hke a herd of deer. 




Another sign, and to the aim « 


" Tlien do thine office, Friar gray. 


LeveU'd at once their muskets came. 


And see thou shrive her free 'C 


As waiting but their chieftain's word, 


Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night. 


To make their fatal volley heard. 


Fling aU its guilt on thee. 




XXIX. 


"Let mass be said, and trentr.als read, 


Back in a heap the menials drew ; 


When thou'rt to convent gone. 


Yet, even in mortal terror, true, 


And bid the bell of St. Benedict 


Then- pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 


Toll out its deepest tone." 


The shrift is done, the Friar is gone. 
Blindfolded as he came — 


" 0, haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond cried ; 


" Undo that wicket by thy side ! 


Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall 


Bear hence Matilda' — gain the wood — 


Were weeping for their dame. 


The pass may be a wiiile made good — 


Thy band, ere tliis, must sure be nigh — 


Wild D.arrell is an altered man. 


speak not — dally not — but fly !" 


Tlie village crones can tell ; 


Wliile yet the crowd their motions hide, 


He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray, 


Tlu-ough the low wicket door they glide. 


If he hears the convent bell. 


Through vaulted passages they wind. 




In Gothic intricacy twined ; 


If prince or peer cross D.arreU's waj'. 


Wilfred half led, and half he bore. 


He'll beard liim in his pride — • 


Matilda to the postern-door. 


If he meet a Friar of orders gray, 


And safe beneath the forest tree. 


He ch-oops and turns aside.' 


The Lady stands at liberty. 




The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 


XXVIII. 


Renew'd suspended consciousness ; — 


" Harper ! metliinks thy magic lays," 


" 'WTiere's Redmond ?" eagerly she cries : 


Matilda said, " can goblins raise ! 


" Thou answer'st not — he dies ! he dies 1 


WcUnigh my fancy can discern, 


And thou hast left him, all bereft 


Near the dark porch, a visage stern ; 


Of mortal aid — with miu-derers left ! 


» The MS. lias not tliis couplet. 


fl MS. — " Behind him came his savage crew 


a MS.—" And see thy shrift be true, 


File after file in order due ; 


Else sliall the soul, tliat parts to-day, 


Silent from that dark portal p,..ss. 


Flinff all its piiilt on you." 


Like forms on Banquo's magic glass." 


8 See ,\ppendi.\, Note 3 G, — (to which the author, in his in- 




terleaved copy, has made considerable additions. — Ed.) 


^ MS. — " Conduct Matilda," &c. 



ROKEBY. 



341 



I know it well — he would not yield 


It is, it is, the tramp of steeds. 


His sword to man — his doom is seal'd ! 


Matilda hears the sound : she speeds. 


For m}- scorn'd life, which thou liast bought 


Seizes upon tlie leader's rem — 


At price of his, I thank thee not." 


" 0, haste to aid, ere aid be vain ! 




Fly to the postern — gain the Hall !" 


XXX. 


From saddle spring the troopers all ;* 


The luijust reproach, tlie an<;ry look, 


Their g.allant steeds, at Ubcrty, 


Tlie heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 


Run wild along the moonlight lea. 


" Lady," lie said, " my band so near, 


But, ere they burst upon tlie scene, 


In safety thou mayst rest tliee here. 


Full stubborn had the c.oiilhct been. 


For Redmond's death thou slialt not mourn. 


When Bertram inark'd Matilda's flight, 


If muie c:ui buy his safe returu." 


It gave the signal for the fight ; 


He tura'd awuy — his heiut thi-obb'd high, 


And Rokeby's veterans, seam'd with scars 


Tile tear was bursting from his eye; 


Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars, 


The sense of her uijustice press'd 


Their momentary panic o'er, 


Upon tlie Maid's distracted breast, — 


Stood to the arms which tlien they bore ; 


" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain !" 


(For they were weapon'd, and prepared' 


He heiu-d, but turn'd luiu not again ; 


Their Mistress on her way to guard.) 


He reaches now the postern-door. 


Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale, 


Now enters — and is seen no more. 


Tlien peal'd the sliot, and clash'd the steel ; 




The war-smoke soon with sable breath 


XXXI. 


Darken'd the scene of blood and death. 


With all tlie agony that e'er 


While on the few defenders close 


Was geader'd 'twixt suspense and fear, 


The Bandits, with redoubled blows. 


She watch'd the line of windows taU," 


And, twice di-iven back, yet fierce and fell 


Wliose Gothic lattice lights the'Hall, 


Renew the charge with frantic yeU." 


Distinguish'd by the paly red 




The lamps in dim reflection shed," 


XXXIII. 


Wliile all beside in wan moonlight 


Wilfrid has fall'n — but o'er him stood 


Each grated casement glimmer'd white. 


Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood. 


No sight of harm, no sound of ill. 


Cheering his mates with heart and hand 


It is a deep and midnight still. 


Still to make good their desperate stand. 


Who look'd upon the scene, had guess'd 


" Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby halLs 


All in the Castle were at rest : 


Ne'er be it said our courage fads. 


Wlien sudden on the windows shone 


Wliat ! faint ye for their savage cry, 


A lightning flash, just seen and gone !' 


Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 


A shot is heard — Again the flame 


These rafters have return'd a shout 


Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came 


As loud at Rokeby's wassad rout. 


Then echo'd wildly, from within. 


As thick a smoke those hearths have given 


Of shout and scream the miuglcd din. 


At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.' 


And weapon-cla.5h and maddening cry, 


Stand to it yet ! renew the fight, 


Of those who kUl, and those who die ! — 


For Rokeby's and MatUda's right ! 


As fiU'd the Hall with sulphurous smoke. 


Tliese slaves ! they dare not, hand to hand. 


More red, more dark, the death-flash broke ; 


Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 


And forms were on the lattice cast, 


Impetuous, active, fierce, aud young. 


That struck, or struggled, as they past. 


Upon tlie advancing foes he sprung. 




Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 


XXXII. 


His brandish'd falcliion's sheer descent ! 


■Wliat sounds upon the midnight wind 


Backward they scatter'd as he came. 


Approach so rapidly beliind ? 


Like wolves before the levm flame,' 


1 MS. — " MatiIJa, shrouded by the trees, 


t MS.—" • Haste to— postern— gain the Hall 1' 


The line of lofty windows .sees." 


Sprung from their steeds the troopers all " 


' MS. — •' The dying lamps reflection shed. 


6 MS. — " For as it hap'd they were prepared." 


While all around the moon's wan light. 


• In place of this couplet the MS. reads,— 


On tower and casement glimmer'd white ; 


" And as the hall the troopers gain, 


No sights bode harm, no sounds bode ill. 


Their aid had welhiigh been in vair.' 


It is as calm as midnight still." 


' Seo Appendi.x, Note 3 H. 


• MS.—" A brief short flash," &c. 


8 MS. — " Like wolves at lightning's midnight flam* 



342 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v 


Wlien, 'mid their howling conclave driven, 


Startlmg, with closer cause of dread. 


Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heavea 


The females who the onflict fled. 


Bertram rusli'd on — but Harpool clasij'd' 


And now rusli'd forth upon the phun. 


His knees, although in deatli he gasp'd, 


FUluig the air with clamors vain. 


His falling corpse before him flung, 




And round the trammell'd ruffian clung. 


XXXV. 


Just then, the soldiers fiU'd the dome, 


But ceased not yet, the Hall within. 


And, shouting, charged the felons home 


The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din, 


So fiercely, that, in panic dread, 


Till bursting lattices give proof 


Tliey broke, they yielded, fell, or fled." 


The flames have caught the raftor'd roof 


Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 


What ! wait tliey till its beams amain 


Though heard above the battle's roar ; 


Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 


Wliile, trampling down the dying man. 


The alarm is caught — ^the drawbridge falls, 


He strove, with voUey'd threat and ban, 


The warriors hurry from the walls, 


In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 


But, by the conflagration's light, 


To rally up the desperate fight.' 


Upon the lawn renew the fight. 




Each strugglhig felon down was hew'd. 


XXXIV. 


Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 


Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold 


But forth the affrighted harper sprung. 


Tlian e'er from battle- thunders roU'd, 


And to Matilda's robe he clung. 


So dense, the combatants scarce know 


Her slu-iek, entreaty, and command, 


To aim or to avoid the blow. 


Stopp'd the pur.suer's lifted hand.' 


Smothering and blindfold grows the fight — 


Denzil and he ahve were ta'en ; 


But soon shall dawn a dismal hght ! 


The rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 


Mid cries, and clashuig arms, there came 




The hollow sound of rusliing flame ; 


XXXVI. 


New horrors on the tumult du-e 


And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high' 


Arise — the Castle is on fire !* 


The general flame ascends the sky ; 


Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand. 


In gatlier'd group the soldiers gaze 


Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand. 


Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 


Matilda saw — for frequent broke 


When, like infernal demon, sent, 


From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 


Red from his penal element, 


You tower, which late so clear defined 


To plague and to pollute the air, — 


On the fair hemisphere reclined. 


His face all gore, on fire his hair. 


That, penciU'd on its azure pure. 


Forth from the central mass of smoke 


The eye could count each embrazure, 


Tlie giant form of Bertram broke ! 


Now, swathed witlihi the sweeping cloud. 


His braudish'd sword on high he rears. 


Scums giant-spectre iu its sliroud ; 


Then plunged among opposing spears ; 


Till, from each loop-hole flashing light. 


Round his left arm his mantle truss'd. 


A spout of fire shines ruddy bright. 


Received and foil'd three lances' thrust ;' 


And, gathermg to united glare. 


Nor these his headlong course withstood," 


Stre;mis high into tlio midnight air ; 


Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ash-wood. 


A dismal beacon, far and wide 


In vain liis foes around him clung; 


That waken'd Greta's slumbering side.* 


With matchless force aside he flung 


Soon all beneatli, througli gallery long, 


Then- boldest, — as the bull, at bay. 


And pendent arch, the fire flash'd strong, 


Tosses the ban-dogs from nis way, 


Snatching whatever could maintain, 


Tlirough forty foes his patli he made. 


Raiso, or extend, its furious reign ; 


And safely gain'd the forest glade. 


' MS. — " Bertram had faced him ; while he gasp'd 


6 The IMS. has not this couplet. 


In death, his knees ohi Harpool clasp'd, 


6 MS. — " The glowing lattices give phjof." 


His dying corpse before liim flung." 


' MS. — " Her shrieks, entreaties, and commands. 


: Mt?. — " So fierce))' charged them that tliey bled, 


Avail'd to stop pursuing brands." 


Disbanded, yielded, fell, or fled." 


e MS. — " Where's Bertram now ? In fnry driven 


3 MS. — " To rally them against their fate, 


The general flame ascends to heaven ; 


And fought himself as desperate." 


The galher'il groups of soldiers gaze 


MS — " Chance-kindled 'mid the tumult dire. 


Upon the red and roaring blaze." 


Tlie western tower is all on 6re. 


fl The MS. wants this couplet. 


Matilda saw," &c. 


10 MS. — " In vain the opposing spears withstood.'* 



CANTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



343 



XXXVII. 


Her duteous orisons to pay, — 


Scarce was this final conflict o'er. 


Tliat morning sun has three times Been 


■Rlicn from the postern Reilmond bore 


The flowers unfolil on Rokeby green, 


Wilfiiil, who, as of life bereft, 


But sees no more tlie slumbers fly 


Hail in the fatal Hall been left,' 


From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 


Deserted there by all his train ; 


That morning sun has three times broke 


Bnt Redmond saw, and tiu-n'd again. — 


On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak. 


Iteneatli an oak he laid hina down. 


But, rising from their silvan screen. 


That in the blaze gleam'd ruddy bro^ra, 


Marks no gray turrets glance between. 


.\nd then his mantle's clasp undid ; 


A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, 


Matilda held his drooping head, 


That, liissing to the morning shower. 


Till, given to breathe the freer air, 


Can but with smouldering vapor pay 


Keturning life repaid then- care. 


Tlie early smile of summer day. 


He gazed on them with heavy sigh, — 


The peasant, to his labor bound. 


" I could have wish'd even thus to die 1" 


Pauses to view the blacken' d mound. 


No more he said — for now with speed 


Striving, amid tlie ruin'd space, 


Each trooper had regain'd his steed ; 


Each well-remember'd spot to trace. 


The ready palfreys stood array'd, 


That length of frail and fire-scorch'd wall 


For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 


Once screen'd the hospitable haU ; 


Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain. 


When yonder broken arch was whole, 


One leads his charger by the rein. 


'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole ; 


But oft Matilda look'd behind. 


And where yon tottering columns nod, 


As up the Vale of Toes they wind, 


Tlie chapel sent the hymn to God. — 


TOiere far the mansion of her sires 


So flits the world's uncertain span ! 


Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. 


Nor zeal for God, nor love for m.au. 


In gloomy arch above them spread, 


Gives mortal monuments a date 


The clouded heaven lower'd bloody red ; 


Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 


Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 


Tlie towers must .share the builder's doom ; 


Appear'd to roll in waves of blood. 


Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 


Then, one by one, was heard to fall 


But better boon benignant Heaven 


The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 


To Faith and Charity has given, 


Each rushing down with thunder sound, 


And bids the Christian hope sublime 


A space the conflagration drown'd ; 


Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time* 


Till, gatliering strength, again it rose, 




Announced its triumph in its close. 


II. 


Shook wide its light the landscape o'er. 


Now the third night of summer came. 


Then sunk — and Rokeby was no more !' 


Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flame. 




On Brignall cliffs :md ScargiU brake 




The owlet's homilies awake. 




Tlie bittern scream'd from rush and flag. 


Bolabu. 


Tlie raven shmiber'd on his crag, 


Forth from his den the otter drew, — 




Gr.ayUiig and trout theu- tynmt knew. 




As between reed and sedge he peers. 
With fierce round snotit and sharjjcn'd ears. 


C.\NTO SIXTH. 




Or, prowhng by the moonbeam cool, 


I. 


Watches the stream or swims tlie pool;— 


The summer sun, whose early power 


Perch'd on his wonted eyrie high, 


Was wont to gild Matilda's bower. 


Sleep seals the teixelet's wearied eye, 


And rouse her with liis matm ray' 


That all the day had watch'd so well 


> M-. — " Ha'l in tlie smouldering hall been left." 


* MS.—" And bids onr hopes ascend sublime 


^ '■ The castle on lire has an awful sublimity, which woold 


Beyond tho bounds of Fate and Time." — 


throw al a humble distance the boldest reaches of the pictoriat 




^n. . . . We refer our readers to Virgil's ships, or to his 


"Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom. 


Troy in flames ; and though the Virgilian pictures be drawn 


As burets the morn on night's unfatliom'd gloOQ, 


on a very extensive canvas, with confideiice. we assert that the 


Lured bis dim eye to deathless Iio[ie sublime. 


castle on fire is much more magnificent. It is, in trutli, incom- 


Beyond the realms of nature and of time." 


arably grand." — British Criiir., 


Campbkll 


3 MS. ■■ glancii^K ray 


» The MS. has not thi- couplet. 



Ui 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The cusli.at dart across the dell. 

In dubious beam reflected shone 

That lofty cliff of pale gray stone, 

Beside whose base the secret cave 

To rapine late a refuge gave. 

The crag's wUd crest of copse and yew 

On Greta's breast dark shadows thi-ew ; 

Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight, 

With every change of fitful Ught ; 

As hope and fear alternate chase 

Oui- coui-se tlu-ough life's uncertain race. 

III. 

Gliding by crhg and copsewood green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold. 
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold. 
And pauses oft, and cowers dismay'd. 
At every breath that stirs the shade. 
He passes now tlie ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen him, and is hush ; 
He passes now the dodder'd oak, — 
He heard the startled raven croak ; 
Lower and lower he descends. 
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends ; 
The otter hears him tread the shore, 
And dives, and is beheld no more : 
And by tlie cliff of pale gray stone 
The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
A well-reraember'd form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale, 
Combine to tell a ruefid tale. 
Of powers misused, of passion's force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
'Tis Edniimd's eye, at every sound 
Tliat flings that guilty glance around ; 
'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides 
Tlie brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
And, wlien its narrow porch Ues bare,' 
'Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 

IV. 

His flint and steel have sparkled bright, 
A lamp hath lent the cavern hght. 
Fearful and quick his eye sm-veys 
Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last he left that stern abode, 
It seera'd as none its floor had trode ; 
TJntouch'd appear'd the various spoil. 
The purchase of his conn-ades' toil ; 
Masks and disguises gi-im'd with mud, 
Arms broken and defiled with blood. 
And all the nameless tools that aid 
Night-felons in their lawless trade. 



IMS.- 



sally-port lies bare." 



3 MS. — " Or on the floors disonler'd flung." 
• MS. — " Seats overthrown aod flagons drain'd, 



Upon the gloomy walls were hung. 

Or lay in nooks obscurely flung.' 

Still on the sordid board appear 

The reUcs of the noontide cheer : 

Flagons and emptied flasks were there,' 

And bench o'erthrowii, and shatter'd chair ; 

And all around the semblance sliow'd. 

As when the final revel glow'd, 

When the red sun was setting fast, 

And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 

" To Rokeby treasure-vaults 1" tliey quaff 'd, 

And shouted loud and wildly laugh'ii, 

Pour'd maddening from the rocky door, 

And parted — to return no more ! 

They found in Rokeljy vaults tlieir doom, — 

A bloody death, a bm'ning tomb ! 

V. 

There his own peasant ch'ess he spies, 
Doff'd to assume that quaint disguise ; 
And, shuddering, thought upon his glee, 
Wlien prank'd in garb of minstrelsy. 
" O, be the fatal art accurst," 
He cried, " that moved ray folly fu-st ; 
Till, bribed by bandits' base applause, 
I bm"st through God's and Nature's laws ! 
Tliree siunmcr days are sc.antly past 
Since I have trod tliis cavern last, 
A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err- 
But, 0, as yet no murderer ! 
Even now I hst ray cotm-ades' cheer. 
That general laugh is in mine ear. 
Which raised my pulse and steel'd my heart, 
As I rehearsed my treacherous part — 
And would that all since then could seem 
The phantom of a fever's dream ! 
But fatal Memory notes too well 
The hon-ors of the dying yell 
From my despairing mates that broke. 
When flash'd the fire aud roU'd the smoke ; 
When the avengers shouting came. 
And hemm'd us 'twixt the sword and flame ! 
My frantic flight, — tlie Ufted brand,— 

That angel's interposing hand ! 

If, for my life from slaugliter freed, 
I yet could pay some grateful meed 1 
Perchance this object of my quest 
May aid" — he turn'd, nor spoke the rest. 

VI. 

Due northward from the rugged hearth, 
With paces five he metes the earth. 
Then toil'd with mattock to explore 
The entrails of the cavern floor. 
Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground, 

Still on the cavern floor remain'd. 
And all the cave that semblance bore. 
It show'd when late the revel wore." 



ROKEBY. 



340 



Uis search a small steel casket found. 

Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp, 

flis shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 

He started, and look'd up aghiist, 

Then shriek'd ! — 'Twas Bertram held him fast. 

" Fear not !" he said ; but who could hear 

That deep stern voice, and cease to fear ! 

" Fear not ! — By heaven, he sliiikes as much 

As partridge in the falcon's clutch :" — 

He raided him, and unloosed his hold, 

Wlule from the opening casket roll'd 

A chain and reliquaire of gold.' 

Bertram beheld it with surprise. 

Gazed on its fashion and device. 

Then, cheering Edmund as he could. 

Somewhat he smooihVl his rugged mood : 

For still the youth's half-Ufted ej-e 

Quiver'd with terror's agony. 

And sidelong glanced, as to explore, 

In meditated flight, the door. 

" Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free : 

Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 

Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 

Pve sought for refuge-place in vain.' 

And tell me now, thou aguish boy, 

What makest thou here ? what means tliis toy ? 

Denzil and thou, I mark'd, were ta'en ; 

What lucky chance unbound your chain ? 

I decm'd. long since on BaUol's tower, 

Yoiu" heads were warp'd with sun and shower.^ 

Tell me the whole — and, mark ! naught e'er 

Chafes me hke falsehood, or like fear." 

Gathering lus courage to his aid. 

But trembling still, the youth obey'd. 

VII. 
" Denzil and I two nights pass'd o'er 
In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
A guest the tliird sad morrow brought ; 
Our hold diirk Oswald Wycliff'e sought,' 
And eyed my comrade long askance. 
With flx'd and penetrating glance. 
' Guy Denzil art thou c;vll'd ?' — ' The same.' — 
' At Com-t who served wild Buckinghame ; 
Thence banish'd, won a keepers place, 
So Villiers will'd, in Mai'wood-chase ; 
That lost — I need not tell thee why — 
Thou raadest thy wit thy wants supply. 
Then fought for Rokeby : — Have I guess'd 
My prisoner right ?' — ' At tlu' behest.' — ° 
He paused a while, and then went on 



MS.- 



' carcanct of goUI.' 



« The MS. adds : 



• No sorer shelter from the foe 
Than what this cavern can bestow.* 



' perched in ?tjn and shower." 
44 



With low and confidential tone ; — 
Me, as I judge, not then he saw, 
Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 
' List to me, Guy. Thoti know'st the great 
Have frequent need of what they hate ; 
Hence, in their favor oft we see 
Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 
Were I disposed to bid thee live, 
What pledge of faith hast thou to give V 

VIII. 
" The ready Fiend, wlio never yet 
Hath fail'd to sharpen Denzil's wit. 
Prompted his lie — ' His only child 
Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron smiled. 
And turn'd to me — ' Thou art his son ;' 
I bow'd — our fetters were undone, 
And wo were led to hear apart 
A dreadful lesson of his art. 
Wilfrid, he said, his heir and .son. 
Had fair Matilda's favor won ; 
And long since liad their union been, 
But for lier father's bigot spleen, 
Wiiose brute and bUndfold party rage 
Would, iforce per force, her hand engage 
To a base kern of Irish earth, 
Unkn(jwn liis hueage and his birth. 
Save that a dying ruffian bore 
The infant brat to Rokeby door. 
Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 
Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
But fair occasion he must find 
For such restraint well-meant and kind. 
The Knight being render'd to liis charge 
But as a prisoner at large. 

IX. 

" He school'd us in a well-forged tale, 
Of scheme the Castle walls to scale," 
To wliich was leagued each Cavaher 
That dwells upon the Tyne arid Wear ; 
That Rokeby, his parole forgot. 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 
Such was the cliarge, which Den.'.il's zeal 
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 
Proffer'd, as witness, to make good,. 
Even though the forfeit were their blooil, 
I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 
His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore ; 
And then — alas ! what needs there more 1 
I knew I shotdd not Uve to say 

* MS. — " With the third morn tlial baron old, 

Daric Oswald Wycliffe, sought the hold." 

» MS. — " ' And hist diii.-t ride in Rokcby's band. 

An thou the man V — ' At thy command.' *• 
MS. — " He pchoolM us then to tell a tale 
Of plot the Castle walls to scale. 
To whicli had sworn each Cavalier." 



346 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi. 1 


Tlie pr.iffer I refused that day, 


His hand hke summer sapling shook, 


A^liamed to live, yet loth to die, 


Terror and guilt were in his look. 


I soil'd me "with their infamy !" — 


DenzU he judged, in time of need. 


" Poor youth," said Bertram, " "wavering still,* 


Fit counsellor for evil deed ; 


Unfit alike for fi;ood or ill ! 


And thus apart liis counsel broke, 


But what fell next ?" — " Soon as at largo' 


Wliile with a ghastly smile he spoke : — 


Was scroU'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 




There never yet, on tragic stage, 


XI. 


Was seen so well a painted rage 


" ' As in the pageants of the stage. 


As Oswald's show'd ! With loud alarm 


The dead awake in this w^ild age,^ 


He call'd his garrisor to arm ; 


Mortham — whom all men deem'd decreed 


From tower to tower, frjm post to post, 


In his own deadly snare to bleed, 


He hin'ried as if all were lost : 


Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea. 


Consign'd to dungeon and to chain 


He train'd to aid in murdering me, — 


The good old Knight and all liis train ; 


Mortham h.as 'scaped ! The coward shot 


Warn'd each suspected GavaUer, 


The .steed, but harm'd the rider not.' ''* 


Witliin his limits, to appear 


Here, with an execration fell. 


To-morrow, at the hour of noon, 


Bertram leaji'd up, and paced the cell : — 


In the high church of EgUstou." — 


" Tliine own gray head, or bosom dark," 




He multer'd, "may be surer mark!" 


X. 


Then sat, and sign'd to Edmund, pale 


" Of EgUston ! — Even now I pass'd," 


With terror, to resume his tale. 


Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast ; 


" WycUffe went on: — ' Mark with what flights 


Torclies and cressets gleam'd around. 


Of wilder'd reverie he writes; — 


I heard the saw and hammer sound. 




And I could mark they toil'd to raise 


(Tijc Setter. 


A scaffold, hung with sable baize. 


" * Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 


Wliieh the grim headsman's scene display'd, 


Though dead, thy victim lives to thee.' 


Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 


Once had he all that binds to hfe, 


Some evil deed will tliere be done, 


A lovely child, a lovelier wife ; 


Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 


Wealth, fame, and friendship, were liis own — 


She loves liim not — "tis shrewdly guess'd 


Thou gavest the word, and they are flown.' 


That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 


Mark how he pays thee : — To thy hand 


This is a turn of Oswalii's skill ; 


He yields his honors and his land," 


But I may meet, and foil liim still ! ' 


One boon premised ; — Restore Ms child ! 


How camest thou to thy freedom ?" — " There 


AulI. from his native land exiled. 


Lies mystery more dark and rare. 


Mortham no more returns to claim 


In midst of WyclifiFe's well-feign'd rage, 


His lanils, his honors, or his name ; 


A scroll was offer'd by a page. 


Refuse him this, and from the slain 


Who told, a muffled horseman late 


Thou shalt see Mortham rise again.' — 


Had left it at the Castle-gate. 




He broke the seal — his cheek show'd change, 


XII. 


Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ; 


'"Tilis billet while the baron ii'ad. 


The mimic passion of his eye 


His faltering accents sliow'd his dread; 


Was tuni'd to actual agony; 


Ho press'd his forehead with his palm. 


' MS. -sore best.id ! 


5 " ' Mortham escaped — tlic coward shot 


Wavering :i!ike in pood ami bad." 


The horse — but harnCd the rider not.' 


3 MS. '■ O. wlieri at larfje 


is truly laughable. How like the denouement »f the Coveiit 


Was EcrolI'd and Fign'd oiii fatal charge. 


Garden Tragedy ! in which tlie hero is supposed to have been 


You never yet. on tragic sLage, 


killed, but thus accounts for liis escape. 


Belidrl so well a painted rage." 


' I through the coat was, not the body, run f ' " 


!• After tilis line the MS. reads: — 


Monthly Revieto. 


" Altliougli ills soldiers .snatch'd away» 


» MS.— "Though dead to all, he lives to thee." 


Wlien in my ver\- grasp, my prey. — 


' MS. — " Wealth, fame, and happiness, his own — 


Eiimnnd, llo^^■ cani'st thou free ?" — '* there 


Tiion gavest the word, and all is flown." 


Lies mystery," &c. 


e The M?. adds :— 


* MS. — " The dead arise in this wild age. 


" Nay more, ere one day's coui'se had run. 


Mortham — whom righteous heaven decreed 


Hj rescued twice from death thy son. 


Caught ill his own fell snare to bleed." 


rWiir:. hi': demand :— Restore his child I" 



UNTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



347 



Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 


An interloper's prying toil. 


' Wild as the winds, as billows wild ! 


The words, but not the sense, I knew. 


Wiat wot I of his spouse or oliild ? 


TH\ fortune gave the guiding clew. 


Hither he broiii^lit a joyous dame, 




Unknown her lineage or her name : 


XIV. 


Her, in some frantic fit he slew ; 


" ' Three days since, was that clew reveal'd. 


Tlie nurse anil child in fear withdrew. 


In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd,' 


Heaven be mv witness ! wist I where 


And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid 


To find this youth, my kinsman's heii-, — 


Her uncle's history display'd ; 


Unguerdon'd, I would give with joy 


And now I can interpret well 


The fiither's arms to fold his boy. 


Each syllable the tablets teU. 


And Mortham's l;uids and towers resign 


Mark, then : Fair Edith was tlie joy 


To tlie just heu's of Mortham's Une.'— 


Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ; 


Thou kuuw'st that scarceU e'en his fear 


But from her sire and country fled. 


Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 


In secret Mortham's Lord to wed. 


' Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 


O'Neale, his first resentment o'er. 


He said, ' to ease his patron's lieart ! 


Dcspatch'd his son to Greta's shore. 


In thine own jailer's watchful care 


Enjoining he should make him known 


Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir; 


(Until his farther will were shown) 


Thy generous wish is fully won, — 


To Edith, but to her alone. 


Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son.' — 


AVliat of their dl-starr'd meeting fell. 




Lord Wycliil'e knows, and none so well. 


XIII. 




" Up starting with a phrensied look. 


XV. 


His clenched hand the Baron shook : 


" ' O'Neale it was, who, in despair. 


' Is Hell at work >. or dost thou rave. 


Robb'd Mortham of his infant heir ; 


Or darest thou palter with me, slave ! 


He bred huu in their nurture wild. 


Perchance thou wot'st not. Barnard's towers 


And call'd him murder'd Connel's child. 


Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers.' 


Soon died the nurse ; the Clan beUeved 


Denzil, who well his safety knew. 


Wliat from their Cliieftain they received. 


Firmly rejoin'd, ' I tell thee true. 


His purpose was, that ne'er again' 


Thy racks could give thee but to know 


The boy should cross tlie Irish main , 


The proofs, which I, untortured, show. — 


But, like his mountain-sires, enjoy 


It chanced upon a winter niglit. 


The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 


■WTien early snow made Stanmore white, 


Then on tlie land wild troubles came. 


Tliat very night, when first of all 


And stronger Chieftains urged a claim. 


Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-haU, 


And wrested from the old man's hands 


It was my goodly lot to gain 


His native tower.s, his father's lands. 


A reliquary and a chain. 


Unable then, amid the strife, 


Twisted and chased of massive gold. 


To guard young Redmond's rights or life. 


. — Demand not liow the prize I liold ! 


Late and reluctant he restores 


It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. — 


The infant to his native shores. 


GUt tablets to the chain were hung, 


With goodly gifts and letters stored. 


With letters in the Irish tongue. 


With many a deep conjuruig word. 


I hid mv spoil, for there was need 


To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 


That I should leave the land with speed ; 


Naught knew the clod of Irish earth, 


Nor then I deem'd it safe to bear 


Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ; 


On mine own person gems so rare. 


But deem'd his Chief's commands were laiu 


SniaU heed I of tlie tabhits took, 


On both, by both to be obey'd.' 


But since have spell'd them by the book. 


How he was woundqd by the way, 


WHien some sojourn in Erin's land 


I need not, and I Ust not say.' — 


Of theu- wild speech had given command. 




But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 


XVI. 


And language those of other days. 


" ' A wondrous tale ! and, grant it true. 


Involved of purpose, as to foil 


What,' Wycliffe answer'd, ' nxight I do ? 


MS. — " It chanced, three days since, I was laid 


The boy should visit Albion's shore ' 


Conceal'd in Thoriigill's hosiiy.shade." 


3 The MS. has not this couplet. 



i 348 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi 


Heaven knows, as willingly as now 


His noble kinsman's generous mind, 


I raise the bonnet from my brow, 


And tram htm on from day to day, 


Would I my kinsman's manors fair' 


Till he can take his life away. — 


Restore to Mortbam, or Iiis heir ; 


And now, declare thy purpose, youtli. 


But Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 


Nor dare to answer, save the truth ; 


Has drawn fur tyranny his steel, 


If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 


Mahgnant to our rightful cause. 


m tear the secret from thy heart !" — 


Anil train'd in Rome's delusive laws. 




Harl; thee apart !' — They whisper'd long, 


XVllI. 


Till Uenzil's voice grew bold and strong : — 


" It needs not. I renounce," he said, 


'My proofs! 1 never will,' he said. 


"My tutor in tliis deadly trade. 


• Show mortal man where they are laid. 


Fix'd was my purpose to declare 


Nor hope discovery to foreclose, 


To Mortliam, Redmond is his heir ; 


By giving me to feed the crows ; 


To tell him in what risk he stands. 


For I have mates at large, who know 


And yield these tokens to his hands. 


Where I am wont such toys to stow. 


Fix'd was my purpose to atone. 


Free me from peril and from band. 


Far as I may, the evil done ; 


These tablets are at thy command ; 


And fi.x'd it rests — if I survive 


Nor were it hard to form some train, 


This night, and leave this cave alive." — 


To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 


" And Denzd ?" — " Let them ply the rack. 


Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 


Even tiU his joints and sinews crack ! 


Should wrest from thine the goodly land.' 


If Oswald tear him limb from hmb. 


— ' I hke thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' well ; 


What ruth can'Deuzil claim from him. 


But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 


Whose thoughtless youth he led astray, 


Tliy son, unless my purpose err, 


And danm'd to this unhallow'd way ? 


May prove the trustier messenger. 


He scliotil'd me faith and vows were vain; 


A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 


Now let my master reap his gain." — 


From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 


'* True," answer'd Bertram, " 'tis his meed ; 


Gold shalt thou liave, and that good .store. 


There's retribution in the deed. 


And freedom, his commission o'er ; 


But thou — thou art not for our course, 


But if liis faith should chance to fail. 


Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse : 


The gibbet fi-ees thee from the jail.' — 


And he, with us the gale who braves. 




Must heave such cargo to the waves. 


XVII. 


Or lag with overloaded prore. 


" Mesh'd in the net himself had twined, 


While barks unburdeu'd reach the shore." 


What subterfuge could Denzil find '. 




He told me, with reluctant sigh. 


XIX. 


That liiddeu here the tokens lie ;' 


He paused, and, stretching him at length, 


Conjured my swift return and aid. 


Seem'd to repose his bulky strength. 


By all he scoff'd and disobey 'd f 


Communing with his secret mind. 


And look'd as if the noose were tied. 


As half he sat, and half reclined. 


And I the priest who left his side. 


One ample hand his forehead prcss'd. 


This scroU for Mortliam Wycliffe gave, 


And one was dropp'd across his breast. 


Whom I must seek by Greta's wave ; 


The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 


Or in the hut where chief he hides. 


Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 


Where Thorsgill's forester resides. 


His lip of pride a while forbore 


(Then chanced it, wandering in the glade, 


The haughty curve till tlien it wore ; 


Tliat he descried our ambuscade.) 


The unalter'd fierceness of his look 


1 was dismiss'd as evening fell. 


A shade of darken'd sadness took, — ' 


And reach'd but now this rocky cell." — 


For dark and sad a presage press'd 


"(!ive Oswald's letter." — Bertram read, 


Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 


Anil tore it fiercely shred by shred : — 


And when he spoke, his wonted to7ie. 


" All lies and vUUmy ! to blind 


So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 


MS. — " Would I my kinsman's lands rasign 


a MS. — " In secret where the tokens lie." 


To Mortham'a self and Mortliam's line : 


3 MS.—" By ties he scoff'd," &c. 


But Mortliam raves— and this O'Neale 


• MS. — " A darken'd >-ad expression took. 


Has drawn." Jtc. 


The unalter'd fierceness of his look." 



CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 349 


His voice waa steady, low, and deep, 


No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 


Like distant waves wlicn breezes sleep ; 


With disk like battle-target red, 


And sorrow mix'd with Edmund's fear, 


He rushes to his burning bed, 


Its low unbroken depth to hear. 


Dyes the wide wave with bloody light. 




Tlien sinks at once — ^and all is night. — 


XX. 




" Eduiund, in thy sad tale I find 


XXIL 


The woe that warp'd my patron's mind : 


" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 


'Twould w.ike the fountains of the eye 


Seek Mortham out, and bid Iiim hie 


In other men, but mine are dry. 


To Richmond, where liis troops are laid. 


Mortham nuist never see the fool, 


And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 


Tliat sold himself base Wycliffe's tool; 


Say, till lie reaches Egliston, 


Yet less from thirst of sordid gain, 


A friend will watch to guard his son.* 


Tlian to avenge supposed disdain. 


Now, fare-thee-well ; for night draws on. 


Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word, 


And I would rest me here alone." 


Till now from Bertram never heard: 


Despite his ill-dissembled fear. 


Say, too, that Mortham's Lord he prays 


There swam in Edmund's eye a tea/ ; 


To think but on their former days ; 


A tribute to the courage high. 


On Quariana's beach and rock. 


Which stoop'd not in extremity, 


On Cayo's bursting battle shock, 


But strove, irregularly great, 


On Darion's sands and deadly dew. 


To triumph o'er appro.iching fate ! 


And on the dart Tlatzeca tlu-ew ; — 


Bertram beheld the dewdrop start. 


Perclianee my patron yet may hear 


It almost touch'd liis ii'on heart : — 


More tliat may grace his comrade's bier.' 


" I did not tliink there lived," he said. 


My soul hath felt a secret weight, 


" One, who would tear for Bertram shed." 


A warning of approacliing fate : 


He loosen'd then his baldric's hold, i 


A priest had said, ' Return, repent !' 


A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 


As well to bid that rock be rent. 


" Of all the spoil that paid his pains. 


Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 


But this with Risingham remains ; 


My heart may burst, but cannot bend.' 


And this, .dear Ednuind, thou shalt take, 




And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 


XXL 


Once more — to Mortham speed amain; 


"The dawning of my youth, with awe 


Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 


And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 




For over Redesdale it came. 


XXIIL 


As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 


The night h.is yieldetl to the morn. 


Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine. 


And far the hours of prime are worn. 


When, challenging the Clans of Tyne, 


Oswald, who, since the dawn of day. 


To bring their best my brand to prove. 


Had cursed his messenger's delay. 


O'er Hexham's iiltar hung my glove ;^ 


Impatient question'd now liis train. 


But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, 


" Was Denzil's son return'd again ?" 


Held champion meet to t.ake it down. 


It chanced there an.swer'd of the crew 


My noontide, India may declare ; 


A menial, who young Edmund knew : 


Like hor fierce sua, I fired the air ! 


" No son of Denzil this," — he said ; 


Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 


" A peasant boy from Winston glade, 


Her natives, from mine angry eye. 


For song and minstrelsy renownd, 


Panama's maids shall long look pale 


And knavish pranks, the hamlets round.'' — 


Wlien Risingham inspu-es the tale; 


" Not Denzil's son ! — From Winston vale ! — 


Chili's dark matrons long sliall tame 


Then it was false, that specious tale ; 


The froward child with Bertram's name. 


Or, worse — he hath despatched the youth 


And now, my race of terror run, 


To show to Mortham's Lord its truth. 


Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 


Fool that I was ! — but 'tis too late;— 


No pale gradations quench liis ray, 


This is the very turn of fate ! — ' 


1 MS.—" Perchance, that Mortham yet may hear 


< MS.—" With him and Fairra.x for his friend. 


Something to grace his comrade's bier." 


No risk that Wyclilfe dares contend. 


1 MS. " ne'er shall bend.." 


Tell him the while, at Egliston 




There will be one to guard liis son." 


• See Appendii, Note 3 I. 


5 MS. — " This is the crisis of my fate." 



,i50 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi, 1 


The tale, or true or false, relies 


Else, wherefore should I now deltiy 


On Deuzir.s evidence ! — He dies ! — 


To sweep tliis Redmond from my way ? — 


Ho ! Provost Marshal 1 instantly 


But she to piety perforce 


Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 


Must yield. — Witliout there ! Sound to horse." 


Allow him not a parting word ; 




l-)hort be the shrift, and sure the cord I 


XXV. 


Then let his gory liead appal 


'Twas bustle in the court below, — 


Marauders from the Castle-wall. 


" Mount, and marclt forward !" — Forth they go 


Lead forth thy guard, that duty done, 


Steeds neigh and trample all around. 


With best despatch to Egliston. — 


Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets somid. — 


— Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 


Just then was sung his parting hymn ; 


Attend me at the Castle-gate." — • 


And Denzil turn'd liis eyeballs dim, 




And, scarcely conscious what he sees, 


XXIV. 


Follows the horsemen down tlie Tees ;' 


*' Alas !'' the old domestic said, 


And, scarcely conscious what he hears, 


And shook liis venerable head. 


The trumpets tingle in his ears. 


" Alas, my Lord ! full ill to-day 


O'er the long bridge they're sweeping now, 


Mav my young master brook the way ! 


The van is hid by greenwood bough ; 


The leech has spoke with grave alarm, 


But ere the rearward had pas.s'd o'er. 


Of unseen hurt, of secret harm. 


Guy Denzil heard and 6.aw no more !^ 


Of sorrow lurking at the heart, 


One stroke, upon the Castle bell. 


That mars and lets liis healing art." — 


To Oswald rung his dying knell. 


" Tush, tell not me ! — Romantic boys 




Pine themselves sick for airy toys. 


XXVL 


I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 


0, for that pencil, erst profuse 


Bid bun for Eghstou be bonne, 


Of chivalry's emblazon'd hues. 


1 And quick ! — I hc;u- the dull death-drum 


Tliat traced of old, in Woodstock bower. 


Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." 


Tlie pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 


He paused with scornful smile, and tlien 


And bodied forth the tourney high. 


Resumed his tram of thought agen. 


Held for the hand of Emily ! 


" Now comes my fortune's crisis near ! 


Then might I paint the tumult broad, 


Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 


That to the crowded abbey flow'd. 


Naught else, can bend Matilda's pride, 


And pour'd, as with an ocean's .sound. 


Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 


Into the church's ample bound ! 


But when she sees the scaffold placed. 


Then might I show each varying mien, 


With axe and block and headsman graced. 


Exulting, woeful, (>r serene ; 


And when she deems, that to deny 


Indifference, with his idiot stare, 


Dooms Redmond and her sh-e to die. 


And Sympathy, with anxious air, 


She must give way. — Then, were the line 


Paint the dejected Cavalier, 


Of Rokeby once combined with mine. 


Doubtful, disarm'd, and sad of cheer ; 


I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 


And liis proud foe, wliose formal eye 


If Mortham come, he comes too late. 


Claun'd conquest now and mastery ; 


WhUe I, alhed thus and prepared. 


And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 


Bid hmi defiance to his beard.— 


Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 


— If she prove stubborn, .shall I dare 


And loudest shouts when lowest lie 


To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause we there. 


Exalted worth and station high. 


Mortham stiU Uves — yon youth may tell 


Yet what may such a wish avail ? 


His tale — and Fairfax loves liim well ; — 
1 


'Tis mine to tell an onward tale,* 


1 

1 I MS. — " Marks the dark cloud sweep down the Tees." 


rather explains itself by gradual unravelnient." — Monthly R» 


2 " This subordinate villain thus meets the reward which Jie 


view. 


.leserves. He is altogether one of the minor skt-Fchcs of the 


3 The Quarterly Reviewer, after quoting from 


poem, hut still adds a variety and a life to the sroup. He is 




besides absolutely necessary tor the development of the plot; 


" 'Tis mine to tell an onwaril tale," 


;ind inileed a peculiar propriety in this respect i.s observable 


to 

•' Or snatch a blossom from the bough," 


throughout the story. No ciiaracter. and. comparatively speak- 




ing, but little description, is introduced that is unessential to 


adds, " Assuredly, if such lines as these had occurred more 


.-.he narrative ; it proceeds clearly, if not rapidly, throughout ; 


frequently in Rokeby, it would have extorted our uuqualilied 


and although the plot becomes additionally involved to appear- 


admiration : and although we lament that numerous little 


ance as it advances, all is satisfactorily explained at the last, or 


blemishes, which might e.isily be removed, have been suffered 



CANTO vt. ROKEBY. 851 


Hurrying, as best I can, along, 


XXVIII. 


Tlie heiu-ers and the hasty song; — 


But Oswald, guarded by his band. 


Like traveller when approaching home, 


Powerful in evil, waved his hand. 


Will) sees the shades of evening come, 


And bade Sedition's voice be dead, 


And must not now liis course delay. 


On peril of tlie murmurer's head. 


Or choose the fair, but winding way ; 


Then first his glance sought Rokeby 's Kniglit ;* 


Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, 


Who gazed ou the trenienilous sight, 


Mliere o'er liis head the wildings bend. 


As calm as if he came a guest 


To bless the breeze that cools liis brow, 


To kindred Baron's feudal feast,' 


Or snatch a blossom fiom the bough. 


As cahu as if that truiii]jct-call 




Were summons to tlie bamior'd liall ; 


XXVII. 


Firm in his loyalty he stood. 


The reverend pile lay wild and waste. 


And prompt to seal it with liis blood. 


Profaned, dishonor'd, and defaced. 


With downcast look drew Oswald nigh, — 


Tlu-ough storied lattices no more 


He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! — ° 


In soften'd light the sunbeams pour. 


And said, with low and faltering breath. 


Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 


" Thou know'st the terms of life and death." 


Of shrme, and monument, and niche. 


The Knight then turn'd, and steridy smiled; 


The Civil fury of the time 


" The m;uden is mine only chili.1. 


Made sport of sacrilegious crime \^ 


Yet shall my blessmg leave her head. 


For dark Fanaticism rent 


If with a traitor's son she wed." 


Altar, and screen, and ornament. 


Then Redmond spoke : " The life of one 


And peasant hands the tombs o"ertlirew 


Might thy malignity atone,' 


Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh.' 


On me be flung a double guilt ! 


And now was seen, unwonted sight, 


Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt !" 


In holy walls a scaffold diglit ! 


Wycliffe had listen'tl to liis suit. 


Where once the priest, of grace divine 


But dread prevail'd, and he was mute. 


Dealt to his tlock the mystic sign ; 




There stood the block display'd, and there 


XXIX. 


The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 


And now he pours his choice of fear 


And for the word of Hope and Faith, 


In secret on Matilda's ear ; 


Resounded Ic.ud a doom of death. 


" An union forra'd with me and mine. 


Thrice the tierce trumpet's breath was 


Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 


heard. 


Consent, and aU tliis dread array. 


And echo'd thrice the herald's word. 


lake morning dream sliall pass away ; 


Dooming, for breach of martial laws. 


Refuse, and, by my duty press'd, 


And treason to the Commons' cause. 


I give the word — thou know'st the rest." 


The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 


Matilda, stiU and motionless. 


To stoop their heads to block and steel. 


With terror heard the di'ead address, 


The trumpets tlourish'd high and shrill. 


Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 


Then was a silence dead and still ; 


To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 


And silent pr.ayers to heaven were cast. 


Then wrung her hands in agony. 


And stifled sobs were burstmg fast, 


And roimd her cast bewilder'd eye. 


TUl fi-ora the crowd began to rise 


Now on the scaffold glanced, and no-vf 


Murmurs of sorrow or surprise. 


On Wyclitfe's unrelenting brow. 


And from tlie di.stant aisles there came 


She veil'd her face, and, with a voice 


Deep-mutter'il threats, with Wycllffe's 


Scarce audible, — " I make my choice ! 


nnine.^ 


Spare but tlieh- Mves 1 — for aught beside. 


10 remain ; that many of the poL-tical omamenis, though just- 


^ MS. — " Muttering of threats, and Wyelilfe's name/ 


ly conceived, are faintly and indistinctly drawn ; and that those 
finishing touches, which Mr. Scott lias the talent of placing 


* MS. — " Then from his victim sought to know 
The working of his tragic show, 


w.th peculiar taste and i)ropriety, are too sparingly scattered ; 
we readily adtnit that lie has told his ' onward tale' with great 
vigor and animation ; and that he has generally redeemed his 
faults by the richness and variety of his fancy, or hy the inter- 
est of liis narrative." 
1 The MS. has not this nor the preceding couplet. 


And fii-st his glance," i:c. 

6 MS. — " To some high Baron's feudal fea-sl. 

And that loud pealing trumpet-call 

Jffl.v .summons," &c. 
s MS. — " He durst not meet his scornful eye." 


2 M3. — '* And peasants' base-horn hands o'erthrew 


' MS. '• the blood of one 


The tombs of Lacy anil Fitz-Hugh." 


Might this malignant plot atone." 



862 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAKTO VI. 



Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 
He once was generous !'' — As she spoke, 
Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke : — 
" Wilfrid, where loiter'd ye so late ? 
Why upon Basil rest thy weight ? 
Aj't spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ;' 
Thauk her with raptures, simple boy ! 
Should teal's and trembling speak thy 

joy ?"— 

' " hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 
Of mine tliou liast refused thme ear ; 
But now the awful hour draws on, 
Wlien truth must speak in loftier tone." 

XXX. 

He took Matilda's band ■? — " Dear maid, 

Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 

" Of thy poor friend so basely deem, 

As blend with him this barbarous scheme ? 

Alas ! my efforts made in vain, 

Might well have saved this added pain.' 

But now, bear witness earth and heaven, 

That ne'er was hope to mortal given, 

So twisted' with the strings of life, 

As this — to call MatUda wife I 

I bid it now for ever part. 

And with the effort bursts my heart !" 

His feeble frame was worn so low, 

With wouuds, with watching, and with woe. 

That nature could no more sustain 

Tlie agony of mental pain. 

He kneel'd — his lip her hand had press'd, — ' 

Just then he felt the stern arrest. 

Lower and lower sunk his head, — 

They raised hun, — but the life was fled ! 

Tlien, first alarm'd, his she and tnun 

Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 

The soul, too soft its ills to bear, 

H,ad left our mortal hemisphere, 

1 In place of this and preceding couplet, the M?. has, 
" Successful was the sclierae he plann'd : 
Kneel, Wilfrid ! take her yielded hand 1" 
a .MS. — •' He kneel'd, and took her hand.'^ 
3 *,'S. — " To save the complicated pain." 
^ MS.—" Blended.'^ 
& MS. — " His lips upon her hands were press'd, — 

Just as he felt the stern arrest." 
'■ " The character of Wilfrid is as extensively drawn, and 
even more so, perhaps, than that of Bertram. And amidst 
the tine and beautilul moral reflections accompanying it, a 
.leep insight into the human heart is discernible ; — we had 
almost said an intuition more penetrating than even his. to 
whom were given these 'golden keys' that ' unlock the gates 
of joy.' 

' Of liorror that and thrilling fears. 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.' " 

British Critic. 

" In delineating the actors of this dramatic tale, we have 
LIOp hesitation in saying, that Mr. Scott has beeo more suc- 



And sought in better \rorld the meed, 
To blameless hfe by Heaven decreed.' 

XXXL 

The wretched sire beheld, aghast, 

With Wilfrid all his projects past, 

AH turn'd and centred on his son, 

On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 

" And I am childless now," he said ; 

" CbUdless through that relentless maid ! 

A lifetime's arts in vain essay'd. 

Are bursting on theu* artist's head ! — 

Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 

Comes hated Jlorth.am for his heir, 

Eager to knit in happy band 

With Rokeby's heuess Redmond's hand. 

And shaU their trimnph soar o'er all 

The schemes deep-laid to work their fall ? 

No ! — deeds wdiich prudence might not dare, 

Appal not vengeance and despair. 

The murd'ress weeps upon liis bier — 

I'll change to real that feigned tear ! 

They all shall share destruction's shock; — 

Ho I lead the captives to the block 1" 

But ill his Provost could divine 

His feelings, and forebore the sign. 

" Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or they, 

Shall face the judgment-seat this day !" 

XXXIL 
The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near. 
The very death's-men paused to hear. 
'Tis m the chtirchyard now — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! 
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone. 
Return the tramp m varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung. 
When through the Gothic arch there sprimg 

cessful than on any former ocrasion. Wilfrid, a person of the 
fii-st importance in the whole nianagement of the plot, exhibita 
an assemblage of qualities not nnfreqneutly combined in real 
life, but, so far as we can recollect, never before represented in 
poetry. It is. indeed, a churactei which required to be touched 
with great art and delicacy. The reader generally expects to 
find beauty of form, strength, grace, and agility, united with 
powerful passions, in the prominent figures of romance; be- 
cause these visible qualities are the most frequent themes of 
panegyric, and usually the best passports to admiration. The 
absence of them is supposed to throw an air of riilicule on the 
pretensions of a candidate for love or glory. An ordinary 
poet, therefore, would have despaired of awakening our sym- 
pathy in favor of that lofty and generous spirit, and keen sen- 
sibility, which at once animate and consume the frail and 
sickly frame of Wilfrid ; yet Wilfrid is, in fact, extremely in- 
teresting ; and his death, though obviously necessary to the 
condign punishment of Oswald, to the future ri-pose of Matil- 
da, and consequently to the consummation of the poem, leaves 
strong emotions of pity and regret in the mind of the reader." 
— Quarterly Review. 



CANTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



353 



A liorsemaii ivrin'd, at headlong speed — 
Sable liis clciuk, his plume, his steed.' 
Fire from tlie flinty floor was spm-n'd. 
The vaults unwonted clang return'd! — 
One instant's glance around he threw, 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determined was liis look ! 
His charger with the spurs he strook — 
All scatter'd backward as he came, 
For all knew Bertram Risinghara ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave ■' 
The first has reach'd the centr.il nave. 
The second clear'd the chancel wide. 
The third he was at Wycliffe's side. 
Full levell'd at the Baron's head, 
Eung the report — the bullet sped — 
And to Ills long account, and last, 
■Without a groan, dark Oswald past 
AU was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of lightning, or a dreiun. 

XXXIII. 

Wliile yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels; 
But fiounder'd on the pavement-floor 
The steed, and down the rider bore, 
And, bursting in the headlong sway. 
The fiuthless saddle-girths gave w.ay. 
"Twas while he toil'd him to be freed. 
And with the I'ein to raise the steed. 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All WycUffe's .soldiers wjiked .at once. 
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ; 
A score of pikes, with each a wound, 
Bore down and pinu'd him to the groimd ;' 
But still his struggUng force he rears, 
'G.ainst hacking brands and stabbing spears ; 
Thrice from assailants shook him free. 
Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee. 

i See Appeodii, Note 3 K. 

a MS. — "Tliree bounds he made, tliat noble steed ; 

._. ^ . i Lacies' tomb J , ^ , ,, 

The first tile J , , , , [■ has freed." 

( chancel s bound ) 

3 MS. — " Oppress'd and pinn'd him to the ground." 

* MS. — " And when, by odds borne down at length." 
5 MS.— "He bore." 

* MS. — " Had more of laugh in it than moan." 
' MS. — " But held their weapons ready set. 

Lest the grim king should rouse him yet." 
8 MS. — " But Basil check'd them with disdain, 
And flung a mantle o'er the slain." 

* *' Whether we see him scaling the cliffs in desperate course, 
and scaring the hawks and the ravens from their nest^ ; or, 
while the Castle is on tire, breaking from the central mass of 
•moke ; or, amidst tlie terriiic circumstances of his death, when 
his 

' parting groan 
Had more of laughter than of moan,* 
45 



By tenfold odds oppress'd at length,' 
Despite liis struggles and his strength, 
He took' a hundred mortal wounds, 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangUng hoimds; 
And when he died, his parting groan 
Had more of laugliter tli.an of moan 1° 
— They gazed, as when a lion dies. 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes. 
But bend their weapons on the slain. 
Lest the grim king should rouse again!' 
Then blow and insult some renew'd, 
And from the trunk, the head had hew'd, 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;' 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid ; — 
" Fell as he was in act and mind, 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Tlien give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloiik for winding-sheet.'" 

XXXIV. 

No more of death and dying pang. 

No more of trump and bugle clang. 

Though through the sounding woods there come 

Batmer and bugle, trump and drimi. 

Arm'd with such powers as well had freed 

Young Redmond at his utmost need. 

And back'd with such a band of horse, 

As might less ample powers enforce ; 

Possess'd of every proof and sign 

That gave an heir to Mortham's line. 

And yielded to'a father's arms 

An image of his Edith's charms, — 

Mortham is come, to hear and see 

Of this strange morn the history. 

What saw he ? — not the church's floor, 

Cumber'd with dead and stain'd with gore ; 

What heard he ? — not the clamorous crowd, 

That shout their gratulations loud : 

Redmond he saw and heard alone, 

Clasp'd him, and sobb'd, " My son ! my son !'' — " 

we mark his race of terror, with the poet, like the ' eve of 
tropic sun i' 

' No pale gradations quench his ray. 
No twilight dev%'s his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red. 
He rushes to Ills burning bed ; 
Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is night.' " 

Britisfl Critic. 
'* I hope you will like Bertram to the end ; he is a Carava^gio 
sketch, which, I may acknowledge to you — but tell it not in 
Gath — I ratlier pique myself upon ; and he is within ;Le keejv 
ing of Nature, though critics will say to the contrary. It may 
be difficult to fancy that any one should take a sort of pleasure 
in bringing out such a character, but I SQ|>pose it is partly 
owing to bad reading, and ill-du%cted reading, when 1 was 
young." — Scott to Miss Bailtie. — Life, vol. iv. p. 49. 
10 MS. — Here the author of Rokeby wrote, 

"Endof Canto VI." 
Stanza xxxv., added at the request of the printer and another 



354 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI, 



XXXV. 

Tliis chanced upon a summer morn, 

Wlieu yellow craved the lieavy cum : 

But when brown August o'er the laud 

CallV! forth the reaper's busy band, 

A gladsome sight the sih'an road 

From EgUston to Mortham show'd. 

A while tlie hardy rustic leaves 

The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 

And maids their sickles fling aside, 

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride. 

And childhood's wondering group draws near, 

And from the gleaner's hands the car 

Drops, while she folds them for a 2:)rayer 

friend, was accompanied by the following note to Mr. Ballan- 
lyne : — 

" Dear James, 

" I send you this, out of deference to opinions so strongly 
expressed ; but still retaining my own, that it spoils one effect 
without producing another. W. S." 

1 " Mr. Scott has now confined himself within much narrow- 
er limits, ami, by descending to the sober annals of the seven- 
teenth century, has renounced nearly all those ornaments of 
Gothic pageantry, wliich, in consequence of the taste with 
which he displayed them, had been tolerated, and even ad- 
mired, by modern readers. He has snhjecled his style to a 
severer code of criticism. The language of the poet is often 
unconsciously referred to the date of the incidents which he re- 
lates; so tliat what is careless or idiomatic escapes censure, as 
a supposed anomaly of antique diction : and it is, perhaps, 
partly owing to this impression, that the phraseology of ' Mar- 
mion,' and of the ' Lady of the Lake,' has appeared to us to 
be no less faulty than that of the present jioem. 

" But, he this as it may, we confidently persist in thinking, 
that in this last experiment, Mr. Scott's popularity will be still 
fartlier confirmed ; because we have found by e.xperience, 
that, although during the first hasty inspection of the poem, 
undertaken for the gratification of our curiosity, some blemish- 
es intruded themselves upon oor notice, the merits of the story, 
and the minute sliades of character displayed in the conduct of 
it, have been sufficient, during many succeeding perusals, to 
awaken our feelings, and to reanimate and sustain our attention. 

"The original fiction from which the poem is derived, ap- 
pears to us to be constructed with considerable ability ; but it 
is on the felicity with which the poet has expanded and dram- 
atized it ; on the diversity of the characters ; on the skill with 
wliich they are unfolded, and on the ingenuity with which 
every incident is rendered subservient to Ins final purpose, that 
we chiefly found our preference of this over his former produc- 
tions. From the first canto to the last, nothing is superfluous. 
The arrival of a nocturnal visitor at Barnard Castle is announ- 
ced with such solemnity, the previous terrors of Oswald, the 
arrogance and ferocity of Bertram, his abruptness and discour- 
tesy of demeanor, are so eminently delineated, that the picture 
Beems as if it had been introduced for the sole purpose of dis- 
playing the author's powers of description ! yet it is from this 
visit that all the subsequent incidents naturally, and almost 
.lecessarily flow. Our curiosity is, at the very commencement 
of the poem, most powerfully excited ; the principal actors in 
the scene exhibit themselves distinctly to our view, the devel- 
opment of the plot is perfectly continuous, and our attention 
is never iuteirupted, or suffered to relax." — Quarterly Re- 
view. 



*' This production of Mr. Scott altogether abounds in imagery 
and description less than eitlier of its precursors, in pretty 



And blessing on the lovely pair. 
'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby gave 
Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ; 
And Teesdale can remember yet 
How Fate to Yhtue paid her debt, 
And, for their troubles, bade them prove 
A lengthen'd life of peace and love. 



Time and Tide had tints their sway. 
Yielding, like an April day, 
Smihng noon for sullen morrow, 
Years of joy for hours of sorrow.^ 

nearly the same proportion as it contains more of dramatic in 
cident and character. Yet some of the pictures winch it pre- 
sents are highly wrought and vividly colored ; for example, 
the terribly animated narrative, in the fifth canto, of the battle 
within the hall, and the conflagration of the mansion of Rokehy. 

" t?everal defects, of more or less importance, wc noliced, or 
imagined that we noticed, as we read. It appears like pre- 
sumption to accuse Mr. Scott of any failure in respect to cos- 
tume — of the manners and character of the times which he 
describes — yet the impression produced on our minds by the 
perusal, has certainly been, that we are thrown back in imag- 
ination to a period considerably antecedent to that which he 
intends to celebrate. The other faults, we remarked, consist 
principally in the loo frequent recurrence of those which we 
have so often noticed on former occasions, and which are so 
incorporated with the poet's style, that it is now become as 
useless as it is painful, to repeat the censures which they Iiava 
occasioned. 

" We have been informed that ' Rokeby' has hitlierto circu- 
lated less rapidly than has usually been the case with Mr. 
Scott's works. If the fact be so, we are inclined to aUribute 
it solely to accidental circumstances ; being persuadeil that the 
defects of the poem are only common to it with all the produc- 
tions of its author ; that they are even less numerous than in 
most; and that its beauties, though of a different stamp, are 
more prol'usely scattered, and, upon the whole, of a higher or- 
der." — Critical Review. 



" Such is Rokeby ; and our readers must confess that it is a 
very interesting tale. Alone, it would stan.,i the author one 
of the most picturesque of English poets. Of the slory, we 
need hardly say any tiling farther. It is complicated without 
being confused, an^so artfully suspended in its unravelment, 
as to produce a constantly increasing sensation of curiosity. 
Parts, indeed, of the catastrophe may at intervals be foreseen, 
but they are like the partial glimpses that we catch of a noble 
and well-shaded building, which does not break on us in all its 
proportion and in all its beauty, nnUl we suddenly arrive in 
front. Of the characters, we have something to observe, in 
addition to our private remarks. Our readers may perhaps 
have seen that we have frequently applied the term sketch, to 
the several personages of the drama. Now, although this poem 
possesses more variety of well-sustained character tlian any 
other of Mr. Scott's performances — although Wilfrid will be a 
favorite with every lover of the soft, the gentle, and the oa- 
thetic, while Edmund offers a t'earfu' warning to misused aoil- 
ilies — and althoush Redmond is indeed a man, compared to the 
Cranstoun of The Lay. to the fVilton of Mnrmion. or to the 
Malcolm of the Lady of the I.ahc ; yet is Redmond liimseU 
but a sketch compared to Bertram. Here is Mr. Scott's true 
and favorite hero. He has no ^ sneakivg kindness' for these 
barbarians ; — he boldly adopts and patronizes them. Deloraino 



;;anto VI. 



KOKEBY. 



355 



(it Ikis tiuinorously been observed) would liave been exactly 
what Mnnniofi was, could be Iiaveread and written ; Bertram 
is a bappy niixtare of botb ; — as great a villain, if possible, as 
Maruiiou ; and, if possible, as great a scamp as Deloraine. 
His cbaracter is completed by a dasb of tbe fierceness of Rod- 
crick Dliu. We do not bere enter into tbe question as to tbe 
good taste of an autbor w!io employs bis utmost strcngtb of 
description on a compouml of bad qualities ; but we must ob- 
serve, in the way of protest for tlie present, tliat something 
must be wrong where poetical eftect and moral approbation are 
60 much at variance. We leave untouched tbe general argu- 
ment, whether it makes any difterence for poetical purposes, 
that a hero's vices or bis virtues should preponderate. Power^ 
ful indeed must be the genius of tbe poet who, out of such 
materials as those above mentioned, can form an interest- 
ing wliole. This, however, is the fact; and Bertram at times 
so overcomes hatred with admiration, that he (or rather hJs 
painter) is almost pardonable for his energy alone. There is a 
charm about Ibis spring of mind which bears down all opposi- 
tion, ' and throws a brilliant veil of light over the most hideous 
deformity.' This is tbe fascination — this is the varietv and 
vigor by which Mr. Scott recommends barbarous heroes, un- 
dignified occurrences, and. occasionally, the most incorrect lan- 
guage, and the most imperfect versification — 

" Catch but his fire — ' And you forgive him all.' '* 

Monthly Review, 

" That Rokeby, as a whole, is equally interesting with Mr. 
Scott's former works, we are by no means prepared to assert. 
But if there be, comparatively, a diminution of interest, it is 
evidently owing to no other cause than the time or place of its 
action — tlie sobriety of tbe period, and the abated wlldness of 
the scenery. With us, the wonder is, that a period so late as 
that of Charles the First, could have been managed so dex- 
terously, and have been made so happily subservient to poetic 
invention. 

'* In the mean time, we have no hesitation in declaring our 
opinion, that the tale of Rokeby is much better told than those 
of ■ The Lay,' or of ' Marmion.' Its characters are introduced 
with more ease ; its incidents are more natural ; one event is 
more necessarily generated by another ; the reader's mind is 
kept more in suspense with respect to the termination of the 
story ; and the moral reflections interspersed are of a deeper 
cast. Of the versification, also, we can justly pronounce, that 
it is more polished than in 'Marmion,' or 'The Lay;' and 
though we have marked some careless lines, yet even in the 
instance of ' bold disorder,' Rokeby can furnish little room for 
animadversion. In fine, if we most compare him with him- 
self, we judge Mr. Scott has given us a poem in Rokeby, su- 
perior to ' Marmion.' or ' The Lay,' but not equal, perhaps, to 
'The Lady of the Lake.* " — British Critic. 



"It will surprise no one to hear that Mr. Morritt assured 
his friend he considered Rokeby as the best of all bis poems. 
The admirable, perhaps the unique fitlclity of tbe local de- 
scriptions, might alone have swayed, for I will not say it per- 
verted the judgment of the lord of that beautiful and thence- 
forth classical domain ; and, indeed, I must admit that J never 
understood or appreciated half the charm of this poem until I 
had bei'ome familiar with its scenery. But Scott Jiimself had 
not desig7ted to rest his strength on these descriptions. He said 
to James Ballantyne. while the work was in progress (Sep- 
tember 2), ' I hope the thing will do. chiefly because the world 
will not expect from mc a poem of which the interest turns 
Vi\iOn character ;'' and in another letter (October 28. 1812), ' T 
think you will see the same sort of difference taken in all my 
former poems, of which I would say, if it is fair for me to say 
any thing, that the force in the Lay is thrown on style — in 
Marmion on description, and in the Lady of the Lake, on in- 
cident.' I suspect some of these distinctions may Iiave been 



matters of aftc[^thought ; but as to Rokeby llipre can be no 
mist.'ike. His own original conceptions of sonic of it-s [)rinci- 
pal characters have been explained in lollen alnady cited ; 
and I believe no one who comfiares tbe poem with bis novels 
will doubt that, had he undertaken their portraiture in prose, 
they would have come fortli with effect hardly inferior to any 
of all tbe groups he ever created. As it is, I question wheth- 
er, even in his prose, there is any thing moreexqnisiti^ly wronght 
out as well as fancied, than the whole contrast of the two ri- 
vals for the love of the heroine in Rokeby ; and that heroine 
herself, too. has a very particular interest attached to her. 
Writing to Miss Edgeworth five years after this lime (lOtb 
March, 1818), lie says, ' I have not read one of my poems since 
they were printed, excepting last year the Lady of the Lake, 
which I liked better than I expected, but not well enough to 
induce me to go through the rest ; so I may truly say with 
Macbeth— 

' I am afraid to think of what I've done — 
Look on't again I dare not.' 

" ' This much of Matilda I recollect (for that is not so easily 
forgotten), that she was attempted for the existing person of a 
lady who is now no more, so that I am particularly flattered 
with your distinguishing it from the others, which are in gen- 
eral mere shadows.' I can have no doubt that the lad v he 
bere alludes to was the object of Iiis own unfortunate first 
love ; and as little, that in tbe romantic generosity both of tbe 
youthful poet who fails to win her higher favor, and of his 
chivalrous competitor, we have before us something more than 
a mere shadow. 

" In spite of these graceful characters, the inimitable scenery 
on which they are presented, and the splendid vivacity and 
thrilling interest of several chapters in the story — such as the 
opening interview of Bertram and WyclifTe — the flight up the 
cliff" on the Greta — the first entrance of the cave at Brignall — 
the firing of Rokeby Castle — and the catastrophe in Egliston 
Abbey ; in spite certainly of exquisitely happy lines profusely 
scattered throughout the whole composition, and of some de- 
tached images— that of the setting of the tropical sun, for ex- 
ample — which were never surpassed by any poet ; in spite of 
all these merits, the immediate success of Rokeby was greatly 
inferior to that of the Lady of the Lake ; nor has it ever since 
been so much a favorite with the public at large as any other 
of his poetical romances. He ascribes this failure, in his in- 
troduction of 1830, partly to the radically unpoctical cbaracter 
of the Roundheads ; but surely their character has its poetical 
side also, had his prejudices allowed him to enter upon its study 
with impartial sympathy ; and I doubt not Mr. Morritt suggest- 
ed the difficulty on this score, when tlie outline of the story was 
as yet undetermined, from the consideration rather of the po- 
et's peculiar feelings, and powers as hitherto exhibited, than 
of the subject absolutely. Partly he blames the satiety of the 
public ear, which had had so mucli of his rhythm, not only 
from himself, but from dozens of mocking birds, male and fe- 
male, all more or less applauded in their day, and row all 
equally forgotten. This circumstance, too, had probably r.o 
slender effect ; the more that, in defiance of all tbe hints of his 
friends, he now, in his narrative, repeated (with more negli- 
gence) the uniform octo-syllabic couplets of the Lady of the 
Lake, instead of recurring to the more varied cadence of the 
Lay or Marmion. It is fair to add that, among tbe London 
circles at least, some sarcastic flings in Mr. Moore's ' Twopenny 
Post Bag' must have had an unfavorable influence on tiiis oc- 
casion. But the cause of failure which the poet himself [ilaces 
last, was unquestionably the main one. The deeper and dark- 
er passior of Childe Harold, the audacity of its morbid volup 
luousness, and the melancholy majesty of the numbers in which 
it defied the world, had taken the general imagination by storm 
and Rokeby, with many beauties, and some sublimities, was 
pitched, as a whole, on a key which seemed tame in the com 
pariaon." — Lockhart, Jjife of Scott, vol. iv. pp. 53-58. 



356 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX, 



Note A. 
On Barnard*s towers, and Tees^s stream, frc — P. 296. 

" Barnard Castle,'* saitli old Leland, " standetli stately 
upon Tees." It is founded upon a very high bank, and its 
ruins impend over the river, including within the area a cir- 
cuit of six acres and upwards. This once magnificent fortress 
derives its name from its founder, Barnard Baiiol, the ancestor 
of the sliorl and unfortunate dynasty of that name, wliich suc- 
ceeded to the Scottish throne under the patronage of Edward I. 
and Edward III. Baliol's Tower, afterwards mentioned in 
the poem, is a round tower of great size, situated at the west- 
ern extremity of the building. It bears marks of great anti- 
quity, and was remarkable for the curious construction of its 
vaulted roof, which has been lately greatly injured by the 
operations of some persons, to whom the tower has been leased 
for the purpose of making patent shot! The prospect from 
the to)» of Baliol's Tower commands a rich and magnificent 
view of ttie wooded valley of the Tees. 

Barnard Castle often changed masters during tlie middle 
ages. Upon the forfeiture of the unfortunate John Baiiol, the 
first king of Scotland of that family, Edward I. seized this 
fortress among the other English estates of his refractory vas- 
sal. It was afterwards vested in the Beauchamps of War- 
wick, an<l in the Staftbrds of Buckingham, and was also 
eomelimes in the possession of the Bishops of Durham, and 
sometimes m that of the crown. Richard III. is said to have 
enhirged and strengthened its fortifications, and to have made 
it for some time his principal residence, for the purpose of 
bridling and suppressing the Lancastrian faction in the north- 
ern counties. From the Stafford?, Barnard Castle passed, 
probably by marriage, into the possession of the powerful 
Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, and belonged to the last 
representative of that family, when he engaged with the Earl 
of Northumberland in tlie jll-concerted insurrection of the 
twelfth of Q,ueen Elizabeth. Upon this occasion, however. 
Sir George Bowes of Sheatlam, who held great possessions in 
the neighborhood, anticipated the two insurgent earls, by 
seizing Ujion and garrisoning Barnard Castle, which he held 
out for ten days against all their forces, and then surrendered 
it upon honorable terms. See Sadler's State Papers, vol. ii. 
p, 330. In a ballad, contained in Percy's Reliques of Ancient 
Poetry, vol. i., the siege is thus commemorated : — 

" Then Sir George Bowes he straight way rose 

After them some spoyle to make ; 
These noble erles turned hack againe, 

And aye they vowed that knight to lake. 

" That baron he to his castle fled ; 

To Barnard Castle then fled he ; 
The nttermost walles were eathe to won. 

The erles have won them presentlie. 

" The uttermost walles were lime and brick ; 

But though they won them soon anone. 
Long ere tliey wan the innermost wa.les, 

For they were cut in rock and stone." 

By the suppression of this rebellion, and the consequent tor- 
feiiure of the Earl of Westmoreland Barnard Castle reverted 



to the crown, and was sold or leased out to Car. Earl of Somer- 
set, the guilty and unhappy favorite of James I. It was 
afterwards granted to Sir Henry Vane the elder, and was there- 
fore, in all probability, occupied for the Parliament, whose 
interest during the Civil War was so keenly espoused by the 
Vanes. It is now, with the other estates of that family, the 
properly of the Right Honorable Earl of Darlington. 



Note B. 



no human ear, 

Unskarpcn' d by revenge and fear. 
Could e'er distinguish horse^s clank.- 



-P. 297. 



I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the effect of 
keen and fervent anxiety in giving acnteness to the organs of 
sense. My gifted friend, Miss Joanna BailHe, whose drama- 
tic works display such intimate acquaintance with the opera- 
tions of human passion, has not omitted this remarkable cir- 
cumstance : — 

'■^ De Montfort. {Off his guard.) 'Tis Rezenvelt : I heard 
his well-known foot, 
From the first staircase mounting step by step. 

Frcb. How quick an ear thou hast for distant sound ! 
I heard him not. 

{De Jilontford looks embarrassed, and is si/enf.") 



Note C. 



The morion's plumes his visage hide, 

Jind the buff-coat, in ample fold, 

Jlautles his form''s gigantic mould. — P. 298. 

Tlie use of complete suits of armor was fallen into disuse 
during the Civil War, though they were still worn by leaders 
of rank and importance. " In the reign of King James I,," 
says our military antiquary, '* no great alterations were made 
in the article of defensive armor, except that the buft'-coal, 
or jerkin, which was originally worn under the cuirass, now 
became frequently a substitute for it, it having been found 
that a good buff leather would of itself resist the stroke of a 
sword ; tliis, however, only occasionally took place among the 
light-armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits of armor 
being still used among the heavy horse. Bufl^-coats continued 
to be worn by the city trained-bands till within the memory 
of persons now living, so that defensive armor may. in some 
measure, he said to have terminated in the same materials 
with which it began, that is, the skins of animals, or lea- 
ther." — Grose's Military Antiquities, Lond. 1801, 4to. 
vol. ii. p. 323. 

Of the buff-coats, which were worn over the corslets, seve- 
ral are yet preserved ; and Captain Grose has given an engra- 
ving of one which was used in the time of Charles I. by Sir 
Francis Rhodes, Bart, of Balbrough-Hall, Derbyshire. They 
were usually lined with silk or linen, secured before by but- 
tons, or by a lace, and often richly decorated with gold oi 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



357 



ai'ver embroidery. From the following curious account of a 
dispute rt-^tpecting a bufl-coat between an old roundhead cap- 
tain and :i justice of the peace, by whom liis arms were seized 
after the Restoration, we learn, that the value and iinpurtance 
of this defensive garment were considerable: — "A [larty of 
norse came to my house, commanded by Mr. Peebles ; and he 
told me he was come for my arms, and that I must deliver 
them. I asked him for ids order. Me told me lie had a better 
order than Oliver used to give; and, clapping his hand upon 
nia sword-hilt, he said, that was his order. I told him, if he 
had none but that, it was not sufficient to take my arms ; 
and then he pulled out his warrant, and I read it. It was 
signed by Weuiwortli Armitage, a general warrant to search 
all persona they suspected, and so left the power to the soldiers 
at their pleiu^urc. They came to us at Coalley-Hall, about 
suiiselting; and I caused a candle to be lighted, and conveyed 
Peebles into the room where my arms were. My arms were 
near the kitchen fire ; and there they took away fowling- 
pieces, pistols, muskets, carbines, and such like, belter than 
jG20. Then Mr. Peebles asked me for my buff-coat ; and I 
told hina they had no order to take away my apparel. He 
told me I was not to dispute their orders ; but if I would not 
deliver it, he wuuld carry me away prisoner, and had ine out 
of doors. Yet he let me alone unto the next morning, that I 
must wail upon Sir John, at Halifax; and, coming before 
him, he threatened me, and said, if i did not send the coat, 
for it was too good for me to keep. I told ium it was not in 
his power to demand my apparel ; and he, growing into a fit, 
called me rebel and traitor, and said, if I did not send the coat 
with all speed, he would send me where I did not like well. 
I told him I was no rebel, and he did not well to call me so 
before these soldiers and gentlemen, to make me the mark 
fur every one to shoot at. t departed the room ; yet, notwith- 
standing all the threatenings, did not send the coat. But the 
next day he sent John Lyster, the son of Mr. Thomas Lyster, 
of Shipilen Hall, for this coat, with a letter, verbatim thus : — 
' Mr. Hodson, I admire you will play the child so with me as 
you have done, in wriling such an inconsiderate letters Let 
me have the buff-coat sent tbrthwith, otherwise you shall so 
hear from me as will not very well ple.tse you.' I was not at 
home when this messenger came ; but I had ordered my wife 
Dot to deliver it, but, if they would take it, let them look to 
it: and he took it away ; and one of Sir John's brethren wore 
it many years alW. They sent Captain Butt to compound 
with my wife about it ; but I sent word I would have my own 
again ". but he advised me to take a price for il, and make no 
more ado. I said it was hard to take my arms and apparel 
too ; I had laid out a great deal of money for them ; I hoped 
they did not mean to destroy me, by taking my goods illegally 
from me. He said he would make up the matter, if I pleased, 
betwixt us; and, it seems, had brought Sir John to a price 
for my coal. I would not have taktn XIO for il ; he would 
have given abou' jC4 ; but, wanting my receipt for the money, 
he kept both sides, and I had never sal isl action," — Memoirs 
of Captain Hodgson. Edin. 1806, p. 178. 



Note D. 



On his dark face a scorching clime, 
^nd toil, had done the work of time. 
• * • • 

Death had he seen by sudden blow. 
By toasting plague, by tortures stow.- 



-P. 298. 



In this character, I have attempted to sketch one of those 
^est Indian adventurers, who, during the course of the seven- 
teenth century, were popularly known by the name of Buca- 
niers. The successes of the English in the predatory mcur^ 
fioQS DpoD Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, 



had never been forgotten; and, from that period downward, 
the exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imilaleil, upon a 
smaller scale indeed, but with eqnally desperate valor, by 
small bands of pirates, gathered from all nations, hut chiefly 
French and English. The engro>^hiiig policy of the Spaniards 
tended greatly to increase the number of these frt'pbooters, 
from whom their commerce and colonies nuflt'red, in the issue, 
dreadful calamity. The Windward Islands, winch the Span- 
iards did not deem worthy their own occupation, had been 
grarlually settled by adventurers of the French and EngUsh 
nations. But Frederic of Toledo, who was despatched in 
IG3(), with a powerful fleet, against the Dutch, had orders trom 
the Court of Madrid to destroy these colonies, whose vicinity 
at once offended the pride and excited the jealous suspicions 
of iheir Spanish neighbors. This order the Ji^panish Admiral 
executed wilh sufficient rigor; but the only consequence 
was. that the planters, being rendered desperiite by persecu- 
,tion, began, under the well-known name of Bucaniers, to com- 
mence a retalialion so horridly savage, that the perusal makes 
Uie reader shudder. When ihey carried on their depredations 
at sea, they boarded, without respect to disi)arity of number, 
every Spanish vessel that came in their way ; and, demeaning 
themselves, both in the battle and after the conquest, more 
like demons than human beings, they succei:ded in imjiress- 
ing their enemies with a sort of sujierstitious terror, which 
rendered them incapable of offering effectual resistance. From 
piracy at sea, they advanced to making predatory descents 
on the Spanish territories ; in which they displayed the same 
furious and irresistible valor, the same tliiret of spoil, and 
the same brutal inhumanity to their captives. The large 
treasures which they acquired in their adventures, they dissi- 
pated by the most unbounded licentiousness in gaming, wo- 
men, wine, and debauchery of every species. When their 
spoils were thus wasted, they entered into some new associa- 
tion, and undertook new adventures. For farther particulars 
concerning these extraordinary banditti, the reader may consult 
Raynal, or the common and popular book called the History 
of the Bucaniers. 



Note E. 



- On JMarston heath 



Met, front to front, the ranks of death. — P. 299. 

The well-known and desperate battle of Long-Marstou Moor, 
which terminated so unibrlunately for the cause of Charles, 
commenced under very different auspices. Prince Rupert 
had marched with an army of 20,000 men for the relief ol 
York, then besieged by Sir Thomas Fairfax, at the head of 
the Parliamentary army, and the Earl of Leven, with tlie 
Scottish auxiliary forces. In this he so completely succeeded, 
that he compelled the besiegers to retreat to Marston Moor, 
a large open plain, about eight miles distant from the city. 
Thither they were followeil by the Prince, who had now 
united to his army the garrison of York, probably not less than 
ten thousand men strong, under the gallant Marquia (then 
Earl) of Newcastle. Whitelocke has recorded, wilh much 
impartiality, the following particulars of this eventful riay : — 
*' The right wing of the Parliament was commanded by Sir 
Thomas Fairfax, and consisted of all his horse, and three 
regiments of the Scots horse; the left wing was commanded 
by the Earl of Manchester and Colonel Cromwell. One body 
of their foot was commanded by Lord Fairfax, and consisted 
of his foot, and two brigades of the t^eots foot for reserve ; anc 
the main body of the rest of the foot was commanded by 
General Leven. 

" The tight wing of the Prince's army was commanded by 
the Earl of Newcastle: the left wing by the Prince himself 
and the main body by General Goring, Sir Charles Lncaa, anc 



358 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Mnjor-Oenenl Porter. Thus were both sides drawn np into 
batr;ilia. 

'•July 3(1. 1644. In this posture both armies faced each 
other, and about .^even o'clock in th<? morning the fight began 
between them. The Prince, with his left wing, fell on the Par- 
lianieut'H right wing, routed them, and pursued them a great 
way; the hke did General Goring. Lucas, and Porter, upon 
the Parhament's main body. The three generals, giving all for 
lost, hoisted out of the field, and many of tlieir soldiers fled, and 
threw down their arms ; the King's forces too eagerly follow- 
mg tiiem, the victory, now almost acliieved by them, was again 
tnalched out of their hands. For Colonel Cromwell, with the 
brave regiment of his countrynien, and Sir Thomas Fairfax, 
Having rallied some of his horse, fell upon the Prince's right 
wing, where the Earl of Newea-^tle was, and routed them ; 
and the rest of their companions rallying, they fell altogether 
upon the divided bodies of Rupert and Goring, and totally dis- 
persed them, and obtained a complete victory, after three hours' 
fight. 

" From this battle and the pursuit, some reckon were buried 
7000 Etigli^i-men ; all agree tliat above 3000 of the Prince's 
men were slain in the battle, besides those in the chase, and 
3000 prisoner? taken, many of their chief officers, twenty-five 
pieces of ordnance, forty-seven colors, 10,000 arms, two wag- 
ons of carabins and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and alt their 
bag and baggage." — Whitelocke's J\Iemoij-s , fol. p. 89. 
Lond. 1682. 

I*ord Clarendon informs us, that the King, previous to re- 
ceiving the true account of the battle, had been informed, by 
an express from Oxford, " tliat Prince Rupert had not only re- 
lieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, with many partic- 
ulars to confirm it, all which was so much believed there, that 
they made publiu fires of joy for the victory." 



Note F. 



Monckton and Jilttton told the news, 

Ho7c troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse, 

J3nd many a bonny Scot, a^kast, 

Spurring' his palfrey northward, pa^t. 

Cursing' the day jchcn zeal or meed 

Firi-t lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.— P. 302. 

Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Onse, and 
not very distant from the field of battle. The particulars of 
the action were violently disputed at the time ; but the follow- 
ing extract, from the Manuscript History of the Baronial House 
of Sonicrville, is decisive as to the (light of the Scottish gen- 
eral, the Earl of Leven. The particulars are given by the au- 
thor of the history on the authority of his father, then the rcji- 
resenlative of the family. This curious mauoscript has been 
published by consent of my noble friend, the present Lord Sora- 
erville. 

"The order of this great battel!, wherin both armies was 
neer of ane equall number, consisting, to the best calculatione, 
neer to three score thousand men upon both sydes, I shall not 
take upon me to discryve ; albeit, from the draughts then taken 
upon the [ilace, and information I reccaved from tin's gentle- 
man, who being then a volunteer, a? having no command, had 
opportunitie and hbertie to ryde from the one wing of tlie armie 
to the other, to view all iher several stjuadrous of liorse and 
battallions tf foot, how formed, and in what manner drawn 
np, with every other circumstance relating to the fight, and 
that both as to the King's armies and that of the Parliament's, 
amongst whom, untill the engadgmcnt. he went from statione 
to stati'^ne to observe ther order and forme ; but that the de- 
scriptione of this battell, with the various success on both sides 
at the beginning, with the loss of the royal armie, and the sad 
efllects ihat followed that misfortune as to his Majcstif's inter- 
S't, he" hccn so often done already by English authors, little to 



our comraendatione. how justly I shall not dispnte. seing the 
truth is, as our principall generall (led that night neer fourtie 
mylles from the place of the fight, that part of the armie where 
he commanded being totallie routed ; but it is as true, that much 
of tlie vicioric is attributed to the good conduct of David Les- 
selie. lievetennent-generall of our horse. Cromwell himself, 
that minione of fortune, but the rod of God's wrafh, to ])unish 
eftirward three rebellious nations, disdained not to take orders 
from him, albeit then in the same qualitie of command for the 
Parliament, as being lievetennent-general to the Earl of Man- 
chester's honie. whom, with the assistance of the Scots hoi-se, 
haveing routed the Prince's right wing, as he had done that of 
the Parliament's. These two commanders of the horse upon 
that wing wisely restrained tlie great bodies of their horse from 
pe.-^suing these brocken iroups, but, wheelling to the lel\-hand, 
falls in upon the naked tlanks of the Prince's main baltallion of 
foot, carying them doune with great violence ; nether mell 
they with any great resistance untill they came to the ^^'l^^|ue!. 
of Newcastle. his battallione of White Coats, who, fiist pc[iper- 
ing them soundly with ther sholt, when they came to charge, 
stoutly bore them up with their picks that they could not enter 
to break thsm. Here the Parliament's horse of that wing re- 
ceaved ther greatest losse, and a stop for sometyme putt to ther 
hoped-for victorie ; anil that only by the slout resistance of this 
gallant battallione. which consisted neer of four thousand foot, 
until at length a Scots regiment of dragouns, commanded by 
Collonell Frizeall, with other two, was brought to open them 
upon some hand, which at length they did. when all the am- 
munitione was spent. Having refused quarters, every man fell 
in the same order and rauke wherein he had foughlen. 

" Be this execution was done, the Prince returned from the 
per«uite of the right wing of the Parliament's horse, which he 
had beatten and followed too farre. to the losse of the battell. 
which certanely, in all men's 0[Hnions, he might have caryed 
if he had not been too violent U|iori the pursuite ; which gave 
his enemies upon the left-hand opportunitie to disperse and cut 
doune his infantrie. who, haveing cleared the field of all the 
standing bodies of foot, wer now, with many 
of their oune. standing ready to receave the charge of his all- 
most spent horses, if he should attempt it ; which the Prince 
observeing, and seeing all lost, he retreated to Yorke with two 
thousand horse. Notwithstanding of this, ther was that night 
such a consternatione in the Parliament armies, thai it's be- 
lieved bv most of those that wer there present, that if the Prince, 
haveing so great a body of horse inteire, had made ane onfall 
that night, or the ensueing morning be-tyme, he harl carryed 
the vietorie out of ther hands ; for it's cerlane, by the morn- 
ing's light, he had rallyed a hotly often thousand men, wherol 
ther was neer three thousand gallant horse. These, with the 
assi-^tanue of the toune and garrisoune of Yorke, might have 
done much to have recovered the victory, for the loss of this 
battell in effect lost the King and his interest in the three king- 
domes ; his Majestic never being able eftir this to make head 
in the north, but lost his garrisons every day. 

*' As for Generall Lesselie. in the beginning of this flight 
haveing that part of the army quite brocken. whare he h.id 
placed himself, by the v;dourof the Prince, he imagined, a:r.i 
was confermed by the oninione of others then upon the place 
with him, that the battell was irrecoverably lo«t, seeing llK-y 
wer fleeing U[)on all hands ; theirfore they liumblie intrcated 
his excellence to reteir and wait his better fortune, which, 
without larder advyseing, he did ; and never drew bridle untill 
he came the Icnth of Leads, having ridden all that ni;;ht with 
a cloak of drqp de berrie about him, belonging to this gentle- 
man of whom I write, then In his retinue, with many other 
officei-s of good qualitie. It was neer twelve the next day be- 
forlhey had the certanety who was ma-ster of th ■ field, when 
at length ther arryves ane expresse, sent by David Lesselie, to 
acquaint the General ihey had obtained a mo«t glorious vic- 
tory, and that the Prince, with his brocken troupes, was fled 
from Yorke. This intelligence was somewhat omazeing to 
these gentlemen that had been eye-witnesses to the disorder Ot 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



35U 



the armie before ther retearing, and lia-d then accompanyed 
tlie General in liis flight ; wl.o, ba-nj, m3C^ wejryed tliat eve- 
ning of tlK' battetl wUh ordering of li^s irnie, and now quite 
Epen w!lli his long journey in the night, had casten Iiimselfe 
douiie Upon a bed to rest, whL-n this gentlenuin eoincing tjny- 
etly into hi* chamber, he awoke, ati;l JiasUly crycs out, " Lieve- 
ti-rini-nl-coMoneM, what newsl* — 'AH is sale, may it plexse 
your E.\ccllen:!e * the Parliament's armie hes obtained a great 
vii-'tory ;' and then delyvers the letter. The Generull, upon 
(in; hearing of thin, knocked npon his breast, and sayes, ' I 
would to God I had died upon tlie place !' and then opens the 
totter, which, in a few lines, gave ane account of the victory, 
nnd iiilhe cIo:^e premised his speedy returne to the armie, which 
lif did the next day, being accompanyed some niylles back by 
lliis gentleman, who then takes his leave of him, and receaved 
at parting many expressions of kyndencsse, with promises that 
he wouhl never be unmyndful of his care and respect towards 
him ; and in the end he intreats him to present his service to 
all his friends and acquaintances in Scotlanti. Thereflir the 
General! seLs forward in his journey for the armie, as this gen- 
tleman did for , in order to his 
tran«portatione for Scotland, where he arryved sex dayes eftir 
the figlit of Me*toiine Muir. and gave the first true account and 
dcscriptione of that great battell, wherein tlie Covenanters then 
gloryed soe much, that they impiously boasted the Lord had 
now signally appeared for his cause and people ; it being onli- 
nnry for them, dureing the whole time of this warre, to attrib- 
ute the greatness of their success to the goodnes and justice 
of ther cause, untill Divine Justice trysted them with some 
crosse dispensatione, and then you miglil have heard this lan- 
guage from them, ' That it pleases the Lord to give his oune 
the heavyest end of the tree to bear, that the saints and the 
jieople of God must still be sufferers while they are here away, 
that the malignant party was God's rod to punish them for 
ther unthaiikfiilnesse, which in the end he will cast into the 
fir;?;' with a tiiousand other expressions and scripture cita- 
tions, projihanely and blasphemously uttered by them, to palli- 
ate ther villainie and rebellion." — Memoires of the Somcr- 
villes. Edin. 1815. 



Note G. 



Jf'ifh ftis barff'd horse, fresh tidings say. 
Stout Cromicell has redeemed the day. — P. 302. 

Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had a principal 
sliare in turning the fate of the day at Marston Moor ; which 
was equally matter of triumph to the Independents, and of 
grii'f and heart-burning to the Presbyterians and to the Scot- 
tish. Principal Baillie expresses his dissatisfaction as fol- 
lows : — 

" The Independents sent up one quickly to assure that all 
the glory of that iiiglit was theirs; and tliey and their Major- 
Gi-niTal Cromwell had done it all there alone; but Captain 
Stuart afterward showed the vanity and falsehood of their 
ili-;rra<'elul relation. God gave us that victory wonderfully. 
Tlieri' w.T(- three generals on each side, Lesley. Fairfax, and 
MuiiidiesttT ; Rupert, Newcastle, and King. Wiihin half an 
hour and less, all six took them to their heels ; — this to you 
a-lono. The disadvantage of tlie ground, and violence of the 
flower of Prince Rupert's horse, carried all our right wing 
down ; only E^'linroti kept ground, to his great loss; Ins lieu- 
iPiiant-crowner. \ brave man, I fearshall die, and his son RoI>- 
crc be niutilaleil of an arm. Lindsay had the greatest hazard 
of any ; but the beginning of the victory was from David Les^ 
ly, who before was much suspected of evil designs; he. with 
the Scots and Cromwell's horse, having the advantage of the 
ground, did dissipate all before them."— Baillie's Letters 
and Journals. Edin. 1785, 8vo. ii. 36. 



Note H. 

Do not my native dales prolong 

Of Percy licdc the tragic song, 

Trained foricard to his litoody f^l, 

Jhj Qirsonjicld, that treacherous Halll—V. 302, 

In a poem, entitled " The Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel,' 
Newcastle, 1809, this lale, with many others peculiar to the 
valley of the Reed, is commemorated : — "Tlie particulars of 
the traiiitional story of I'arcy Re-d of Troughend, and Lb* 
Halls of Gii-sonfield, the author had from a dcs.cndant of tfc« 
family of Reed. From his account, it api)ear5 that Pcrcivol 
Reed, Esquire, a keeper of Reedsdale, was hetr.ayed by the 
Halls (hence denominated the false-hearted Ha's) to a band of 
mos.''-troopers of the name of Crosier, who slew him at Bating- 
hope, near the source of the Reed. 

*' The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy Reed, held in 
such universal abhorrence and contempt by the inliabitants of 
Reedsdale, for their cowardly and treacherous behavior, that 
they were obliged to leave the country." In another p:is.sage, 
we are informed that the ghost of the injured Borderer is 
supposed to haunt the banks of a brook calleil the Pringle. 
Tlicse Redes of Troughend were a very ancient fnniily, as may 
be conjectured from their deriving their surname from the 
river on wliich they had their mansion. An epitaph on one 
of their tombs affirms, that the family held their lands of 
Troughend, which are situated on the Reed, nearly opposite to 
Ottcrburn, for the incredible space of nine hundred years. 



Note I. 



And near the spot that gave me name. 
The woatcd viound of Risingham, 
Where lired npon her margin sees 
Sweet iVoodburne^s cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor^ s art has shown 
An outlaw^s image on the stone. — P. 302. 

Rismgham, ujion the river Reed, near the beautiful hamlet 
of Woodburn, u an ancient Roman station, formerly called 
Habitancum. Camden says, that in his time the popular ac- 
count bore, that it had been the abode of a deity, or giant, 
called Magon ; and appeals, in support of this tradition, as 
well as to the etymology of Risingbam, or Reisenltam, wliich 
signifies, in German, the habitation of the giants, to two Ro- 
man altars taken out of the river, inscribed, Dto Mogonti 
CADE:NORtT.M. About half a mile distant from Ri^ingham, 
upon an eminence covered witii scattered birch-trees and frag- 
ments of rock, there is cut upon a large rock, in a!to relievo, 
a remarkable figure, called Robin of Risingham, or Robin of 
ReeiUdale. It presents a liunier, with his bow raised in one 
hand, and in the other what seems to be a hare. There is a 
quiver at the back of the figure, and he is dressed in a long 
coat, or kirtle, coining down lo tlie knees, and meeting close, 
with a girdle bound round him. Dr. Hor^elcy. who saw all 
monuments of antiquity with Roman eyes, inclines to think 
this figure a Roman archer: and certainly ihe bow is rather 
of the ancifMit size tlian of that which was so formidable in 
the hands of the English archers of the middle ages. But the 
rudeness of the whole figure prevents our founding strongly 
upon mere inaccuracy of (iroportion. The popular tradition 
is, that it represents a giant, wliose brotlier resided at Wood- 
burn, and he himself at Risingham. It adds, that they sub- 
sisted by hunting, and that one of them, finding the game be* 
come too scarce to suppon them, poisoned his roinpanion, in 
whose memory the monument was engraved. What s.trange 
and rragic circumstance may be concealed under this legend, 
or whether it is utterly apocryphal, it is now imj)0S8ible to 
discover, 

The name of Robin of Rcdesdale wa.i given to one of the 
Umfravilles, Lords of Frodhoe and afterwards to one Uillian' 



360 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



& friend and follower of the king-making Earl of Warwick. 
This person commanded an army of Northamptonshire and 
northern men, who seized on and beheaded the Earl Rivers, 
father to Edward the Fourth's queen, and his son, Sir John 
WoodvUle.— See Holi.vshed, ad annum, 1469. 



N"OTE K. 



- Do thou revere 



The statutes of the Bucanicr. — P. 302. 

The "statutes of the Bncaniers" were, in reality, more equi- 
table than could have been expected from the state of eociety 
nnder which they had been formed. They chiefly related, as 
may readily be conjectured, to the distribution and the inherit- 
ance of tlieir plunder. 

Wlien the expedition was completed, the fund of prize-mon- 
ey acquired was thrown together, each party taking his oath 
that he had retained or concealed no part of the common stock. 
If any one transgressed in tliis important particular, the pun- 
ishment was, his being set ashore on some desert key or island, 
to shift for himself as he could. Tlie owners of the vessel had 
then their share assigned for the expenses of the outfit. These 
were generally old pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St. Do- 
mingo, or some other Frencli or English settlement. The sui^ 
geon's and carpenter's salaries, with the price of provisions 
and ammunition, were also defrayed. Then followed the 
compensation due to the maimed and wounded, rated accord- 
ing to the damage they had sustained ; as six hundred pieces 
of eight, or six slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and so in 
proportion. 

*' After this act of justice and humanity, the remainder of 
the booty was divided into as many shares as there were Buca- 
niers. The commander could only lay claim to a single share, 
as the Test ; bat they complimented him with two or three, in 
proportion as he had acquitted himself to their satisfaction. 
Wlien the vessel was not the property of the whole company, 
the person who had fitted it out, and furnished it with necessary 
arms and ammunition, was entitled to a third of all the prizes. 
Favor had never any influence in the division of the booty, for 
every share was determined by lot. Instances of such rigid 
justice as this are not easily met with, and they extended even 
to the dead. Their sliare was given to the man who was 
known to be their companion when alive, and therefore their 
heir. If the person who had been killed had no intimate, his 
part was sent to Iiis relations, when they were known. If there 
were no friends nor relations, it was distributed in charity to 
the poor and to churches, which were to pray for the person in 
whose name these benefactions were given, the fruits of inhu- 
man, but necessary piratical plunders." — Raynal's History 
of European Settlements in the East and West Indies, by 
Justamond. Lond. 1776, 8vo. iU. p. 41. 



Note L. 



The course of Tces.—F, 306. 
The view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and mag- 
nificent valley of Tees. Immediately adjacent to tlie river, 
the banks are very thickly wooded ; at a little distance they 
are more open and cultivated ; but, being interspersed with 
hedge-rows, and with isolated trees of great size and age, they 
Btill retain the richness of woodland scenery. The river itself 
flows in a deep trench of solid rock, chiefly limestone and 
marble. The finest view of its romantic course is from a 
handsome modem-built bridge over the Tees, by the late Mr. 
Morritt of Rokeby. In Leland'a time, the marble quarries 
seem to have been of some value. " Hard under the ciifl'by 
Eglislon, is fonnd on eche side of Tese very fair marble, wont 
to be taken up booth by marbelers of Bamardes Castelle and 



of Egliston, and partly to have been wrought by tliem, ar.d 
partly sold onwroughl to others." — Itinerary. Oxford, 1768 
8vo, p. 8H 



Note M. 
Egliston'' s ifray ruins. — P. 307. 

The ruins of this abbey, or priory (for Tanner calls it the 
former, and Leland the latter), are beautifully sriiuatcd upon 
the angle, formed by a little dell called Tliorsgfll, at its junc- 
tion with the Tees. A good part of the religious housa is still 
in some degree habitable, but the church is in ruins. Eglistor. 
was dedicated to St. Mary and St. Jolm the Baptist, and is 
supposed to have been foumled by Ralph de Multcii about the 
end of Henry the Second's reign. There were formeriy the 
tombs of the famihes of Rokeby, Bowes, and Fitz-Hugh. 



Note N. 



■ the mound, 



Raised by that Legion long renowned, 
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim, 
Of pious, faithful, eovquering fame. — P. 307. 

Close behind the George Inn at Greta Bridge, there is a well- 
preserved Roman encampment, surrounded with a triple ditch, 
lying between the river Greta and a brook called the Tntta. 
The four entrances are easily to be discerned. Very many Ro- 
man altars and monuments have been found in the vicinity, 
most of wliich are preserved at Rokeby by my friend Mr. Mor- 
ritt. Among others is a small votive altar, with the inscrip- 
tion, LEG. VI. VIC. P. F. F., which has been rendered, Legio. 
Scxta. Victrix. Pia. Fortis. Pidclis. 



Note 0. 



Rokeby' s turrets high.—V. 307. 

This ancient manor long gave name to a family by whom it 
is said to have been possessed from the Conquest downward, 
and who are at different times distinguished in history. It was 
the Baron of Rokeby who finally defeated the insurrection of 
the Earl of Northumberland, tempore Hen. IV., of which 
Holinshed gives the following account: — " Tlie King, advei^ 
tised hereof, caused a great armie to be assembled, ami came 
forward with the same towards Iris enemies ; but yer the King 
came to Nottingham. Sir Thomas, or (as other copies haue; 
Sir Rafe Rokesbie, Shiritfe of Yorkcsliire. assembled the forces 
of the countrie to resist the Earle and his power; coming to 
Grimbautbrigs, beside Knaresborongh, there to stop them the 
passage ; but they returning aside, got to Weatherbie, and so 
to Tadcaster, and finally came forward unto Bramhain-moor, 
near to Haizlewood, where they chose their ground meet to 
fight upon. The Sbiriffe was as readie to gine battel! as the 
Erie to receiue it ; and so with a standard of S. Geor;,'e spread, 
set fiercelie vpon the Earie, who, vnder a standard of his owiie 
armes, encountered his aducrsaries with great manhood. Tiiere 
was a sore incounter and cruell conflict betwixt the parties, but 
in the end the victorie felt to tlk Sbiriffe. The Lord Ban.lolfe 
was taken, but sore wonndnd, so that he shortlic after died of 
the hurts. As for the Earle of Northumberiand, he was slain 
outright; so that now the prophecy was fulfilled, which gaue 
an inkling of this his heauy hap long before, namelie, 

' Stirps Pereitina periet confusa ruina.' 

For this Earie was the stocke and maine roote of all that wera 
left aline, called by the name of Persie ; and of manie more l)y 
diners slaughters dispatched. For whose misfortune the peo- 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



3G1 



pte were uot a little some, making report of the gentleman's 
vutinutnei^t', retiowne, and lioriour, and applieing vnto him 
"RTteine lamentable verses out of Lucaine, saieng, 

* Sed nos nee sanguis, nee tantum vulnera nostri 
Afieuffe seiiis : (|uantum gestata pur urbem 
Ora duels, qua- transli.xo lieformia |)ilo 
Vidimus,' 

For his head, full of siluer Iiorie haires, being put upon a stake, 
w:vi opeiilie carried throngli London, and set vpon the bridge 
of the same cltie : in like manner was the I^ord Bardolfes." — 
lIoLlNSliEo's Chronicles. Lond. i^\^, 4to, ill. 45. TIfce 
Rokt-by, or Rokesby family, continueil to be dislingiiisbcd un- 
til the gr<?at Civil War, when, having embraced the cause of 
Charles I., they sullered severely by fines and confiscations. 
The ei^tate then jiassud from lli ancient possessors to the family 
of the Robinsons, from whom it was piiroliaseil by the father 
'if my valued friend, the present jiroprietor. 



Note P. 



A stern and lone, yet lovely road, 

Jis e^cr the foot of Minstrel trode.~V. 308. 

What follows is an attempt to describe the romantic glen, or 
rither ravine, tbrougli which the Greta finds a passage between 
Rokfby and Morlham ; the former situated upon the left bank 
of Greta, the latter on the right bank, about half a mile nearer 
to its junction with the Tees. The river runs with very great 
rapidity over a bed of solid rock, broken by many shelving de- 
scents, down which the stream dashes with great noise and 
impetuosity, vindicatins: its etymology, which has been derived 
from tlie Gothic, Grtilan, to clamor. The banks partake of 
the aami-- wild and romantic character, being chiefly lofty cliffs 
of limestone rock, whose gray color contracts admirably with 
the various trees and shrubs which find root among their crev- 
ices, as well as with the hue of the ivy, which clings around 
them in profusion, and hangs down from their projections in 
long sweeping tendrils. At other points the rocks give place to 
precipitous bank.^ of earth, bearing larije trees intermixed with 
copsewood. In one spot the dell, which is elsewhere very 
narrow, wiJen? for a space to leave room for a dark grove of 
yew-trees, intermixed here and there with aged pines of un- 
common size. Direcify opposite to this sombre thicket, the 
cliffs on the other side of tlie Greta are tall, white, and fringed 
with all kinds of deciduous slirubs. The whole scenery of this 
sjiot is so mucli adapted to the ideas of sujierctition, that it has 
acquireil the name of Blockula, from the jdace where the 
Swedisii witches were supposed to hold their J-'ahbath. The 
dell, however, has superstitions of its own growth, for it is 
supposed to be haunted by a female spectre, called tlie Dobie 
of Morlham. The cause assigned for her appearance is a la- 
dy's having been whilom murdered in the wood, in evidence 
of which, her blood is shown upon the stairs of the old tower 
at iVIortham. But whether she was slain by a jealous husband, 
or hy siivage banditti, or by an uncle who coveted her estate, 
or by a rejected lover, are points upon which the traditions of 
Rokeby do not enable us to decide. 



Note Q. 

/fow whistle rash bids icmpcsts roar. — P. 309. 

That this is a general superstition, is well known to all who 
have been on Bhij)-hoard. or who have conversed with sea- 
men. The mo^t formi<ial)le whistler that I remember to have 
met with was the apparition of a certain Mrs. Leakey, who, 
about 1C36. resided, we are told, at Mynehead, in Somerset, 
vhere her only son drove a considerable trade between that 
46 



port and Waterford, and was owner of Bcvcral vessels. The 
old gentlewoman was of a social disposition, and so acceptable 
to her friends, that they used to say to her anil to each oibcr, 
it were pity such an excellent good-natured old lady Klioiild 
die ; to which she was wont to reply, tiiat whatever p.easnre 
they might find in her company just now, they would not 
greatly like to see or converse with her after death, which nev- 
ertheless she was apt to tliink might ba])pen. Accordingly, 
after her death and funeral, she began to appear to various 
persons by night and by noonday, in her own house, in the 
town and fields, at sea and upon shore. So far had she de- 
parted from her former urbanity, that she is recorded to have 
kicked a doctor of medicine for his impolite negligence in 
omitting to hand her over a stile. It was also her humor to 
appear upon the quay, and call for a boat. But especially so 
soon' as any of her son's ships approached the harbor, *' this 
ghost would appear in the same garb and likeness as when slie 
was alive, and, standing'at the mainmast, would blow with a 
whistle, and though it were neverso great a calm, yet immediate- 
ly there would arise a most dreadful storm, that would break, 
wreck, and drown ship and goods." When she had thus pro- 
ceeded until Iier ^^on had neither credit to freight a vessel, nor 
could have procured men to sail in it, slie began to attack the 
persons of his family, and actually strangled their only child in 
the cradle. The rest of her story, showing how the sjjcctre 
looked over the shoulder of her daughter-in-law while dressing 
her hair at a looking-glass, and how Mrs. Leakey the younger 
took courage to address her, and how the beldam dispatched 
her to an Irish prelate, famous for his crimes and misfortunes, 
to exhort him to repentance, and to apprize him th;it otherwise 
he would be hanged, and how the bishop was satisfied with 
replying, that if lie was born to be hanged, lie should not be 
drowned; — all these, with many more particulars, may be 
found at the end of one of John Dunton's publications, called 
Athenianism. London, 1710, where the tale is engrossed under 
the title of The Apparition Evidence. 



Note R. 



Of Erich's cap and Elmo's light.~V. 309. 

'•Tliis Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held second 
to none in the magical art ; and he was so familiar with the 
evil spirits, which he exceedingly adored, that which way 
soever he turned his cap, the wind would presently blow that 
way. From this occasion he was called Windy Cap ; and 
many men believed that Regnerus, King of Denmark, by the 
conduct of this Ericus, who was his nephew, did happily 
extend his piracy into the most remote parts of the earth, and 
conquered many countries and fenced cities by his cunning, 
and at last was his coadjutor ; that by the consent of the 
nobles, he should be chosen King of Sweden, which continue'' 
a long time with him very happily, until he died of old age 
— Olaus. ut supra, p. 45. 



Note S. 



The Demon Frigate.— V. 309. 

This is an allusion to a well-known nautical superstition 
concerning a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the Flying 
Dutchman, and supposed to be seen about the latitude of the 
Cape of Good Hope. She is distinguished from earthly vessels 
by bearing a press of sail when all others are unable, from 
stress of weather, to show an inch of canvas. The (!ause of 
her wandering is not altogether certain ; but the general ac- 
count is, that she was originally a vessel loaded with great 
wealth, on board of which some horrid act of munler and 
piracy had been committed ; that tlie plague broke out among 
he wicked crew who had perpetrated the crime, and that they 



362 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



sailed it vain from port to purt, offering, as the price ot'sIieUer, 
the whole of tlirir ill-gotleii wealth ; that they were excluded 
from every haihor, for fear of the contagion which was devour- 
ing them ; and that, as a ])unishment of their crimes, the appa- 
nlion of tiie ship still continues to haunt those seas in which 
the catastroplio took place, and is considered by the mariners 
as the woi"^t of atl possible omens. 

My late lamented friend. Dr. John Leyden, has introduced 
this phenomenon into his Scenes of Infancy, imputing, witli 
[loetical ingenuity, the dreadful judgment to tlie fii-st ship 
which commenced the slave trade : — 

" Stoat was the ship, from Benin's palmy shore 
That first tiie weiglit of barter'd captives bore ; 
Bedimiii'd with blood, the sun with shrinking beams 
Beheld her bounding o'er the ocean streams ; 
But, ere tlie moon her silver horns had rear'd. 
Amid the crew the speckled jtlague uppear'd. 
Faint and despairing, on their watery bier, 
To every friendly shore the sailors steer ; 
Repell'd from port to port, they sue in vain, 
And track with slow, unsteady sail the main. 
Wiiere ne'er tlie bright and buoyant wave is seen 
To streak with wandering foam the sea-weeds green, 
Towers the tall mast, a lone and leafless tree, 
Till self-impeird amid the waveless sea • 
Where summer breezes ne'er were lieara to sing. 
Nor hovering snow-birds spread the <iowny wing, 
Fix'd as a rock amid the boundless plain, 
The yellow stream pollutes the stii^nant main. 
Till far through night the funeral flames aspire, 
As the ffid lightning smites the ghastly pyre. 

" Still doom'd by fate on weltering billows roU'd, 
Along the deep their restless course to hold. 
Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide 
The prow with sails opposed to wind and tide ; 
The Spectre Ship, in livid glimpsing light, 
Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, 
Unblest of God and man ! — Till time shall end, 
Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend." 



Note T. 



Bit some desvri isle or key. — P. 309. 

What contributed much to the security of the Buraniers 
about the Windward Islands, was the great numbei of little 
islets, called in that country keys. These are sniiall sandy 
j)atches. appearing just above the surface of tiie ocean, covered 
only with a few bushes and weeds, but sometimes afl^ording 
springs of water, and, in general, much frequented by turtle. 
Such little uninhabited spots afforded the pirates good harbors, 
either for refitting or for the purpose of ambush ; they were 
occasionally the hiding-place of their treasure, and often af- 
forded a shelter to themselves. As many of the atrocities 
which they practised on their prisoners were committed in 
such spots, there are sorae of these keys which even now have 
an indifferent reputation among seamen, and where they are 
with difficulty prevailed on to remain ashore at night, on ac- 
coant of the visionary terrors iucident to places which have 
been tlius contaminated. 



Note U. 

Before the gate of J\Tortkam stood. — P. 310. 

The castle of Mortham. which Leland terms " Mr. Rokes- 
by's Place, in ripu. ciler, scant a quarter of a mile from Greta 
Bridge, and not a quarter of a mile beneath inio Tees," is a 
(licturesque tower, surrounded by buildings of different ages, 



now converted into a farm-house and offices. The battlemenla 
of the tower itself are singularly elegant, the architect having 
broken them at regular intervals into different heights ; while 
those at the corners of the tower project into octangular tur- 
rets. They are also from space to space covered with stones 
laid across them, as in modern embrasures, the whole forming 
an uncommon and beautiful effect. The surrounding build- 
ings are of a less hap|)y form, being pointed into high andstee]> 
roofs. A wall, with embrasures, encloses the southern front, 
where a low portal arch affords an entry to what was the cas- 
tle-court. At some distance is most happily placed, between 
the stems of two magnificent elms, the monument alluded to 
in the text. It is said to have been brought from the ruins of 
Egliston Priory, and, from the armory with which it is richly 
carved, appears to have been a tomb of the Fitz-IIughs. 

The situation of Mortham is eminently beautiful, occupying 
a high bank, at the bottom of which the Greta winds out of 
the dark, narrow, and romantic deli, which the text has at- 
tempted to describe, and flows onward through a more open 
valley to meet the Tees about a quarter of a mile from the 
castle. Mortham is surrounded by old trees, happily and 
widely grouped with Mr. Morritt's new plantations. 



Note V. 



There dig, avd tomb your precious heap. 
And hid the dead your treasure keep. — P. 311. 

If time did not permit the Bucauiers to lavish away their 
plunder in their usual debaucheries, they were wont to hide 
it, with many superstitious solemnities, in the desert islands 
and keys which they frequented, and where much treasure, 
whose lawless owners perished without reclaiming it, is still 
supposed to be concealed. The most cruel of mankind are 
often the most superstitious ; and these pirates are said to 
have had recourse to a horrid ritual, in order to secure an 
unearthly guardian to their treasures. They killed a negro 
or Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, believing that 
his spirit would haunt the spot, and terrify away all intruders. 
I cannot produce any other authority on which this custom is 
ascribed to them than that of maritime tradition, which is, 
however, amply sufficient for the purposes of poetry. 



Note W. 



The power 



That Kiisuhducd and lurking lies 
To take the felon by surprise, 
And force him, as by magic spefl, 
In his despite his guilt to tell. — P. 311. 

All who are conversant with the administration of criminal 
justice, must remember many occasions in which malefactors 
appear to have conducted themselves with a species of in- 
fatuation, either by making unnecessary confidences respecting 
their guilt, or by sudden and involuntary allusions to circum- 
stances by which it could not fail to be exposed. A remarka- 
ble instance occurred in the celebrated case of Eugene Aram 
A skeleton being found near Knaresborough, was supposed, 
by the persons who gathered around the spot, to be the re 
mains of one Clarke, who had disajipeared some years before, 
under circumstances leading to a suspicion of his having beet 
murdered. One Houseman, who had mingled in the crowd, 
suddenly said, while looking at the skeleton, and hearing the 
opinion which was buzzed around, "That is no more Dan 
Clarke's bone than it is mine!" — a sentiment expressed so 
positively, and with such peculiarity of manner, as to lead all 
who heard him to infer that he must necessarily know whero 
the real body hud been interred. Accordingly, being apprfl 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



ye3 



bended, lie confessed having assisted Eugene Aram to marder 
Clarke, and to hide his hody in Saint Robert's Cave. It hap- 
pened to the author himself, while conversing with a person 
aceused of an atrocious crime, for the purpose of rendering 
him professional assistance upon liis trial, to hear the prisoner, 
afl.r the most solemn and reiterated protestations that he was 
guiltless, sudilenly, niid, as it were, involuntarily, in the course 
of his communicuiions. make such an admission as was alto- 
gether incompatible with innocence. 



Note X. 



Brackenbury^ s dismal tower. — P. 314. 

This tower has been already mentioned. It is situated near 
the northeastern extremity of the wall which encloses Bar- 
nard Castle, and is traditionally said to have been the prison. 
By an odd coincidence, it bears a name wliich we naturally 
connect with imprisonment, from Its being that of Sir Robert 
Brackenbary, lieotenant of the Tower of London under Ed- 
ward IV. and Richard III. Tiiere is, indeed, some reason to 
conclude, that the tower may actually have derived the name 
from that family, for Sir Robert Brackenbnry himself possessed 
considerable property not far from Barnard Castle. 



Note Y. 



Jiobles and knigkts, so proud of late ^ 
Must jinc for freedom and estate. 

Riorkt heavy shall his ransom be. 

Unless that maid compound with thee! — P. 314. 

After the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of Newcastle 
retired beyond sea in disgust, and many of his followers laid 
down their arms, and made the best composition tliey could 
with the Committees of Parliament. Fines were imposed 
upon them in proportion to their estates and degrees of delin- 
quency, and these fines were often bestowed upon such per- 
sons as had deserved well of the Commons. In some circum- 
stances it happened, that the oppressed cavaliers were fain to 
form family alliances with some powerful person among the 
triumphant partj-. The whole of Sir Robert Howard's excel- 
lent comedy of The Committee turns upon the plot of Mr. and 
Mrs. Day to enrich their family, by compelling Arabella, 
whose estate was under sequestration, to marry their son 
Abel, as the fT:ce by which she was to compound with Par- 
liament for delinquency ; that is, for attachment to the royal 
cause. 



Note Z. 



The Indian, prowling for his prey, 

Who hears the settlers track his way. — P. 315. 

The patience, abstinence, and ingenuity, exerted by the 
North American Indians, when in pursuit of plunder or ven- 
geance, is the most distinguished feature in their character ; 
and the activity and address which they display in their re- 
i treat is equally surprising. Adair, whose absurd hypothesis 
and lurgid style do not affect the general authenticity of his 
anecdotes, has recorded an instance which seems incredible. 

•■ When the Chickasali nation was engaged in a former war 
witli the .Muskohge. one of their young warriors set off against 

them to revenge the blood of a near relation He 

went through the most unfrequented and thick parts of the 
woods, as such a dangerous enterprise required, tilt he arrived 
opposite to the great and old beloved town of refuge. Koo- 
•ah, which stands high on the eastern side of a bold river, about 



250 yards broad, tliat runs by the late dangerous Albchama- 
Fort, down to the black poisoning Mobile, and no inio thb 
Gulf of Alexico. Thero he concealed himself under ot.ver of 
the top of a fallen pine-tree, in view of llie ford of the old 
trading-path, where the enemy now and then pass the river in 
their light poplar canoes. All his wa^store of provisions con- 
sisted of three stands of barbicued venison, till he had an op- 
portunity to revenge blood, and return home, ilc waited with 
watclifulness and patience almost three days, when a young 
man, a woman, and a girl, passed a little wide of him an hour 
before sunset. The former he shot down, tomahawked the 
other two, and scalped each of them in a trice, in full view of 
the town. By way of bravado, he shaked the scalps before 
them, sounding the awful death-wlioop, ami set olf along the 
trading-path, trusting to his heels, wliile a great many of the 
enemy ran to their arms and gave chase. Seven miles from 
thence he entered the great blue ridge of the Apalache Moun- 
tains. About an hour before day he had run over seventy 
miles of that mountainous tract ; then, after sleeping two 
hours in a sitting posture, leaning his back against a tree, he 
set off again with fresh speed. As he threw away the venison 
when he found himself pursued by the enemy, he was obliged 
to support nature with such herbs, roots, and nuts, as his sharp 
eyes, with a running glance, directed him to snatch up in his 
course. Though I often have rode that war-path alone, when 
delay might have proved dangerous, and with as fine and 
strong Iiorses as any in America, it took me five days to ride 
from the aforesaid Koosah to this sprightly warrior's place in 
the Chlckasah country, the distance of 300 computed miles: 
yet he ran it, and got home safe and well at about eleven 
o'clock of the tliird day, which was only one day and a half 
and two nights." — Adair's History of the American In- 
dians. Lond. 1775, 4to. p. 395. 



Note 2 A. 



Jn Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared, 

Tfhen Rooken-edgc, and Redswair high. 

To bugle rung and blood-hound' s cry. — P. 315. 

*' What manner of cattle-stealers they are that inhabit these 
valleys in the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley, a Scotche 
man himself, and Bishop of Ross, will inform you. They 
sally out of their own borders in the night, in troops, through 
unfrequented by-ways and many Intricate windings. All the 
day-time they refresh themselves and their horses In lurking 
holes they had pitched upon before, till they arrive in the dark 
in those places they have a design upon. As soon as they 
have seized upon the booty, they. In like manner, return home 
in the night, throngh blind ways, and fetching many a com- 
pass. The more skilful any captain is to pass through those 
wild deserts, crooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the 
thickest mists, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked 
upon as a man of an rxrellent head. And they are so very 
cunning, that they seldom have their booty taken from tnein, 
unless sometimes when, by the help of bloodhounds following 
them exactly upon the tract, they may chance to fall into me 
hands of their adversaries. When being taken, they have &c 
much persuasive eloquence, and so many smooth insinuating 
words at command, that if they do not move their judges, nay, 
and even their adversaries (notwithstanding the severity of their 
natures) to have mercy, yet they Incite them to a<lmiration 
and compassion." — Camden's Britannia. 

The Inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were, in 
ancient times, so inordinately addicted to these depredations, 
that In 1564, the Incorporated Merchant-adventurers of New 
cattle made a law that none born In these districts shonld be 
admitted apprentice. The inhabitants are stated to be so 
generally addicted to rapine, that no faith should be reposed 
in those proceeding from "such lewde and wicked progeni 



364 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tors." Tins rL:,'iilalion continued to stand unrepealed antil 
1771. A lug^iir. in an old play, describes himself as "born 
in Red''>"<I;i!e. in Northumberland, and come of a wiglit-riding 
BUrnani'-. called Ilie Robsons, good honest men and true. 
saving a little .shifting for their living, Ood help them /" — 
a description wliich would have applied to most Borderers on 
both sides. 

Reidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives name [see 
Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 15], is on the very edge of the 
Carter-fell, which divides England from Scotland. The Roo- 
kpn is a place upon Reedwater. Bertram, being described as 
a native of these dales, where the habits of hostile depreda- 
tion long survived the union of the crowns, may have been, 
in some degree, i)repa'red by education for the exercise of a 
eimilar trade in the wars of the Bucaniers. 



Note 2 B. 



Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye. — P. 315. 

After one of the recent battles, in which the Irish rebels 
were ded-atcd, one of tlicir most active leaders was found in a 
bog, in ^vllich he was immersed up to the siioulders, while his 
head was concealed by an impending ledge of turf. Being de- 
tected and seized, notwithstanding his precaution, he became 
Bolicitnii'; to know how Jiis retreat had been discovered. " I 
caught," answered the Sutherland Highlander, by whom lie 
was taken, " the sparkle of your eye." Those who are accus- 
tomed to mark hares upon their form, usually discover them by 
the same circumstance.' 



Note 2 C. 



Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
Hts soul's redemption for revenge! — P. 317. 

It is agreed by all the writers upon magic and witchcraft, 
that revenge was the most common motive for the pretended 
compact between Satan and his vassals. The ingenuity of 
Reginald Scot has very Iiappily stated how such an opinion 
came to root itself, not only in the minds of the public and of 
the judges, but even in that of the poor wretches themselves 
who were accused of sorcery, and were often firm believers in 
their own power and their own gnilt. 

" One sort of snch as are said to be wilclies, are women 
which be commonly old, lame, blear^yed, pale, foul, and full 
of wrinkles ; poor, sullen, superstitious, or jiapists, or such as 
know no religion ; in whose drowsie mimls the devil hath got- 
ten a fine seat ; so as what mischief, mischance, calamity, or 
Blaughtei* is brought to pass, they are easily perswadcd the 
same is done by themselves, imprinting in their minds an ear- 
nest and constant imngination thereof Tliese go from 

house to house, and from door to door, for a pot of milk, yest, 
drink, poltage, or some such relief, without the which they 
could hnrdly live ; neither obtaining for their service or pains, 
nor yet by their art, nor yet at the devil's lianas (with whom 
they arc s:iid lo make a perfect and visible bargain), either 
beauty, money, promotion, wealth, pleasure, honour, knowl- 
edge, learning, or any other benefit whatsoever. 

" It fallcth out many a time, that neither their necessities 
nor their ex|>ectation is answered or served in those places 
where they beg or borrow, but rather their lewdness is by their 
neighbours reproved. And farther, in tract of time the witch 
waxetli odious and tedious to her neighbours, and they again 
are despised and despited of her; so as sometimes she curseth 
one, and sometimes another, and that from the master of the 
house, his wife, children, cattle, &c., to the little pig that lieth 

1 Sii Walter Scolt continued to be fond of coursing hnrcs long nfter lie 
awl laid aside all other ficld-aporl«, nnd he used to eny jocularly, that lie 



in the stie. Thus, in process of time, they have all displeased 
her, and she hath wished evil luck unto them all ; perhaps 
with curses and imprecations made in form. Doubtless (at 
ler*;'!h) some of her neighbours die or fall sick, or some of their 
children are visited with diseases that vex them strangely, as 
apoplexies, epilepsies, convulsions, hot fevers, worms, &c., 
which, by ignorant parents, are supposed to be the vengeance 

of witches 

"The witch, on the other side, e.'Specting her neighbours* 
mischances, and seeing things sometimes come to pass accord- 
ing to her wishes, curses, and incantations (for Bod in himself 
confesses, that not above two in a hundred of their witchinffs 
or wishings take effecl), being called before a justice, by due 
examination of the circumstances, is driven to sec her impre- 
cations and desires, and her neighbours' harms and losses, to 
concur, and, as it were, to take effect ; and so confesseth that 
she (as a goddess) hath brought such things to pass. Where 
in not otdy she, but tlie accuser, and also the justice, are foully 
deceived and abused, as being, througli her confession, and 
other circumstances, perswaded (to the injury of God's glory) 
that she hath done, or can do. that which is proper only tc 
God himself." — Scot's Discovery of Witchcroft. Lond. 
1655, fol. p. 4, 5. 



Note 2 D. 
Of my marauding on the clowns 
Of Calvcrley and Bradford downs. — P. 317. 

The troops of the King, when they first took the field, were 
as well disciplined as could be expected from circumstances. 
But as the circumstances of Charles became less favorable, 
and his funds for regularly paying his forces decreased, habits 
of military license prevailed among them in greater excess. 
Lacy, the jdayer, who served his master during the Civil War, 
brought out, after the Restoration, a piece called The Old 
Troop, in which beseems to have commemorated some real 
incidents which occurred in his military career. The names 
of the officers of the Troop sufficiently express their habits. 
We have Flea-tlint Plundei--Mastei^General, Captain Ferret- 
farm, and Quarter-Master Burn-drop. The officers of the 
Troop are in league with these worthies, and connive at their 
plundering the country for a suitable sliare in the booty. All 
this was undoubledly drawn from the life, which Lacy had an 
opportunity to study. The moral of the whole is compre- 
hended in a rebuke given to the lieutenant, whose disorders in 
the country are said to prejudice the King's cause more than 
his courage in the field could recompense. The piece is by no 
means void of farcical humor. 



Note 2 E. 



BrignaWs woods, and Scargru leave. 

E'en nolo, o'er many a sister cave. — P. 318. 

The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford Bridge, abound 
in seams of grayish slate, which are wrought in some places to 
A very great dejith under ground, thus forming artificial cav- 
ertLs, which, when the seam has been exhausted, are gradually 
hidden by the underwood which grows in profusion Jpon the 
romantic banks of the river. In times of public confusion, 
they might be well adapted to the purposes of banditti. 



Note 2 F. 

When Spain waged warfare with our larid. — P. 3Q0 

There was a short war witli Spain in 162i>-6, which will bo 
found to agree pretty well with the chronology of the poem. 

hftd more pleasure in being considered an excellent fitter, than in oil bu 
reputstiuu na a (.-ouocur.— Ed. 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



366 



ll-it probably Bertram held an opinion very common among 
'1 II m.iritiino heroes of ihe age, thai " there was no peace be- 
yorul tlie Line." The Spanish o-Hart/a-co^sfu* were constantly 
finjiloyed in a^';;ressions upon the trade and seillemeats ol' the 
Cufjlisli and French ; and, by tiieir own severities, gave room 
lor the system of bucaniering, at first adopted in sell-defence 
and retaliation, and afterwards persevered in from habit and 
thirst of plunder 



WOTE 2 G. 



■ Our comrade^i strife. — P. ^11. 



The law^ of the Bucanier?, and their successors the Pirates, 
however sevtre and equitable, were, like other laws, often set 
a-iide by the stronger party. Their quarrels about the division 
of the spoil fill their history, and they as frequently arose out 
of mere frolic, or the tyrannieal humor of their chiefs. An 
anecdote of Teach (called Blackbeard) shows that their ha- 
bitual inditfcTcnce for human life extended to their compan- 
ions, as well im their enemies and captives. 

'* One ni^ht, drinking in his cabin witii Hands, the pilot, 
and another man, Blackbeard, without any provocation, pri- 
vately draws out a small pair of pistols, and cocks them under 
the table, which, being perceived by the man, he withdrew 
upon deck, leaving Hands, the pilot, and the captain together. 
When the pi^»ols were ready, he blew out tlie candles, and, 
crossing his hands, discharged them at his conii)any. Hands, 
the master, was shot through the knee, and lamed for life ; the 
jther pistol did no execution." — Johnson's History of Pi- 
rates. Loud. 1724, 8vo. vol. i. p. 38. 

Another anecdote of this worthy may be also mentioned. 
" The htro of whom we are writing was Uioronghly accom- 
plished this way, and some of his frolics of wickedness were 
^o extravagant, as if he aimed at making )iis men believe he 
was a devil incarnate ; for, being one day at sea, and a little 
Hushed with drink, * Come,' says he, ' let as make a hell of 
our own, aud try how long we can bear it.' Accordingly, he, 
wilii two or three others, went down into the hold, and, clo- 
sing up all the hatches, filled several pots full of brimstone and 
otlier combustible matter, and set it on fire, and so continued 
till they were almost suflbcated, when some of the men cried 
out for air. Al length he opened the hatches, not a little 
pleased that he held out the longest." — Ibid. p. 90. 



Note 2 H. 



my roTfgcrs go 

Even nozD to track a vnlk-whitc doe. — P. 321, 

" Immediately after supper, the huntsman should go to his 
/luster's chamber, and if he serve a king, then let him go to 
tie master of the game's chamber, to know in what quarter 
ludeterniineth to hunt the day following, that he may know 
hi own quarter ; that done, he may go to bed, to the end thai 
himay rise the earlier in tlie morning, according to the time and 
seson, and according to the place where fie must Iiunt : then 
wlen he is up and ready, let him drinke a good draught, and 
felh his hound, to make him breake his fast a httie : and let 
hia not forget to fill his bottel with good wine : that done, let 
hill take a little vinegar into the palme of his hand, and ])ut 
it ii tlie nostrils of his houud, for to make him sriufte, to the 
em liis scent may bo the perfecter, then let him go to the 

wod When the huntsman pcrociveth that it is 

tim to begin to beat, h-t him put his hound before him, and 
bea tlie outsides of springs or iliickets ; and if he find an hart 
oririr tliat likes iiim, let him mark well whether it be fresh 
or i)t. which he may know as well by the mancr of his hounds 

dra-ir:". asalso by the eye When he hath well 

oooidered what maner of hart it may be, and hath marked 



every thing to jodge by, then let him draw till he uomc to th« 
couert wlierc he Is gone to ; and let him harbour him if ho 
can, still marking all his tokens, as well by the slot :is by ttie 
entries, foylcs, or such-like. That done, let liim plash or bruse 
down small twiggcs, some alolt and some brlow, as the art 
requireth, and therewithall, whilest his hound is liote, let him 
beat the out-sides. anri make his ring-walkes, twice or thrice 
about the wood."— T/ie JVobic JIrt of Vcwriv, or Hunting. 
Lond. IfiU, 4io. p. 7G, 77. 



Note 2 I. 



Sons 



.Aditu for evermrrr. — P. 322. 

The last verse of tins song is taken from th»» fragment of an 
jld Scottisli ballad, of whicli I only recollect-'d two verses 
when the fir^t edition of Rokeby was published, Mr. Thomas 
Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an entire ropy of this beau- 
tiful song, which seems to express the fortunes of some fol- 
lower of the Stuart family : — 

*' It was a' for our rightful king 
That we left fair Scotland's strand. 
It was a' for our rightful king 
That we e'er saw Irish land, 
My dear. 
That we e'er saw Irish land. 

'* Now all is done that man can do, 
And all is done in vain ! 
My love I my native land, adieu ! 
For I must cross the main. 

My dear. 
For I must cross the main. 

" He turn'd him round and right about, 
All on the Irish shore. 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake 
With, Adieu for evermore. 

My dear ! 
Adieu for evermore ! 

" The soldier frae the war returns, 
And the nieri-hant frae the maio, 
But I hae parted wi' my love, 
And ne'er to meet again, 

My dear, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

" When day is gone and night is come. 
And a' are boun' to sleep, 
I think on them that's far awa 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 
My dear. 
The lee-lang night, and weep." 



Note 2 K. 



Rere-cross on Stanmore. — P. 323. 

This is a fragment of an old cross, with its pediment, -inr 
rounded by an intrenchment, upon the very summit of thf 
waste ridge of Stanmore, near a small house of entertainmeni, 
called the Spittal It is called Rere-cross, or Rce-cross, of 
which Holinshed gives us the following e.^planation : — 

" At length a peace was concluded betwixt the two kings 
vnder these conditions, that IMalcoIme should enjoy tliat part 
of Northumberland which litth betwixt Tweed. Cumberland, 
and Stainmore, and doo homage to the Kinge of England for 
the same. In the midst of Stainmore there shall be a cross* 



■366 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



bet lip. with Ihe Kinge of England's image on the one side, and 
the KiiiL'"- of Scotland's on tlie oilier, to signifie that one is 
manh to Englaml, and the other to Scotland. Thiscrosse was 
called the Roi-crosse, that is. the trosse of the King."— HoLlN- 
SHED. Lond. 1808, 4to. v. 280. 

Holinshtd's sole authority seems to have lieen Boethius. 
But it is not improbable that his account may be llit- true one, 
.-iUliougli the iMreumslance does not occur in Wintoun's Chro- 
niL-le. \iie situation of llie cross, anrl the pu.xn^ taken to defend 
It, seem to indicate that it was inltiulea lor a latul-mark of 
tnjiorlance. 



Note 2 L. 
Hast Viou lodged our dm- 



-P. 323. 



The duty of the ranger, or pricker, was first to lodge or har- 
lor tlie deer- i. c. to discover his retreat, as described at 
length in note, 2 H, and then to make his report to his prince, 
or niastei : — 

' Before the King I come report to make. 

Then huslu and peace for noble Tristrame's sake . . . 
My liege, I went this morning on my quest. 
My lioniid did stick, and seem'd to vent some beast. 
I helil him short, and drawing after him, 
I might hchold the hart was feeding trym; 
His head was high, and large in each degree. 
Well panlmed eke, and seem'd full sound to be. 
Of colour browne, he beareth eight and tenne, 
Of stately height, and long he seemed then. 
His beam seem'd great, in good proportion led, 
Well barred and round, well pearled neare his liead. 
He seemed fayre tweene blacke and berrie brouude 
He seemes well fed by all tlie signes I found. 
For when I had well marked him with eye, 
I stept aside, to watch wliere he would lye. 
And wlien I had so wayted full an houre, 
That be might be at layre and in his boure, 
I cast about to harbour him full sure ; 
My hounil by sent did me thereof assure . . . 
" Then if he ask what slot or view I found, 
I say the slot or view was long on ground ; 
The toes were great, the joyiit l)ones round and short. 
The sliinne hones large, the dew-chws close in port: 
Short ioynted was he. liollovv-footed eke. 
An hart lo Iiunt as any man can seeke." 

The Art of Veneric, at supra, p. 97. 



"Note 2 M. 



Tlieir baleful power: The sisters ever sung, 

' Shake, standard, shake this ruin on our foes.' " 

Thomson and Mallkt's Alfred. 

The Danes renewed and extetided their incursions, and began 
to colonize, establishing a kind of capital at York, from which 
they spread their conquests and incursions in every diredlion. 
Stanmore. which divides the mountains of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, was probably the boundary of the Danisli king- 
dom in that direction. The district to the west, known in an- 
cient British history by the name of Reged, had never been 
conquered by the Saxons, and continued lo maintain a preca- 
rious independence until it was ceded to Malcolm, King of 
Scots, by William the Conqueror, probably on account of its 
similarity in language and manners to the neighboring British 
kingdom of Strath-Clyde. 

Upon the extent and duration of the Danit^b sovereignty in 
Nortlnimberland. the curious may consult the various authori- 
ties quoted in the Oesta et Vestigia Danornm extra Daniam 
tom. ii. p. 40. The most powerful of their Nortlmmbrian 
leaders seems to have been Ivar, called, from tlie extent of hia 
conquests, Widfam, that is, The Strider. 



fVhni DfJnnark's rnvcn soar'd on high, 
'I'riiiviphant through .N'orlhtnnhrian sky, 
Ttll, hooering near, her fntnl rroak 
Bade Regcd's Britons dread the yoke.—V. 323. 

About the year of God 8G(i, the Danes, under their cele- 
brated leaders Inguar (more pro|ierly Agnar) and Ilubba, sons, 
it is said, of the still more celebrated Regnar Lodbrog. invaded 
Northiimliprland, bringing with them the magical standard, so 
often mentioned in poetry, called Reafen. or Rumfau, from 
its bearing the figurft of a raven :— 

Wrought hy the sisters of the Danish king, 

or furiou> Ivar in a midnight hour: 

While the sick moon, at their enchanted song 

Wrapt in pale tempest, labor'd through the clouds, 

The demons of destruction then, tliey say, 

Were all abroad, and mixing with the woof 



Note 2 N. 



Beneath the shade the J^orthmen eame, 
Fix.''d on each vale a Ru?uc name. — 1*. 323. 
The heathen Danes liave left several traces of their religion 
in the ujiper part of Teesdale. Baldei^gartb, which derives its 
name from the unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract of waste 
land on the very ridge of Stanmore ; and a brook, which falls 
into the Tees near Barnard Ca.slle, is named after the same 
deity. A field upon the banks of the Tees is also termed 
Woden-Croft, from the supreme deity of the Edda. Thor^gill, 
of which a description is attempted in stanza ii., is a beautiful 
little brook and dell, running up behind the ruins of Eglislon 
Abbey. Tlior was llie Hercules of the .Scandinavian mylho- 
lo"y, a dreadful giant-queller, and in that capacity the cham- 
pion of the gods, and tlie defender of Asgard, the northern 
Olympus, against the freqm-nl attacks of the inbabilanls of 
Jotunbem. There is an old pOL-m in the Edda of Stemund. 
called the Song of Thrym, which turns upon the loss and re- 
covery of the Mace, or Hammer, which was Thor's principal 
weapon, and on which much of his power seems to liave de- 
peniled. It may be read to great advantage in a version 
equally spirited and literal, among the Miscellaneous Transla- 
tions and Poems of the Honorable William Herbert. 



Note 2 O. 



If ho has Ttot ueard how brave O^J^eale \ 

In English blood imbrued his steel ? — P. 325. I 

The O'Neale here meant, for more than one succeeded t| 
the chieftainship during the reign of Elizabeth, was Hugh. ll| 
grandson of Con O'Neale, called Con Bacco. or the Linn. 
His fatlier. Matthew O'Kelly, was illegitimate, and. b:-ing tb 
sou of a blacksmith's wife, was usually called Matthew th 
Blacksmith. His father, nevertheless, destined his 8Ucc4- 
sion to him ; and he was created, by Elizabe-'i, Baron d 
Dungannon. Uiion the death of Con Bacco. tins ^'atlh* 
was°slain by his brother. Hugh narrowly escaped the sa^ 
fate, and was protected hy the English. Shane 0'Nc:ile. U 
uncle, called Shane Dymx-*, was succeeded hy Turloii| 
Lynogb O'Ne.tle;. after whose death, Hugh, having avsuii 
tlie chicftainslii|i. became nearly as formidable ',o tli-j Enj 
as any by whom it had been possessed. He rebelled repeft- 
edly, and as often made submissions, of whicli it was usn;i!y 
a condition that he should not any longer assume the tiiletf 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



367 



O'Neale ; in lieu of which he was created Earl of Tyrone. 
Itut t))js cuiidiiioit lie never observed loiigur than until the 
pru'^ure ol" superior force was witlitlraw'ii. His batHiiig the 
(rallant Earl ot' E.-sex in the field, and overreadiing him in a 
treaty, was Oie induction to that nobleman's tragedy. Lord 
Mountjoy succeeded in finally subjugating O'Neale ; but it was 
not till the duccossion of James, to whom he made personal 
eubmissiOQ, and was received with civility at court. Vet, ac- 
cording to Morrison, '*iio respect to Iiim could containe many 
weomen in those parts, wlio had lost husbands and children in 
the IrUU w.irres, from flinging durt and stones at the ejule as 
he passed, and from reuihng him with biittT words ; yea, when 
the eaile had been at court, and there obtaining his majestie's 
direction for his p.-^rdon and peribnnance of all conditions pro- 
nii^^cii liini by the Lord Mountjoy, was about September to re- 
lume, he durst not pa,-is by those parts witbout direction to the 
Bhiriftes, to convey him witli troops of horse from place to 
place, lili he was safely imbarked and put lo sea for Ireland." 
■Itinerary^ p. 296. 



Note 2 P. 



But chief arose his victor pride, 

When that brave J\Iarshal fought and died. — P. 3!i5. 

The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the Englii^h 
was in a battle fought near Blackwater, while he besieged a 
fort garrisoned by the English, which commanded the passes 
lUto Ills country. 

■' This captain and his few warders did with no less courage 
siitTvr hunger, and, having eaten the few horses they had, lived 
vpon liearbes growing in ihe ditclies and wnis, suffering all ex- 
tremities, till the lord-lieutenant, in the month of August, sent 
Sir Henry Bagual, inarshall of Ireland, with the most choice 
companies of foot and horse-troopes of the English army to 
victual this fort, and to raise the rebels siege. When the Eng- 
lish entered the place and thicke woods beyond Armagli. on 
the ea'it side, Tyrone (with all the rebels assembled to him) 
jiricked forward with rage, enny, and settled rancour against 
tiie ntarshull, iLsi^ayled the English, and turning his full force 
against the niarshali's pennon, had tlie successe to kill him, 
valiantly fighting among the thickest of the rebels. Where- 
upon the English being dismayed with his deatli, the rebels 
obtained a great victory against them. I terme it great, since 
the English, from their first arriual in that kingdome, neuer had 
■eceiveil so great an ouerthrow as this, commonly called the 
Defeat of niackewater; thirteene valiant caplaines and 1500 
romnion souldiers (whereof many were of the old compa.nie9 
vhich had nerued in Brittaiiy vnder General Norreys) were 
lain in the field. Tlie yielding of the fort of Blaekewater 
ullowed this disaster, when the assaulted guard saw no hope 
I' relief; but especially vpon messages sent to Cajitain Wil- 
ims from our broken forces, retired to Armagh, professing 
at all their safety depended vpon his yielding the fort into 
e hands of Tyrone, witbout which danj;er Captaine Williams 
ofessed that no want or miserie should have induced him 
■reunio." — Fyses Moryson's Itiaa-ary. London, IG17, 
. pari ii. p. 34. 

Tyrone is said to have entertained a personal animosity 
linst the knight-marshal. Sir Henry Bagnal. whom he ac- 
«rd of deiaiiiiiig the letters which he sent to Ciueen EK?a- 
h, es jlanatory of his conduct, and offering terms of sub- 
«ion. The rivt-r, called by the English, Blackwater, is 
Wed in Irish, Avon-Dufl", which has the same signification. 
ih names are mentioned by Spenser in his " Marriage of the 
'imes and the Medway." But I unJcr-'tand that his verses 
ite not 'o the Blackwater of Ulster, but lo a river of the 
^e name in the south of Ireland : — 



I 



' Swift Avon-Duff, which of the Englishmen 
b called Blackwater" 



Note 2 Q. 
The Tanist he togisai O'J^eite.—F. 325. 

" Eiidox. What is that which you call Tanist and Tanistry 1 
These be names and terms never heard of nor known to us, 

" Jren. It is a custom amongst all tbo Irish, that presently 
after tbo death of one of their clilefe lords or caplaines, they 
doe presently assemble themselves lo a place ^'er-erally appoint- 
ed and knowne unto them, lo choose another in his stead, 
where they do nominate and elect, for tbe most part not the 
eldest Sonne, nor any of the children of the lord deceased, but 
the next to him in blood, that is, tbe eldest and worthiei^t, as 
commonly the next brother unto him, if he have any, or the 
next cousin, or so forth, as any h ehler in that kindred or sept ; 
and ttuMi next to them doe they choose tbe next of the blood 
to be Tanist, who shall next succeed liim in the said captainry, 
if he live thereunto. 

" Kudoi. Do they not use ^ry ceremony in this election, 
for all barbarous nations are commcvly great observers of cere- 
monies and superstitious riles ? 

" Ircn. They used to place him mat shall be tbeircaptaine 
ujion a stone, always reserved to that purpose, and placed 
commonly upon a hill. In some of which I have seen formed 
and engraven a foot, which they say was the measure of theit 
first captaine's foot ; whereon bee standing, receives an oath 
to jireserve all the ancient former customes of the countrey 
inviolable, and to deliver up the succession peaceably to his 
Tanist, and then hath a wand delivered unto him by some 
whose proper office that is ; after which, descending from the 
stone, he turneth himself round, thrice forwards and thrice 
backward?. 

" Etidox. But how is the Tanist chosen ? 

" Ircn. They say he setteth but one foot upon the stone, 
and receiveth the like oath that the captaine did." — Spen- 
ser's View of the State of Ireland, apud IVorks, London, 
180.5, 8vo. vol. viii. p. 306. 

The Tanist. therefore, of O'Neale, was the heir-apparent of 
iiis power. This kind of succession appears also to have regu- 
lated, in very remote times, the succession to the crown of 
Scotland. It would have been imprudent, if not impossible, 
to have asserted a minor's right of succession in lliosc stormy 
days, when the principles of policy were summed up in my 
frierul Mr. Wordsworth's lines : — 

" the good old role 

Sufficetli them ; the simple plan. 
That they should take who have the power, 

And they should keep who can." 



Note 3 R. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread, Jt-c. — P. 395. 

There is here an attempt to describe the ancient Irish drcM, 
of which a poet of Q.ueen Elizabeth's day has given us the 
following particulars: — 

" I marvailde in my mynde, 

and thereopon did muse, 
To see a bride of heavenlie hewe 

au ouglie fere to ehuse. 
This britle it is the soile, 

the bridegroome is the karne. 
With writhed glibbes, like wicked sprits, 

with visage rough and stearne ; 
With sculles upon their [loalles, 

instead of civill cappes ; 
With speares in hand, and swordes besydei 

to bcare off after clappes; 
With jacketlcs long and large, 

which shroud simplicitie. 



r?68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tlioiigli spiifull darts winch tliey do beare 

iiTiporte iniqaitie. 
Their shirtes be very strange, 

not reaching past the thie ; 
Witli pleates on pleates thei pleated are 

a.'i thick as pleates may lye. 
Whose sleaves hang trailing doane 

almost unto the shoe ; 
Anrl with a mantell comraonlie 

the Irish karne do goe. 
Now some amongst the reste 

doe use another weede ; 
A eoate I meane, of strange devise 

which fancy first did breade. 
His skirts be very shorte, 

with pleates set thick about, 
And Irish trouzes moe to put 

their strange protactoiirs out.' 
Derrick's Image of Ireland, apud Somers' Tracts, 

Edin. 18f><> 4tQ. vol. i. p. 585. 

iome curious wooden engravings accompany this poem, from 
*'hich it would seem that the ancient Irish dress was (the bon- 
net excepted) very similar to tiiat of the Scottish Highlanders. 
The want of a covering on the head was supplied by the mode 
of plaiting and arranging the hair, which was called the glibhc. 
Tliese glibbes, according to Spenser, were fit marks for a thief, 
since, when he wislied to disguise himself, lie could either cut 
it off entirely, or so pull it over his eyes as to render it very 
hard to recognize him. This, however, is nothing to the rep- 
robation with which the same poet regards that favorite part 
of the Irisli dressj the mantle. 

" It is a fit house for an outlaw, a meet bed for a rebel, and 
an apt cloke for a thief. First, the outlaw being for his many 
crimes and villanyes banislied from the townes and houses of 
hone>it men, and wandring in waste places far from danger of 
law, makefh his mantle his house, and under it covereth him- 
self from the wratli of heaven, from the offence of the earth, 
and from the sight of men. When it raineth, it is his pent- 
house ; when it bloweth, it is his tent ; when it freezeth, it is 
his tabernacle. In summer he can wear it loose, in winter he 
can wraj) it close ; at all times he can use it ; never heavy, 
never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as serviceable ; 
for in his warre that he maketh (if at least it deserve the name 
of warre), when lie still flyeth from his foe, and lurketh in the 
thicke woods and straite passages, waiting for advantages, it 
is his bed, yea, and almost his household stuff. For the wood 
is [lis house against all weathers, and his mantle is his couch 
to sleep ill. Therein he wrappeth himself round, and couch- 
eth himself strongly against the gnats, which in that country 
doe more annoy the naked rebels while they keep the woods, 
and doe more sharply wound them, than all their enemies 
swords or speares, which can seldom corae nigh them : yea, 
and oftentimes their mantle serveth them when tliey are neere 
driven, being wrapped about their left arme. instead of a tar- 
get, for it U hard to cut thorough with a sword ; besides, it is 
light to beare, light to throw away, and being (as they com- 
monly are) naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly, for a thiefe 
it is so handsome as it may seem it was first invented for him ; 
for under it he may cleanly convey any fit pillage that cometli 
liandf-omely in his way, and when lie goeth abroad in the 
night in freebooliug, it is his best and surest friend ; for, lying, 
as they often do, two or three nights together abroad to watch 
for their booty, with that they can prettily shroud themselves 
under a bush or bankside till they may conveniently do their 
errand; and when all is over, he can in his mantle passe 
■Jiroiigh any town or company, being close hooded over his 
head, as he usetli, from knowledge of any to wliom he is in- 
ddiigered. Besides this, he or any man els that is disposed to 
mischief or villany, may, under his mantle, goe privily armed 
without suspicion of any, carry Iiis head-piece, his skean. or 
nbtolf il,hc please, to be always in readiness." — Sfenser's 



View of the State of Ireland, ajiud tVurhs, nt sr.pra, viii 
367. 

The javelins, or darts, of the Irish, which tliey threw with 
great dexterity, appear, from one of the prints already men- 
tioned, to have been about four feet long, with a strong steel 
head and thick knotted shaft. 



WOTE 2 S, 



With wild mnjestic port and tone, 

Like envoy of some barbarous throne. — P. 32G. 

The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse witli the Ennlisli, and 
with each other, were wont to assume the language and s'yie 
of independent royalty. Morrison has preserved a summons 
from Tyrone to a neighboring chieftain, which runs in the fol- 
lowing terms : — 

" O'Nealecommendeth him unto yon, Hlorish Fitz-Thomas ; 
O'Neale reqnesteth you, in God's name, to take part with him, 
and fight for your conscience and right ; and in so doing, 
O'Neale will spend to see you righted in all your affaires, and 
will Iielp you. And if you come not at O'Neale betwixt this 
and to-morrow at twelve of the clocke, and take his jiart, 
O'Neale is not beholding to yon, and will doe to the uttermost 
of his power to overthrow you, if you come not to him at far- 
thest by Satturday at noone. From Knocke Dumayne in 
Calrie, the fourth of February, 1599. 

"O'Neale retiuf-steth you to come speake with him, and 
doth giue you his word that you shall receive no harme neither 
in comming nor going from him, whether yoQ b;- friend or not, 
and bring with you to O'Neale Gerat Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed) " 0'Ne.\,le,*' 

Nor did the royalty of O'Neale consist in words alone. Sir 
John Harrington paid him a visit at the time of his truce with 
Essex, and, after mentioning his " fern table, and fern forms, 
spread under the stately canopy of heaven," he notices what 
constitutes the real power of every monarcli, the love, namely, 
and allegiance of his subjects. " His guards, for the most 
part, were beardless boys without shirts; who in the frost 
wade as famiharly through rivers as water-spaniels. With 
what charm such a master makes them love liim, I know 
not ; but if he bid come, tliey come ; if go, they do go ; if he 
say do this, they do it." — J^ugm .intiqua. Lond. 178-1, 8vo. 
vol. i. p. 251. 



Note 2 T. 



His foster-father was his guide. — P. 326 

There was no tie more sacre,! among the Irish than that 
which connected the foster-father, as well as the nurse lierself 
with the child they brought up. 

"Foster-fathers spend much more time, money, and affeo 
tion on their foster-children than their own ; and in return take 
from them clothes, money for their several professions, antl 
arms, anil, even for any vicious purposes, fortunes and cattle, 
not so much by a claim of right as by extortion ; and they wil 
even carry those things off as plunder. All who have beei 
nursed by the same person preserve a greater mutual affertior 
and confidence in eacli other than if they were natural broth 
ers, whom they will even hate for the sake of these. Whei| 
chid by their parents, they fly to their faster^fathers, wlio fret 
quently encourage tliem to make open war on thi-ir parents! 
traio them tip to every excess of wickedness, and make tlifri 
most abandoned miscreant-s ; as, on the other hand, tlie nurse! 
make the young women, whom they bring up for every ej( 
cess. If a foster-child is sick, it is incredible how soon tli 
nurses hear of it, however distant, and with what solicilud 
they attend it by day and night." — Oiraldiis Cambrcnst^ 
quoted by Camden, iv. 3G8. I 

This custom, like manv other Irish usages, prevailed till fl 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



361? 



late in the Scottish HigMands, and was clirrished by the chiefs 
IIS an I'iisv mode of extending tlieir influence .iiid (.-onnection ; 
niid evfii in the Lowlands, during' llie last century, the con- 
neclion between ihu nurse and ibslei^uhild was sclduin dis- 
solv-'d but by tbedeatli of one jiariy. ' 



Note 2 XT. 

Great .Yial of the Pledges AVn/'.— P. 327. 

Ncal Naighvatlach, or Of the Nine IlostJij^es, is said to Iiave 
been Monarch of all Ireland, during the end of the fourth or 
beginning of the fiftli century. He exercised a pn^iatory war- 
fare on the coast of Enghirul and of Bretagne, or Arinorica ; 
and from tiie latter country brought olf the celebrated tfaint 
Patrick, a youth of sixteen, among other captives, whom he 
traiiJ-iiorted to Ireland. Neal derived his epitliel from nine 
nations, or tribes, whom he lield under his subjection, and 
from whom he took hostages. From one of Ncal's sons were 
derived tlie Kinel-eoguin, or Race of Tyrone, which aflbrded 
monarclis both to Ireland and to Ulster. Neal (according to 
O'Flaherty's Ogygia) was killed by a poisoned arrow, in one 
of his descents on the coast of Bretagne, 



Note 2 V. 



Shanc-Dymas wild. — 327. 
This Shane-Dymas, or John tlie Wanton, held the title and 
power of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, 
against whom he rebelled repeatedly. 

" This chieftain is handed down to us xs the most proud 
and profligate man on earth. He was immoderately addicted 
to women anil wine. He is said to have had 200 tuna of wine 
at once in lii^ cellar at Dandrara, but usquebangli was liis 
favorite liquor. He spared neither age nor condition of the 
fair pe.\. Altho' so illiterate that he could not write, he was 
not destitute of address ; his understanding was strong, and 
his courage daring. He had GOO men for his guard ; 4000 foot, 
1000 horif for the ticld. He claimed superiority owx all the 
lords of Ulster, and called himself king thereof. When com- 
missioners were sent to treat with him, he said, 'That, tho' 
Uie Q,ucen were his sovereign lady, he never made peace with 
her but at her lodging ; that she had made a wise Earl of 
Macartymore, but that he kept as good a man as he ; that 
he cared not for so mean a title as Earl ; tliat his blood and 
power wer.-* better than the best ; that his ancestors vrnr?. Kinga 
of Ulster; and that he would give place to none.' Ills kins- 
man, the Earl of Kildare, having persuaded him of the folly 
of contending with the crown of England, he resolved lo at- 
tend the dneen, but in a style suited to ids princely dignity. 
He appeared in I^ondon with a magnifiuent train of Irish Gal- 
logla-v^es, arrayed in the richest habiliments of their country, 
their heud^ bare, their hair flowing on tliesr tiiioulders, with 
tiieir long and open sleeves dyed with saffron. Thus dressed, 
and surcliarged with military harness, and armed with battle- 
axes, they aflbrded an astonishing spectacle to the citizens, who 
fgariled them as the intrnders of some very distant part of 
'i'- globe. But at Court his versatility now prevailed; liiii 
iiletothe sovereignty of Tyrone was pleaded from English 
laws and Irish institutions, and his allegations wer*.* so spccinas, 
that the Q,neen dismissed him with jtresents and assurances of 
fivor. In Englani* tlits tran.sactior. w,is looked on as the hu- 
miliation oV a ref>entiiig rebel ; in Tyrone it was considered as a 
treaty of peace between two potentates." — Camden's Bri' 
'. miia, by Gough. Lond. 1806, fol. vol, iv. p. 442. 

When reduced to extremily by the English, and forsaken 
y Ilia allies, this Shane-Dymas He), to Clandeboy, then oi-cu- 
,n I by » colony of Scottish Higlila; ders of the family of Mac- 

■iotiell. He was at first courteouoly received ; but by de- 
47 J.J 



grees they began to qnarrel about the slaughter of some of 
their friends whom Shane-Dymas had put to de.iili. :ind ad- 
vancing from words to <lceds. fell U|)on him willi then broad- 
swords, and cut him to pieces. After his deaili ;i law was 
made tliat none should presume to take the name and title of 
O'Neale. 



Note 2 "W. 



- Oeraldinc.~P. 327. 



The O'Neales were closely allied witli this jiowcrful and 
warlike family ; for Henry Owen O'Neale marric^i the daugh- 
ter of Thomas Earl of Kildare, and their son Cuu-Murc- mar 
ried his cousin-gernian, a daughter of Gerald E:irl of K idart 
This Con-More cursed any of Ins posterity who should learn 
the English language, sow corn, or build houses, so as lo in 
vitc the English to settle in their country. Otheis ascribe Uii? 
anathema to Ids son Con-Bacco. FcarflatUa O'Gnive, bard 
to the O'Neales of Clannaboy, complains in the same spirit 
of the towers and ramparts with which the strangers had dia 
figured the fair sporting fields of Erin. — See Wai.kbr's irith 
Bards, p. 140. 



Note 2 X. 



He chose that honored fiag to bear. — P. >!J8. 

Lacy informs us, in the old play already quoted, how the 
cavalry raised by the country gentlemen for Charles's service 
were usually oflicered. " Vou, cornet, have a name that's 
proper for all cornets to be called by, Ibr tliey ar.' all beardless 
boys in our army. The most part of our hor-e were raisetl 
thus : — The honest country gentleman raises the troop at liis 
own charge ; then begets a Low-couairy lieut.-nant to 6ght 
his troop safely ; then he sends for his son from school to be his 
cornet: and then he puts ofl" his child's coat to put on a buff- 
coat : and this is the constitution ol'our army.' 



Note 2 Y. 



his pegCy the nrzt degree 

In that old time to chivalry. — P. 32d. 

Originally, the order of chivalry embraced three ranks : — 
1. The Page; 2. The Squire^: 3. The Knight ;— a gradation 
which seems to have been imitated in the mystery of free- 
ma-sonry. But. before the reign of Charles I., the custom of 
serving as a squire had lallcn into disuse, though the order of 
the page was still, to a certain <legn'e. in obscrvanoe. This 
slate of servitude was so far t'roin inferring any thing degrad- 
ing, that it was considered as the regular school for acquiring 
every quality necessary tor future distinction. The proper na- 
ture, and the decay of iIn^ institution, are pointed out by old 
Ben Jonson. with his own forcible moral cotnring T]ie dia^ 
logue occurs bttwecn I.ovell, ■■ a compleat gentleman, a scl 
dier, and a scholar, known to have buen pJigu* to tli:- old Lord 
Beaufort, and so to have followed him in the Fr.-nv'h warn, 
after companion of his studies, and left guardian ro his son,*' 
and the facetious Goodstock. host of the Light He.-irt. Lovell 
had offered to take Goodstock's son for his page, which tho 
latter, in reference to the recent abuse of the establishment 
declares as *' a desperate course of life :'* — 

'* T.oxicll. Call you that desperate, which by a line 
Of institution, from onr ancestors 
Hath been derived down to lis, and received 
In a succession, for the noblest way 
Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms, 



5T0 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Fair itiien, discourses, civil exercise, 
And all llie bhizoii of a gentleman 1 
Where can lie learn to vault, to ride, to fence, 
To move liis body gracefully ; to speak 
His language purer ; or to tune his mind, 
Or manner^, more to tlie harmony of nature, 
Tlian in the nurseries of nohility ? 

" //(».^/. Ay, that was when tlie nursery's self was roble, 
And only \irtiie made it. not the market, 
Th;it titles were not vented at the drum, 
■)r cominoii outcry. Goodness gave the greatnesa, 
Anil 2^iv:itne=s worship ' every house became 
An academy of honor ; and those parLs 
We see departed, in the practice, now, 
(iiiite from the institution. 

" I.ovrlt. Why do you say so ? 
Or think so enviously ? Do tliey not still 
Learn there the Centaur*s "kill, tlip art of Thrace 
To ride ? or, Pollux' mystery, to fence? 
The Pyrrhic gestures, both to dance and spring 
In armor, to be active in the wars ? 
T»» study figures, numbers, and proportions, 
May yield them great in counsels, and the arts 
Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised ? 
To make their English sweet upon their tongue, 
As reverend Chaucer says 1 

" Host. Sir. you mistake; 
To play pir Pandani?, my copy hath it, 
And carry me«:igos to Madame Cressida ; 
Instead of backing the brave steeds o' mornings, 
To court the chainhermaid ; and for a leap 
0' the vaulting horse, to ply the vaulting house: 
For exercise of arms, a bale of dice. 
Or two nr three pricks of cards to show the cheat. 
And nimbleness of hand ; mistake a cloak 
Ujion my lord's back, and pawn it ; ease his pocket 
Of a superHuous watch ; or geld a jewel 
Of an odd stone or so ; twinge two or three buttons 
From off my lady's gown : These are the arts 
Or seven liberal deadly sciences 
Of prigery, or rather paganism, 
As the tides run ; io which if he apply him, 
He may pcrhajis take a degree at Tyburn 
A year the earlier ; come to take a lecture 
Upon Aquinas at St. TJiomas a Watering's, 
And so go forth a laureat in hemp circle !" 

Ben Jonson's J^Tew Inn, Act I. Scene \\l. 



KOTR 2 Z. 



Sccm^Utnff ahandon*d to decay. — P. 332. 

The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of 
Ihp present man*ion. by which a jiart of its walls is enclosed. 
It i'^ surrouniled by a profusion of fine wood, and the park in 
wtiiih it stands is adorned by the junction of the Greta and of 
the Toes. The title of Baron Rokehy of Armagh was. in 1777. 
coi fcrred on the Right Reverend Richard Robinson, Primate 
of Ireland, descended of the Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, 
in Yorkshire 



Note 3 A. 

Rokehy^ s lords of martial fame, 

t can count them name by name. — P. 334 

The following brief pedigree of this very ancient and once 

' ' 'J Temp. E'lw. 2di, ' " emp. Edw. 3tii. 

4 T«mp. Henr "mi, ;tjni from liim is the Tionse of SVyers, of a four'.V 
■rolhcr. 



powerful family, was kindly supplied to the author by Mt. 
Rokeby of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient Barofis 
of Rokeby : — 

" Pcdi^ce of the House of Rokeby. 

1. Sir Alex. Rokeby, Knt. marrirV to Sir Hump. Liftle'&' 

daughter. 

2. Ralph Rokeby. Esq. to Tho. Lumley's daughter. 

3. Sir Tho. Rokeby. Knt. to Tho. Hubborn's daughter. 

4. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Biggot's dangh- 

ter. 

5. Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John de Melsass* daugh- 

ter of Bennel-hall. in Holdemess. 
n. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Sir Brian Stapleton's daaghtei 
of WeighiU. 

7. Sir Thos. Rokeby. Knt. to Sir Ralph Ury's daughter.2 

8. Raljih Rokeby, Es(j. to daughter of Mansfield, heir of 

Morton.'^ 

9. Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt. to Stroode's daughter and heir. 
10. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir James Strangwayes 

daughter, 
n. Pir Thos. Rokehy. Knt. to Sir John Hotham's daughter. 

12. Ralph Rokehy, Esq. to Danby of Yaffbrth's daughter 

and heir.* 

13. Tho. Rokeby, Esq. to Rob. Constable's daagliter of 

Cliff, serjt. at law. 

14. Christopher Rokeby, Esq. to Lasscelk of Brackenbn^h's 

daughter.^ 
I-S. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Thweng. 

16. Sir TlioiiKis Rokeby, Knt. to Su- Ralph Lawson's daugh- 

ter of Brough. 

17. Frans. Rokeby. Esq. to Faucelt's daughter, citizen of 

London. 

18. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Wicklitle of 

Gales. 

High Sheriffs of Torkshire. 
1337. 11 Edw. 3. Ralph Hastings and Tho". de Rokeby. 
1343. 17 Edw. 3. Thos. de Rokeby. pro sept, annis. 
1358. 25 Edw. 3. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Justiciary of Ire- 
land for si.\ years ; died at tlie castle of 
Kilka. 
1407. 8 Hen. 4. Tho«. Rokeby Miles, defeated and slew 
the Duke of Northumberland at tJie 
battle of Bramham Moor. 
1411. 12 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles. 

H8G Thomas Rokeby. Esq. , 

1539 Robert Holgate. Bish. of Landaff, after- 
wards P. of York, Ld. President of the 
Council for the Preservation of Peace 
in the North. t 

1564. GEliz. Thomas Younge, Archbishop of Yorke, [ 
Ld. President. j 

30 Hen. 8. Tho. Rokeby, LL.D. one of the Council. 
Jn. Rokeby. LTj.D. one of the Council. 
1572. 15 Eliz. Henry. Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, Ld. 
President. 
Jo. Rokeby, Esq. one of the Council. 
Jo. Rokeby, LL.D. ditto. 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq. one of the Secreta- 
ries. 
1574. 17 Eliz. Jo. Rokeby, tie^entor of Ydrk. 

7 Will. 3. Sir J. Rokeby, Knt. one of the Justices of 
the King's Bench. 
The family of De Rokeby came over with the Conqneror. 
The old motto belonging to the family is fn Bivio iJexlra. 
The arms, argent, chevron sable, between three rooks 
proper. 



5 From him i6 ihe hoii 
issue. 



c of Hotham, and of the second brother thai biul 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



371 



There is Bomewliat more to be found in our family in llie 
Scotlisli history about die aflairs of Dun-Uretton town, but 
what it is, and in what time, I know not. nor can have con- 
venitMit leisure to search. Bui Parson IJIaekwooii, the ?c:ot- 
tish chaplain to thf l^urd ol'Slirewshury, recited to me onee a 
piece of a Scottish i-ong, wherein was mentioned, that Wil- 
liam VVallis, the great deliverer of the Scots from tlie English 
boiuhige, should, at Dun-Breiioti, have been brought up under 
a Rokeby, eaplaiu tlien of the jilaee ; and as he walked on a 
elilV. should thrust hiui on a sudden into the sea, and tnereby 
have gotten that hold, wliieh, I think, was about the 33d of 
Edw. I. or before Thus, leaving our ancestors of record, we 
must also uilh them leave the Chronicle of Malmesbury Ab- 
bey, called Enlogium Hisioriaruni, out of which Mr. Lelaud 
reporteth tliis history, and coppy down unwritteu story, the 
which liave yet the testimony Of later times, and the fresh 
memory of men yet alive, for their warrant and ercdiit, of 
whom I have learned it, that in K. Henry the 7tli's reign, one 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq., was owner of Morion, and I guess that 
tins was he liiat deceived the fryars of Richmond witli his 
felon swine, on wliicli a jargon was made." 

The above is a quotation from a manuscript written by Ralph 
Rokeby ; when he lived is uncertain. 

To what metrical Scottish tradition Parson Blackwood al- 
luded, it would be now in vain lo inquire. But in Blind Har- 
ry's Hi^lory of Sir William Wallace, we find a legend of one 
Rukbie, whom he makes keeper of Stirling Castle under the 
English usurpation, and whom Wallace slays with bis own 
hand : — 

" In the great press Wallace and Rukbie met, 
With his good sword a stroke upon him set ; 
Derdy to death the old Rukbie he drave, 
But his two sons escaped among the lave." 

These sons, according to the romantic Minstrel, surrendered 
the castle on conditions, and went back to England, but re- 
turned to Scotland in the days of Bruce, when one of them 
became again keeper of Stirling Castle. Immediately alter 
this achievement follows another engagement, between Wal- 
lace and those Western Highlanders who embraced the English 
interest, at a pass in Glendoiichart, whore many were precipi- 
tated into the lake over a precipice. These circumstances may 
have been confused in the naiTstive of Pardon Blackwood, or 
in the recollection of Mr. Rokeby, 

In the old ballad of Chevy Chase, there is mentioned, among 
the ICnglish warriors, " Sir Rafl'tlie ryche Rugbe," which may 
apply to Sir Ralph Rokeby, the tenth baron in the pedigree. 
The more modern copy of the ballad runs thus ; 

" Good Sir Ralph Raby ther wa.s slain. 
Whose prowess did surmount." 

Tills would rather seem to relate to one of the Nevilles of 
Rahy. But, as the whole ballad is romantic, accuracy is not 
to bL- looked for. 



Note 3 B. 



The Felon Sow.— P. 334. 

The ancient minstrels had a coniic as well as a serions stram 
of romance ; and although the examples of the latter are by 
far tlie most numerous, they are, p'-rhaps, the less valuable. 
The comic romance was a sort of parody upon the nsual sul>- 
jecia of minstrel poetry. If th«j latter described deeds of he- 
roic achievement, and the events of the battle, the tODmey, 

^ Koll. tli(! aIS. nnd Mr. Whilakor's copy r:ad ancestors, evidently a 
■f'>' iilif .( "urti'i-e, ijv'.ntures, .ia correctci by Mr. I'^vaDB. — 2 Sow, 
».--i.Tai.,g u ^r<>*jici*i piOQusciation. — 3 So: Yorkahire dialect. — * Fele, 



anrl the chase, the former, as in the Tournament of Totten- 
ham, introduced a set of clowns debating in the field, with all 
the assumed circumstances of chivalry ; or, as in the Hunting 
of the Hare (see Weber's J\lctric<U Romances, vol. iii.), 
persons of the same descrijition following the chase, with all 
the grievous nnstakes and bluiidi-i-s inculent lo such unprac- 
tised sportsmen. The idea, therefore, of Don Clui.vote's 
phrensy, ;iltliough inimitably embodied and hrouglit out, was 
not, perha])s, in the abstract, altogetlier original. One of liie 
very best of tlie.-^e mock romance.s, and which has no small 
portion of comic humor, is the Hunting of the Felon Sow of 
Rokeby by the Friars of Richmond. Ralph Rokeby, who 
(for the jest's sake apparently) bestowed this intrat-iable ani- 
mal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have flourished 
in the time of Henry VII., which, since we know not the 
date of Friar Theobald's wardeiiship, to which the |ioeni re- 
fers us, may indicate that of the composition itself. Morton, 
the Mortham of the text, is mentioned as being this facetious 
baron's place of residence; accordingly, Leland notices, that 
" Mr. Rokeby hath a place called Mortham, a little beneath 
Grentey-bridge, almost on the mouth of Grentey." That no 
information may be lacking which is in my power to supply, I 
have lo notice, that the Mistress Rokeby of the romance, who 
so charitably refreshed the sow after she had discomfited 
Friar Middleton and his auxiliaries, was, as appeai-s from the 
pedigree of the Rokeby family, daughter and heir of Danby 
of YalTurth. 

This curious poem was first published in Mr. Whitakor'? 
History of Craven, but, from an inaccurate manuscript, not 
corrected very happily. It was transfeiTsd by Mr. Evans to 
the new edition of his Ballads, with some well-judged conjec- 
tural improvc-nients. I have been induced lo give a more au- 
thentic and full, though still an imperfect, edition of ihi? 
huinoniome composition, from being furnished with a copj 
from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. Rokeby, lo whom 

I have acknowledged ray obligations in the lasi Note. It has 
three or four stanzas more than that of Mr. Wliifjker, and the 
language seems, where they differ, to have the more ancient 
and genuine readings. 

The Fclan Sow of Rohchy and the Friars of Richmond. 

Ye men that will of aunters' winne, 

That late within this land hath beene, ^ 

Of one I will you tell ; 
And of a sew2 that was sea^ Strang, 
Alas ! that ever she lived sae lang, 

For felH folk did she whell.a 

She was mare^ than other three, 
The grisliest beast that ere might oe, 

Her bead was great and gray : 
She was bred in Rokeby wood, 
There were few that thither goed,' 

That came on live^ away. 

Her walk was endlong^J Greta side ; 
There was no bren'" that durst her bide. 

That was froe" heaven to liell ; 
Nor never man that had that might, 
That ever durst come in iier sight, 

Her force it was so fell. 

Ralph of Rokeby, with good will, 
The Fryers of Richmond gave her till,'* 

Full well to garre'J them fare 
Fryar Middleton by his name, 
He was sent to fetch her iiame, 

That rude him sine'^ fuU sare. 

mnny Srut. — s A corruplion of quell, to kitl. — Moro, greater. — T WeiA 
— e Alive.— 8 Along ihe aide of Greta. — 10 Born, cliiU, man in general.— 

II Krom.— i:!Tn.— 13 Muke.—H Since. 



372 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With him tooke he wicht mun two, 
Peter Dale was one of thoe, 

That ever was brim as beare \^ 
And well dnrst strike with sword and knife, 
And tight full manly for his life, 

What time as mister ware.' 

Tliese tliree men went at GoiI'b will, 
This wicked sew while they came till, 

Liggan^ under a tree ; 
Rugg and rusty was her haire ; 
Siie raise up with a felon fare,* 

To fight :igainst the three. 

She was so grisely for to meete, 
She rave tlie earth up with her feete, 

And bark came fro the tree ; 
When Fryar Middlefon her eaugh.s 
Weet ye well he might not laugh, 

Full earnestly look't hee. 

These men of annters that was so wight,6 
They hound them bauUlly'' for to fight, 

And strike at her full sare : 
Until a kiln they garred lier flee, 
Wold God send them the victory, 

The wold ask iiim iioa niare. 

The sew was in the kiln hole down, 
As they were on the balke ahoou,^ 

For-' hurting of their feel ; 
They were so saulted'o with tliia sew, 
That among them was a slalworth stew. 

The kilu began to recke. 

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand, 
But put a rai)e" down with his wand, 

And haltered lier full meete ; 
They hurled her forth :ig:iinst her will. 
Whiles they came into a hill 

A little fro the street. '^ 

And there she made them such a fray, 
If they should live to Doomes-day, 

Tliey tliarrowi^ it nuVr forgett ; 
She braded" upon every side, 
And ran on them gaping full wide, 

For nothing would she lett.'* 

She gave such brades'" at the band 
Tiiat Peter Dale had in liis hand. 

He might not hold his feet. 
She chafed them to and fro, 
TliP wight men was never soe woe, 

Their measure was not so meete. 

She bound her boldly to abide; 

To Peter Dale slie came aside, 

With many a hideous yell ; 



1 Fierce ns ft bear. Mr, Whitaltcr'e copy reads, perbapH in conat'- 
quciice of iiiislnking the MS,, "T'othur wns Uryan of Bear,"— 2 Need 
wfrp, Mr. Wbitoker reads musicrs. — 3 Lying. — * A fierce c^unle- 
DHiico or iiinnner. — a Saw, — Wiylit, brine, Tlio Rokeby MS. reada 
hicotintfrt, and Mr. Wliitaknr, aunceslora. — ^7 Boldly. — f On Uie beiun 
above. — g To prevent. — W Assaulted. — M Rope.— W Walling Slicct. See 
the sequel.— 13 Dare.- U Rushed.— l" Leave it.— 10 PiiIIb.— f This Itue 
ie wanting in Mr. WhiUiUer's copy, whence il baa been conjeclurcd tbat 
something is wanting after thia stanza, vvbii;b now there Is no '>ccaaion to 
auppt'Bf .— IB Evil dfvice.— 19 Blesaed. Fr.— M I,oat bis color.— 31 Sheltered 
biuiBelf,— 22 Firrce.— 21 The MS. rends, to labour trscre. The text 
MeLis to mean, that all their labor to obtain their intended meat ivaa 
«[ Di uM t« them. Mr. Wliitak«r reads, 



She gaped soe wide and cried soe hee, 
The Fryar seid, " I conjure lhee,i' 
Thou art a feind of hell. 

*' Thou art come hither for some traine.i'^ 
I conjure lliee to go againe 

Where tliou wast wont to dwell." 
He Bayned''J him with crosse and creede. 
Took forth a book, began to reade 

In St. Johu his gospell. 

The sew she would not Latin heare. 
But rudely ruslicd at the Frear, 

That hhnked all his hlee ;2o 
And when she would have taken her hold 
The Fryar leaped as Jesus wold, 

And healed him-' with a tree. 

She was as brlm^ as any beare. 
For all their meete to labour there,^' 

To them it was no boote : 
Upon trees and bushes that by her stood, 
She ranged as she was wood,2i 

And rave them up byroote. 

He sayd, " Alas, that I was Frear ! 
And I shall be rugged^^ in sunder here. 

Hard is my desiinie ! 
Wist'"' my brethren in this houre, 
That I was sett in such a stoure,^' 

They would pray for me." 

This wicked hexst that wrought this woe, 
Tooke that rape from the other two. 

And then they fledd all tliree ; 
They &^'^i^\ away by Watling-street, 
They had no succour but their feet. 

It was the more pity. 

The feild it was both lost and wonne ;^ 
The sew went hame, and that full soone, 

To Morion on the Greene ; 
When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape," 
He wist''o that tlicio iiad been ilcbate, 

Whereat the sew had btreiie. 

He bade them stand out of her way. 
For she had had a sudden fray, — 

" I saw never so keene ; 
Some new things shall we heare 
Of her and Middleton the Freui, 

Some baltell liath there beene." 

But all that served him for nouglit. 
Had they not better succour souglit. 

They were served therefore loe. 
Then Mistress Rokeby came anon, 
And for her brought shee mcatc full scene, 

The sew came Jier unto. 



*' She was brini as any boar, 
And gave n grisly hideous roar. 
To them it waa no bOQl." 

Besides the want of connection between the luat liao and tht two tormei; 
the second has a very modem sound, and the reading of the Rokeby M3, 
with the slight alteration ia the text, ia much better. 

34 Mad.— 25 Tom, pulled.— 26 Knew.— 27 Conibui, ]--n!i.u3 fight.— 
aa This s'Hnza, with thi- two folloiving, and the fragment of ii fourth, ar* 
not io Mr, Whitaker'a edition. — 23 The rope alwul the eiw'a neck.-- 
30 Know. 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 


373 1 

~— 1 


She gave her raeate upon the flower, 


Bands bound with scales brade," 


i 


• • • • • 1 


As decdes of armcs should be. 


1 


^Hiatus valdedeficndus.'] 


These men of amies that weere so wight, 




When FryarMiddletOQ came home, 


With armour and with brandes bright, 


I 


His brethren was full fain ilkone,* 


They went this eew to see ; 




Ami thanked God of his life ; 


She made on ttiem slike a rcrd,i5 




He tohl them all unio the end, 


That for her they were sare afer'd, 




How he h:ul foughicn with a fiend, 


And almost bound to flee. 




And hved tlirough mickle strife. 


She came roveing them againe ; 




" We gave lier battel! Haifa day. 


That saw the bastard son of Spaine, 




And sithin^ was fain to fly away, 


He hraded'O out his brand ; 




For saving of our life;' 


Full spiteously at her he strake, 




And Pater Dale would never blinn,^ 


For all the fence that he could make, 




But as fa^t as he could ryn,*" 


She gat sword out of hand ; 




Till he came to his wife." 


And rave in sunder half his shielde, 
And bare him backward in the feilde. 




The warden said, " I am full of woe, 


He might not her gainstand. 




Tiiat ever ye should be torment so, 






But wee with you had beene ! 


She would have riven his privich geare 




Had wee been there your brethren all, 


But Gilbert with his swonl of werre, 




Wee should have garred the warle' fall, 


He strake at her full strong, 




That wrought you all this teyne."8 


On her shouUier till she held the sweril : 
Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd, 




Fryar Middleton said soon, " Nay, 


When the blade brake in throng.'^ 




In faith you would have fled away, 






When most mister^ had beene ; 


Since in his hands he hath her tane, 


1 


Von will all speake words at hame, 


She tooke him by tiie shoulder bane, 18 


t 


A man would ding'" you every ilk ane. 


And held her hold full fast; 




And if it be as I weine." 


She strave so slillly in that stower,'^ 
That through all his rich armour 




He look't so grie?ly all that night, 


The blood came at the last. 




The warden said, " Yon man will fight 






If yon say ought but good ; 


Then Gilbert grieved was sae sare, 




Yon guest'i hath grieved him so sare, 


That he rave off both hide and haire, 




Hold your tongues and speake noe mare 


The flesh came fro the bone ; 




He looks as he were woode." 


And with all force he felled her there, 
And wann her worthily in werre, 




The warden waged'^ on the morne, 


And band her him alone. 




Two boldest men that ever were borne. 






I weine, or ever shall be ; 


And lift her on a horse sae hee, 




The one was Gibbert Gritfin's son. 


Into two paniers well-made of a trc, 




Full mickle worship has he wonne, 


And to Richmond tliey did hay :'^ 




Both by land and sea. 


When they saw her come, 
They sang men-ily Te Deura, 




The other was a bastard son of Spdn, 


Tlie Fryers on that day .21 




Many a Sarazin hath he slain. 






His dint>^ hath gart them die. 


They thanked God and St, Francis, 




These two men the battle undertooke, 


As they had won the best of pris,^ 




Against the sew, as says the booke, 


And never a man was slaine : 




And sealed security. 


There did never a man more manly, 
Knight Marcus, nor yett Sir Gui, 




That they should boldly bide and fight. 


Nor Loth of Loutliyane.23 




And skomfit her in niaine and might, 






Or therefore should they die. 


If ye will any more of this, 




The warden sealed to them againe, 


In the Fryers of Richmond 'tis 




And said, " In feild if ye be slain, 


In parchment good and fine ; 




This condition make I : 


And how Fryar Miildleton that was so kend,- 
At Greta Bridge conjured a feind 




" We shall for yon pray, sing, and read 


In likeness of a swine. 




Till doomesday with hearty speede 






Witli all our progeny." 


It is well known to many a man, 




Then the letters well was made, 


That Fryar Theobald was warden than, 




1 TTiia line is almost iUegible.— 2 Each one.— 3 Since then, after tbat. 


Ac— IJ Hir«d, a Yorkshire phrase.— 13 Blow.— 14 Broad, krg«.- 


-16Sii«5 


— 1 Tlid above lines aro wanting in Mr. Whitaker'a copy.— 5 Ceo*", stop. 


Uko a roar.— Iti Drew out.— 17 Id the combat.— IS Bone.— 19 Mee 


mt,',bRt 


— G Run.— 1 Warlock, or wiiurO.-S Harm.— 9\eed.— 10 Beat. The copy 


tie.- iO Hi«, hail«n.— 21 Tiie .MS. reads, mistakenly, c^ery day.— 


1-2 Price. 


in Mr. WhiUiker's History of Cra\tn reada, perhaps hotter,- 


—23 The father of Sir Gawoin, in the romance of Arthur and 


Merlio 


" The fiemi would ding you down ilk one." 


The MS. is thus corrupted— 




11 " Yon guest," nviy he yon fi-'^f, i. e., that adventure ; or it mny mean 


More loth of Louth Rynw. 




yon gi\ai*t, or upparitioii, which in old poems is applied « metimes to whut 






U ADpsmaturaUy hideous. The printed copy reads,— '* The beast hntli," 


24 Well known, or perhaps kind, well Jiaposed. 





374 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And this fell in his time ; 
And Clirist them bless bolh farre and neare, 
All that for solace list this to heare, 

And him that made tlie rliime. 

R.ilj.h Rokeby with full good will, 
The Fryers of Richmond lie gave her till, 

This sew to mend iheir fare ; 
Fryar Middleton by Ins name, 
Would needs bring the fat sew hamc, 

Tliat rued him since full sare. 



Note 3 C. 

The Filed of 0\Xcale was kc.—P. 334. 

The Filea, or Ollamh Re Dan, wa-s the projier bard, or, as 
ihe name literally implies, poet. Eaeh chieftain of distinction 
had one or more in his service, whose ol^lcc was usually hered* 
itary. The late ingenious Mr. Cooper Walker has assi?mbled 
a curious collection of particulars concerning this order of men, 
in his Historical Memoir? of the Irish Rards. There were itin- 
erant bards of less elevated rank, but all were held in the liigli- 
est veneration. The English, who considered tliem as chief 
rupporters of llie spirit of national independence, were much 
Jisjiosod to proscribe this race of poets, as Edward I. is said to 
nave done in Wales. Spen-*er, while he admits the merit of 
their wild poetry, as "savoring of sweet wit and good inven- 
tion, and sprinkled witli some pretty llowers of tlieir natural 
device," yet rigorously condemns the wliole application of their 
poetry, as abased to "the gracing of wickedness and vice." 
The household minstrel was admitted even to tiie feast of the 
prince whom be served, and sat at the same table. It was 
one of the customs of which Sir Richard Sewry, to whose 
charge Ricliard II. committed the instruction of four Irish 
monarelis in the civilization of the period, found it most diffi- 
cult to break his royal disciples, though he had also much ado 
to subject them to other English rules, and particularly to rec- 
oncile them to wear breeches. " Tlie kyng, my souerevigne 
lord's entent was, that in maner, couiitenaunce, and apparel of 
clothyiig, they sholde use according to the maner of Englande, 
for the kynge tliought to make tlu-ni all four knyghtes : they 
had a I'ayre house to lodge in, in Duv:.-lyn. and X was charged 
to abyde slyll with them, and not to dejiarie ; and so two or 
tliree dayes I suffered them to do as they lisf, anti sayde noth- 
yng to them, but folowed iheir ownc apjietjtts : they wolde 
sitte at the table, and make countenances notlicr good nor 
fayre. Than I thougiit I shulde cause them to chauuge that 
maner; they wolde cause their inynstrells, thairJcruanlcs, and 
varlettes, to sy tte with tliem, and to eate in t heir uwnc dyssche, 
and to drinkc of their cuppes ; and they shewed me that the 
usage of ttieir cuntre was gouil, for they suyd in all thyngs 
(except their beddes) they wer^- and lyved as conien. So the 
fourlhe day I ordayned other tabk-. to be cou'T-'d in the hall, 
after the usage of Englaiule, and I made these four knyghtes 
tosytte atthe hyghe table, and there mynstrels at another horde, 
and their seruauntes and varieties at another bvueth them, 
vvlicrof by seniynge they were displeased, and beheld each 
oiiicr, and wolde not eate, and sayde, how I wolde take fro 
tliem their good usage, wherein they Iiad been noriahed. Then 
[ answered them, smylyng, to apeacc them, tiiat it was not 
honourable for their estates to do as they dyde before, and that 
they must leave it, and use the custom of Englande, and that 
It WHS the t'Yiige's pleasure they sliulde so do, and how he was 
charged so to order them. Wlien they harde that, they suffer 
ed it, bycause they had putte themsclfe under the obesyance 
of the Kynge of England, and parcouered in the same as long 
as I was with them ; yet they had one use which I knew was 
we!! used in their cuntre, and liiat was, they dyde were no 
tweches ; I caused breches of lynen clothe to be made for them. 
Whyle I was m ilh tlieni I otused them to leaue many rude 



thyuges, as well in clolliyng as in other causes. Moche ado I 
had at the fyr*t to cause tliem to weare gownes of sylke, fur- 
red with myneuere and gray ; for before these kynges thougiit 
thcmselfe well apparelled whan they had on a mantell. They 
rode alwayes without ^addles and styropes, and with great 
payne I made them to ride after our usage." — Lord Berkers" 
Froissart. Lond. 1812, 4to. vol. ii. p. 621. 

The influence of these bards upon their patrons, and iheii 
admitted title to interfere in matters of the weightiest concern, 
may be also proved from the behavior of one of them at an in- 
terview between Thomas Fitzgerald, ^ou of the Earl of Kil- 
dare, then about to renounce the Engli-sh allegiance, and the 
Lord Chancellor Cromer, who made a long and goodly oration 
to dissuade him from his purpose. The young lord had come 
10 tlie council •' armed and weaponed," and attended by seven 
score horsemen in their shirts of mail ; and we are assured that 
the chancellor, having set forth his oration " with such a la- 
mentable action as bis cheekes were all beblubbered with teares, 
the horsemen, namelie, such as understood not English, began 
to diuine what the lord-chancellor meant with all this long cir- 
cumstance ; some of them reporting that he was preaching a 
sermon, others said that he stood making of some heroicall 
poctrv in the praise of the Lord Thomas. And thus as every 
idiot shot his foolish bolt at the wise chancellor Ids discourse, 
who in effect Iiad nought else but drop pretious stones before 
hogs, one Brird de Nelan, an Irish rilhmour. and a rotten shee])8 
to infect a whole flocke, was chatting of Irish verses, as though 
his tooiig had run on pattens, in commendation of the Lord 
Thomas, investing him witli the title of silken Thomas, bicau? 
his horsemens jacks were gorgeously imbroidered with silke : 
and in the end he told him that he lingered there ouer long , 
whereat the Lord Tliomas being quickened. "^ as Holinshed 
expresses it, bid defiance lo the chancellor, threw down con 
temptuously the sword of office, which, in his father's absence 
he held as deputy, and rushed forth to engage in open insur 
rection. 



Note 3 D. 

.■5A, Clandehoy '. thy friendly floor 
Slicve-Do7iard''.f oak shall light no more. — P. 335. 

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the 
sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve-Donard, a romantic mountain 
in the same province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone's 
great rebellion, and tlieir places of abode laid desolate. The 
ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in other respects, did not 
yield even to their descendants in practising the most free and 
extended hospitality ; and doubtless ilie bards mourned the 
decay of the mansion of their chiefs in strains similar to the 
verses of the British Llywarch Hen on a similar occasion, 
which are affecting, even tlirough the discouraging medium of 
a literal translation — 

" Silent-breathing gale, long wilt thou be Iieard ! 
There is scarcely another deserving praise. 
Since Urion is no more. 

Many a dog that scented well the prey, and aerial hawk, 
Have been train'd on this floor 
Before Erlleon became polluted . . . 

This hearth, ah, will it not be covered with nettles ! 

Whilst its defender lived, 

More congenial to it was the foot of the needy petitioner. 

This hearth, will it not be covered with green sod ! 

In the litetime of Owain and Elpliin, 

Its ample caldron boiled the prey taken from the foe. 

1 Hollinalied. Lond. 1S08, 4lo. vol. vL p. il'! . 



Tliifi hearth, will it not be covered with toad-stools! 
Around the viand it prepared, more cheering was 
Tiie clalleriiig sword of the fierce daiiiillcss warrior. 

Tliis !.earth, will it not be overgrown with spreading 

brambles ! 
Till now, logs of burning wood lay on it, 
Aceusioiird to pi-ej)are the gifts of Reyed ! 

This Iicarth, will it not be covered wilh thorns ! 

IMore congenial on it would have been the mixed group 

Of Owaio's social friends uiuled in harmony. 

This hearth, will it not be covered with ants! 

More adapted to it would iiave been the bright torches 

And harmless festivities I 

This hearth, will it not be covered with dock-leaves ! 

More congenial on its floor would liave been 

The mead, and the talking of wine-cheer'd warriors. 

This hearth, will it not be turned up by the swine ! 
More congenial to it would liave been tlie clamor of men, 
And the circling horns of the banquet." 

Heroic Elegies of Lhjwarc Hen, l»j Owes. 
Lond. 1792, 8vo. p. 41. 

"The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 

Without fire, without bed — 

I ^lu^t weep a wliile, and tlieu be silent! 

TliL- hall of Cynddylan Ls gloomy this night, 

Willuiut tire, without candle — 

Except God doth, who will endue me wilh patience ! 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, witliout being lighted — 
Be thou encircled with spreading silence ! 

The hall of Cynddylan, gloomy seems its roof 
Since the sweet smile of humanity is no more — 
Woe to liim that saw it, if he neglects to do good ! 

The hall of Cynddylan, art thou not bereft of thy appear- 
ance 1 
Thy shield is in the grave ; 
Wiiilst he lived there was no broken roof! 

The hall of Cynddylan is without love tliis night, 

Since he that owu'd it is no more — 

Ah, death : it will be but a short tiAie he will leave me I 

The hall of Cynddylan is not easy this night, 
On the top of tliL- rock of Hydwyth. 

Without its lord, without company, without the circling 
feasts ! 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Wilhoul fire, without songs — 
Tear^ afflict the cheeks ! 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without family — 
My owrdowing tears gush out! 

The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it, 
Without a covering, without fire — 
Aly general dead, and I alive myself! 

The hall of Cyndilylan is the seat of chill grief this night, 

After the respect I experienced ; 

iVilhout th( men, without the women, who reside there ! 



The hall of Cynddylan is silent this night, 

After losing its master — 

The great merciful God, what shall I do !' 



Jbi<r. p. 77, 



Note 3 E. 



JiPCurtin's harp. — P. 33li. 

"MacCurtin, hereditary OUamh of North Munster, ant 
Filea to Donough, Earl of Thomond, and President of Mun- 
ster. This nobleman was amongst those who were prevailed 
upon to Join Elizabeth's forces. Soon as it was known thai 
he had basely abandoned tlie interests of his country, Mac- 
Curtin presented an adulatory pot-m to MacCarthy, chief of 
South Munster. ami of tlie Eugenian line, wlio, with O'Neil. 
O'Donnel, Lacy, and others, were deeply engaged in protect 
ing their violated country. In this poem he dwelt with rap- 
ture on the courage and patriotism of MacCarlhy ; but the 
verse that should (according to an eslablislied law of thi* order 
of the bards) be introduced in the praise of O'Brien, lie turns 
into severe satire: — ' How am I afflicted (says lie) that the 
descendant of the great Brion Boiromh cannot fu^lli^h rae 
with a theme worthy the honor and glory of his exalted race !' 
Lord Thomond, Iieariug this, vowed vengeance on the spirited 
bard, who fled for refuge to the county of Cork. One day, 
observing the exasperated nobleman and his equipage at a small 
distance, he thought it was in vain to fly, and pretended to be 
suddenly seized with the pangs of death ; directing his wife to 
lament over him. and tell his lordship, that the sight of him, 
by awakening the sense of his ingratitude, hail so much atTected 
iiim that lie could not su|ij)0rt it ; and desired her at the same 
time to tell ills lordshiji, that he entreated, as a dying request, 
his forgiveness. Soon as Lord Thomond arrived, the feigned 
tale was related to him. That nobleman was moved to com- 
passion, and not only declared that he most heartily forgave 
him, but, opening his purse, presented the fair mourner with 
some pieces to inler him. This instance of his lordship's pity 
and generosity gave courage to the trembling bard ; who, sud- 
denly springing up, recited an extemporaneous ode in praise of 
Donough. and, re-entering into his service, became once more 
his favorite." — Walker's Jlcmoirs of the Irish Bards. 
Lond. i76G, 4to. p. 14L 



Note 3 F. 



The ancient English minstrel's dress. — P. 336. 

Among the entertainments presented to Elizabeth at Kenil- 
worth Castle, was the introduction of a person designed to 
represent a travelling minstrel, who entertained her with a 
solemn story out of the Acts of King Arthur. Of this person's 
dress and appearance Mr. Lanehani lias given us a very accu- 
rate account, transferred by Bishop Percy to the preliminary 
Dissertation on Minstrels, prefixed to his Rcligucs of Jlncicnt 
Poetry, vol. l. 



Note 3 G. 
Littlccote Hall.—?. 340. 

Tlie tradition from which the ballad is founded was ^lupplied 
by a friend (the late Lord Webb Seymour), whose account I 
will not do the injustice to abridge, as it contains an admirable 
picture of an old English hall : — 

" Littlecote House stands in a low and lonely situ.'itJon. 
On three sides it is surrounded by a park that spreads over 
the adjoining hill ; on the fourth, by meadows whicli are wa- 
tered br the river Kennel. Close on one side of the house Is a 



370 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



thick grove of lofty trees, along tlip verge of which runs one 
of the principal avenues to it through the park. It is an 
irregular huiUling of great antit|uity, and was probahly erected 
about the lime of the terininalioii of feudal warfare, wlieii 
dcfenct came no longer to he an object in a country mansion. 
Many circuinslaiiccs, however, in the interior of the house, 
eeem approj)riate to feudal limes. The halt is very spacious, 
floored with stones, and lighted by large transom windows, 
that are clothed with casements. Its walls are Iiung with old 
iiiititary accoutrements, that have long been left a prey to rust. 
\t one end of the hall is a range of coats of mail and helmets, 
and there is on every side abundance of old-fashioned pistols 
and guns, raany of them with match-locks. Immediately be- 
low the cornice hangs a row of leathern jerkins, made in the 
form of a shirt, supposed to have been worn as armor by the 
va^saU. A large oak table, reaching nearly from one end of 
tiie room to the other, might have feasted the whole neighbor- 
hood, and an appendage to one end of it made it answer at 
other times for the old game of sliulHeboard. The rest of tlie 
furniture is in a suitable style, particularly an arm.-chair of 
cumbrous workmansliip, constructed of wood, curiously turned, 
with a liigh back and triangular seat, said to have been used 
by Judge Popham in the reign of Elizabeth. The entrance 
into the hall is at one end, by a low door, communicating with 
a passage that leads from the outer door in the front of the 
liouse lo a quadrangle^ within ; at the other, it opens upon a 
gloomy staircase, by which you ascend to the first floor, and, 
j»assing the doots of some bedchambers, enter a narrow gallery, 
which e-xtends along the back front of the house from one end 
to the other of it, and looks upon an old garden. This gallery 
is hung with jiortraits, chiefly in the Spanish dresses of the 
sixteenth century. In one of the bedchambers, which you 
p:isB in going towards the gallery, is a bedstead with blue fur- 
niture, which time lias now made dingy and threadbare, and 
in the bottom of one of the bed-curtains you are shown a place 
where a small piece has been cut out and sewn in again, — a 
circumstance which serves to identify the scene of the follow- 
ing story : — 

" It was on a dark rainy night in the month of November, 
that an old midwife sat musing by her cottage fire-side, when 
on a sudden she was startleil by a loud knocking at the door. 
Oil 0[)ening it she found a horseman, who told her that her 
assistance was required immediately by a person of rank, and 
that she should be handsomely rewarded ; but that there were 
reasons for keeping the aflair a strict secret, and, therefore, she 
must submit to be blindfolded, and to be conducted in that 
condiiion to the bedchamber of the lady. With some hesita- 
tion the midwife consented; the horseman bound her eyes, 
and placed her on a pillion behind him. After jiroceeding in 
silence for many miles througli rough and dirty lanes, they 
sto[iped, and tlie midwife was led into a house, whicli, from 
the leiigtii of her walk through the apartments, as well as the 
sounds about Iier, she discovered to be the seat of wealth and 
power. VViien the bandage was removed from her eves, she 
found herself in a bedchamber, in which were the lady on 
whose account she had been sent for, and a man of a liaughty 
and ferocious aspect. The lady was delivered of a fine boy. 
Immediately the man commanded tlie midwife to give him the 
child, and, catching it from her, he hurried across the room, 
ami threw it on tiie back of the fire, that was blazing in the 
rhimney. The child, however, was strong, and, by its strug- 
gles, rolled itself upon the hearth, when the rutfian again seized 
it with fury, and, in spite of the intercession of the midwife, 
and the more ]>iteous entreaties of the mother, tlirust it under 
the gr:ite, and, raking the live coals upon it, soon put an end 
to its life. The midwife, after spending some time in affording 
;dl the relief in her power to the wretched mother, was told 
that she must be gone. Her former conductor appeared, who 
again bounti her eyes, and conveyed lier behind him to her 
own home : he then paid her handsomely, and departed. The 

1 1 tliiiik there U a chapel on one side of it, but am not quito sure. 



midwife was strongly agitated by the horrors of the preceding 
night ; and she immediately made a deposition of the facta 
before a magistrate. Two circumstances afforded hopes of 
detecting the house in which the crime had been committed ; 
one was. that the midwife, as she sat by the bedside, had, with 
a view to discover the place, cut out a piece of the bed-curtain, 
and sewn it in again ; the other was, that as she had descended 
the staircase she had counted the steps. Some suspicions fell 
upon one DaiTell, at that time the proprietor of Littlecote 
House, and the domain around it. The house was examined, 
and idenliried by the midwife, and Darrell was tried at Sali---- 
bury for the murder. By corrupting his judge, he escaped the 
sentence of the law ; but broke his neck by a fall from Im 
horse in hunting, in a few months after. The place where this 
happened is still known by the name of Dan'ell's Style, — a 
spot to be dreaded by the peasant whom the sliades of evening 
have overtaken on his way, 

"Littlecote House is two miles from Hungerford, in Berk- 
shire, through which the Bath road passes. The fact occurred 
in the reign of Elizabeth. All the important circumstances I 
have given exactly as they are told in the country ; some trifles 
only are added, either to render the whole connected, or to 
increase the impression." 

To Loni Webb's edition of this singular story, the author 
can now add the following account, extracted from Aubrey's 
Correspondence, It occui-s among other particulars respecting 
Sir John Popham : — 

" Sir * * * Dayrell, of Littlecote, in Corn. Wilts, hav- 
ing golt his lady's waiting-woman with child, when her travel] 
came, sent a servant with a horee for a midwife, whom he 
was to bring hood-winked. She was brought, and layd tlie 
woman, but as soon as the child was born, she sawe the kniglii 
take the child and murther it, and bom it in the fire in tiic 
chamber. She having done her bnsinesse, was extraordinarily 
rewarded for her paines, and sent blindfolded away. Tliis 
horrid action did much run in her mind, and she had a desire 
to discover it. but knew not where 'twas. She considered 
with herself the time that she was riding, and how many miles 
she might have rode at that rate in that time, and that it 
must be some great person's house, for the roome was 12 foot 
high ; and she siiould know the chamber if she sawe it. She 
went to a Justice of Peace, and search was made. The very 
chamber found. The Knight was brought to his tryall ; and, 
to be short, this judge had this noble house, jjarke and manner, 
and (I thiiike) more, for a bribe to save his life. 

"Sir John Popham gave sentence according to lawe, but 
being a great person and a favourite, he procured a noli 
prosequi.'^ 

With this tale of terror the author has combined some cir- 
cumstance.^ of a similar legend, which was current at Edin- 
hnrgh during his childhood. 

About the beginning of the eighteenth century, wtsca the 
large castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secluded 
hotels, like those of the French noblesse, which they possess*-d 
in Edinburgli, were sometimes the scenes of strange and mys- 
terious transactions, a divine of singular sanctity was called vp 
at midnight lo pray with a person at the point of death. This 
was no unusual summons ; but what followed was alarming. 
He wa-i put into a sedan-chair, and after he had been trans- 
ported to a remote part of the town, the bearers insisted upon 
his being blindfohled. The request was enforced by a cocked 
pistol, and submitted to; but in the course of the disnu-ision, 
he conjectured, from the phrases employed by the chairmen, 
and from some part of their dress, not completely concealed bj 
their cloaks, that flicy were greatly above the menial station 
they had assumed. After many turns and windings, the chair 
was carried up stairs into a lodging, where his eyes were un- 
covered, and he was introduced into a bedroom, where he 
found a lady, newly delivered of an infant. He was com- 
manded by his attendants to say such prayers by her bedside 
as were fitting for a pei^on not expected to survive a mortal 
disorder. He ventured to remonstrate, and observe th*t bci 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



377 



safe delivery wamnted better hopes. But he was sternly 
coinm;iii()ed to obey tlie orders first given, and with difficulty 
recollected himselt" sufficiently to acquit himself ot' the task 
itii|>osud on Iiiin. He was then again hurried into the chair; 
lull jiH they comhu-ted him down stairs, he heard tlie rejiort of 
a pistol. Ho was safety conducted home ; a purse olgold was 
forced upon liim ; but he was warned, at the same time, that 
thi' least allu-ion to this dark transaction would cost him his 
lilL-. He heUiiik himself to rest, and, after long and broken 
nuisiiig, fell iiitu a deep sleep. From this he was awakened 
t)y his servant, with the dismal news that a fire of um-ommon 
fury had broki-n out in the house of * * * *, near the head 
of the Canonsiite, and that it was totally coiisnnied ; with the 
s^hoeking addition, that the daughter of the proprietor, a young 
lady eminent fur beauty and accomplishments, had perished in 
the flames. The clergyman had his suspicions, but to have 
made Ihem public would have availed nothing. He was timid ; 
tho family was of the first distinction ; above all, the deed was 
done, and could not be amended. Time wore away, however, 
and with it his terrors. He became unhappy at being the soli- 
tary depositary of this fearful mystery, and mentioned it to 
some of his brethren, throagh whom the anecdote acquired a 
sort of publicity. The divine, however, had been long dead, 
and the story in some degree forgotten, when a fire broke out 
again on the very same spot where the house of * * * * had 
formerly stood, and which was now occupied by buildings of 
an inferior description. When the flames were at their height, 
the tumult, which usually attends such a scene, was suddenly 
suspended by an unexpected apparition. A beautiful female, 
in a night-dre^s, extremely rich, but at least half a century old, 
appeared in the very midst of the fire, and uttered these tre- 
mendous words in her vernacular idiom ; " ,^nes burned, twice 
burned ; the third lime I'll scare you all !" The belief in this 
Btory was formerly so strong, that on a fire breaking out, and 
seeming to approach the fatal spot, there was a good deal of 
an.\ieiy testified, lest the apparition should make good her de- 
iiuticiation. 



Note 3 H. 

jSs thick a smoke tkese hearths haveg-iven 
At Haltow'tide or Christmas-even. — P. 341. 

Such an exhortation was, in similar circumstances, actually 
given to his followers by a Welsh chieftain : — 

*' Enmity did continue betweene Howell ap Rys ap Howell 
Vaughan and the sonnes of John ap Meredith. After the 
death of Evan ap Rebert, Griffith ap Gronw (cosen-german to 
John ap Meredith's sonnes of Gwynfryn, who had long served 
in France, and had charge there) comeing home to live in the 
couiitrey, it happened that a servant of his, comeing to fish in 
Stymllyn, hia iish was taken away, and the fellow beaten by 
Howell ap Ry^ and his servants, and by his commandment. 
(Iriflith ap John ap Gronw took the matter in such dudgeon 
that he challenged Howell ap Rys to the field, which he re- 
fusing, assembling his cosins John ap Meredith's sonnes and 
his friends together, assaulted Howell in his own house, after 
the maner he had seene in the French warres. and consumed 
with fire his biirnes and his out-houses. Whilst he was thus 
;L'i.s:iulli(ig the hall, which Howell ap Rys and many other 
people kept, being a very strong house, he was shot, out of a 
crevice of the house, through the sight of his beaver intp the 
nead, arl slayne outright, being otherwise armed at all points. 
Notwithstanding his death, the assault of the house was con- 
tinued with great vehemence, the doores fired with great bur- 
thens of straw ; besides this, the smoake of the out-houses and 
barnes not farro distant annoyed greatly the defendants, for that 
mo?l of them lay under boordes and benches upon the floore, in 
the hall, the better to avoyd the smoake. During this scene 
of confusion onely the old man, Howell ap Rys, never stooped, 
but stood valiantly in the midst of the floore, armed with a 



gle\'e in his hand, and called unto them, and bid ' them ari«e 
like men, for shame, for he had knowne there ai> greatapmoake 
HI that hall upon Christmius-even.' In the end, seeing the liou^e 
could noe longer defend tliem. being ovorlayed with a multi- 
tude, upon parley betweene iheni. Howell aji Rys was eon- 
tent to yc;ild himself prisoner to Morris ap John ap Meredith. 
Jolin ap Meredith's eldest sonne, soe as he would swe:ir unio 
him to bring him safe to Carnarvon Castle, to abide the iri:d! 
of the law for the death of Graft"' ap John ap Gronw, who 
was coson-germati removed to the said Howell aj> Rys, ami ui 
the very same house he w:is of. Whii-h Morris ap J<diii ;i|' 
Meredith undertaking, did put a guard about the said Howell 
of his trustiest friends and servants, who kept and defended 
him from the rage of his kindred, aud especially of Owen :ip 
John ap Meredith, his brother, who was very eager ag:iinsl 
him. They passed by leisure thence like a cainjie to C.'iriiar 
von: the whole countrie being assembled, Howell his friends 
posted a horseback from one place or other by the way, who 
brought word that he was come thither safe, for they were in 
great fear lest he siiould be murlhered, and that Morris ap John 
ap Meredith could not be able to defend him, neither durst 
any of Howell's friends be there, for fear of the kindred. Ir 
the end, being delivered by Morris ap John ap Meredith to tht 
Constable of Carnarvon Castle, and there kept safely in ware 
untill tiie assises, it fell out by law, that the burning of How 
ell's houses, and assaulting him in his owne house, was a more 
haynous offence in Morris aj) John ap Meredith and the rest, 
than the death of Graff'' ap John ap Gronw in Howell, who 
did it in his own defence ; whereupon Morris ap John aji Mere- 
dith, with thirty-five more, were indicted of felony, as appi-;ir- 
eth by the copie of the indictment, which I had from the rec- 
ords."— Sir John Wynne's History of tlie Qwydir Faviity 
Lond. 1770, 8vo. p. 116. 



Note 3 I. 



O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove. — P. 3-19. 

This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderers ia 
mentioned in the interesting Life of Barnard Gilpin, where 
some account is given of these wild districts, which it was the 
custom of that excelleni man regularly to visit. 

" This custom (of duels) still prevailed on the Borders, 
where Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These wild 
Northumbrians, indeed, went beyond the ferocity of their an- 
cestors. They were not content with a duel : eacli contending 
party used to muster what adherents he could, and commence 
a kind of i)etty war. So that a private grudge would often 
occasion much bloodshed. 

" It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on foot when 
Mr. Gilpin was at Rotlibury, in those parts. During the two 
or three first days of his preaching, the contending parlies ob- 
served some decorum, and never appeared at e'lureh together. 
At lenglh, however, they met. One party had been early ui 
church, and just as Mr. Gilpin began his sermon, the otiici 
entered. They stood not long silent. Inflamed at the sight ol 
each other, tliey began to clash their weajions. for they were 
all armed with javelins and swords, and mutually approached. 
Awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the tumuli it 
some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin [jroceeded : when again the 
combatants began to brandish their weapons aud <lraw to- 
wards each other. As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gilpin stepped 
from the pulpit, went between them, and addressed the leaders 
put an end to the quarrel for the present, but conlil not efTect 
an entire reconciliation. They promised him, however, thai 
till tlie sermon was over they would make no more disturbance. 
He then went again into the pulpit, and spent the rest of the 
time in endeavoring to make them ashamed of what they had 
done. His behavior ami discoorse affected them so much, 
that, at his farther entreaty, they promised to forbear all acts 
of hostility while he continued in the country And so mud* 



378 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



respected was he among them, that whoever was in fear of his 
enemy used to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteeming his pres- 
ence the best proieelion. 

'* One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those parts, 
before the people were assembled, he observed a glove hang- 
ing up, and was informed by the sexton, that it was meant as 
a challenge to any one who should take il down. Mr. Gilpin 
ordered the sexton to reach it to him ; but upon his utterly 
refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and put it into 
his brea'^t. When the people were assembled, he went into 
the pulpit, and, before he concladed his sermon, took occasion 
10 rebuke them severely for these inhuman challenges. ' I 
bear,' saith be, ' that one among you hath hanged up a glove, 
even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who 
taketh it down : see, I have taken it down ;' and, pulling out 
the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed 
them how unsuitable such savage practices were to the pro- 
fession of Christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love 
as he thouglit would most affect them." — Z.?/c of Barnard 
Oilpin. Lond. 1753, 8vo. p. 177. 



Note 3 K. 



^ Horseman arm'd, at headlong speed. — P. 353. 

This, and what follows, is taken from a real achievement of 
Major Robert Philipson, called, from liis desperate and adven- 
turous couriige, Robin the Devil ; which, as being very inac- 
curately noticed in this note upon the first edition, shall be 
now given in a more authentic form. The chief place of his 
retreat was not Lord's Island, in Derwentwater, hut Curwen's 
Island, in the Lake of Windermere : — 

" This island formerly belonged to the Philipsons, a family 
of note in Westmoreland. During the Civil Wars, two of them, 
an elder and a younger brother, served the King. The former, 
who was the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment ; the lat- 
ter was a major. 

"The major, whose name was Robert, was a man of great 
spirit and enterprise ; and for his many feats of personal bra- 
very had obtained, among the Oliverians of those parts, the 
appieilation of Robin the Devil. 

*' After the war had subsided, and the direful effects of pub- 
ic oppositioD had ceased, revenge and malice long kept alive 



the animosity of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a steaHy irtetd 
to usurpation, resided at this time at Kendal, and, atuler tho 
double character of a leading magistrate (for he wa<i a Justice- 
of-Peace) and an active commander, held the country in awe. 
This person having heard that Major Philipson was at Jiis 
brother's house on the island in Windermere, resolved, if po.*^ 
sible, to seize and jiunish a man who bad made himself so 
particularly obnoxious. How it was conducted, my author- 
ity' does not inform us — whether he got together the naviga- 
tion of the lake, and blockaded the place by sea, or whether 
he landed and carried on his approaches in form. Neither do 
we learn the strength of the garrison within, nor of the works 
without. All we learn is, that Major Philipson endured a 
siege of eight months with great gallantry, till his brother, the 
Co'onel, raised a party and relieved him. 

" It was now tlie Major's turn to make reprisals. He put 
himself, therefore, at the head of a little troop of horse, and 
rode to Kendal. Here, being informed that Colonel BriggB 
was at prayers (for it was on a Sunday morning), he sta- 
tioned his men properly in the avenues, and himself armed, 
rode directly into the church. It probably was not a regular 
church, but some large place of meeting. It is said he in- 
tended to seize the Colonel and carry him off; but as this 
seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather probable 
that his intention was to kill him on the spot, and in the midst 
of the confusion to escape. Whatever his intention was, it 
was frustrated, for Briggs happened to be elsewhere. 

"The congregation, as might be expected, was thrown into 
great confusion on seeing an armed man on liorseback make 
his appearance among them ; and the Major, taking advantage 
of their astonishment, turned his horse round, and rode quietly 
out. But having given an alarm, he was presently assaulted 
as he left the assembly, and being seized, his girths were cut, 
and he was unhorsed. 

" At this instant his party made a furious attack on the as- 
sailants, and the Major killed with his own hand the man who 
had seized him, clapped the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon 
his horse, and, vaulting into it, rode full speed through the 
streets of Kendal, calling his men to follow him ; and. with 
his whole party, made a safe retreat to his asylum in the lake. 
The action marked the man. Many knew him : and they who 
did not, knew as well from the exploit that it could be nobody 
but Robin the Devil." 

1 Dr. Bum'D History of Westmon land. 



^ I) e iS r i b a I of <S: v i c vm a i tt ; 



OH, 



(ill)c I) ale of St. Iol)n. 



A LOVER'S TALE. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.' 

In the EnrsBUKGH Anxu^u, Register for the year 
1S09, Tliree Fragments were inserted, written in 
uiiitation of Living Poets. It must liare been ap- 
parent, that, by these prolusions, notliing burlesque, 
or disrespectful to the authors was intended, but 
that they were offered to the public as serious, 
though certauilj- very imperfect, imitations of that 
style of composition, by which eacb of the writers 
is supposed to be distinguished. As these exer- 
cises attracted a greater degi'ce of attention than 
the author anticipated, he has been induced to 
complete one of them, and present it as a separate 
publication.'' 

It is not in this place that an examination of the 
works of the master whom he has here adopted as 
liis model, can, with propriety, be introduced ; since 
his general acquiescence in the favorable suffrage 
of the public must necessarily 1)0 inferred from the 
attempt he has now made. He is induced, by the 
nature of his subject, to offer a few remarks on 
what has been called romantic poetry ; — the pop- 
ularity of which has been revived in the present 
day, under the auspices, and by the unparalleled 
success, of one individual. 

The original purpose of poetry is either religions 
or historical, or, as must frequently happen, a mix- 
ture of both. To modern readers, the poems of 
Homer have many of the features of pure romance ; 
but in the estimation of liis contemporaries, they 
probably derived their chief value from their sup- 
posed historical authenticity. The same may be 
generally said of the poetry of all early ages. The 
marvels and mu-acles which the poet blends with 
his song, do not exceed in number or extravagance 
the figments of the historians of the same period 

' Published in March, 1813, by Jolin Ballantyne and Co. 
12mo. 7». Od, 

2 Sir Walter Scott, in his Introdaction to the Lord of the 
[sles, says, — "Being mnch nrged hy my intimate friend, now 
unhappily no more, William Erskine, I a^r^ed to write the 
little romantic tale called the 'Bridal of Triermain;' hnt it 
was on the condition, that he should make no serious effort to 
disown the compositior if report d lould lay it at hiii door. 



of society; and, indeed, the difference betwixt 
poetry and prose, as the vehicles of historical truth, 
is always of late introduction. Poets, under vari- 
ous denominations of Bards, Scalds, Chroniclers, 
and so forth, are the fii'st hi.storians of all nations. 
Their intention is to relate the events they have 
witnessed, or the traditions that have readied 
them ; and they clothe the relation in rhyme, 
merely as the means of rendering it more solemn 
in the narrative, or more easily committed to mem- 
ory. But as the poetical liistorLan improves in the 
art of conveying information, the authenticity of 
his narrative unavoidably declines. He is tempted 
to dilate and dwell upon the events that are in- 
teresting to his imagination, and, conscious how in- 
different liis auflience is to the naked truth of his 
poem, liis history gradually becomes a romance. 

It is in this situation that those epics are found, 
which have been generally regarded the standards 
of poetry ; and it has happened somewhat strange- 
ly, that the modems have pointed out as the char- 
acteristics and peculiar excellencies of narrative 
poetry, the very cii-cumstances which the authors 
themselves adopted, only because their art involved 
the duties of the historian as well as the poet. It 
cannot be behoved, for example, that Homer se- 
lected the siege of Troy as the most appropriate 
subject for poetry ; his purpose was to write the 
early history of his country ; the event he has 
chosen, though not very fruitful in varied incident, 
nor perfectly well adapted for poetry, was nevei- 
theless combined with traditionary and genealo- 
gical anecdotes extremely interesting to those who 
were to listen to him ; and this he has adorned by 
the exertions of a genius, which, if it has been 
equalled, has certainly been never surpassed. It 
was not till comparatively a late period that the 

As he was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as I 
took care, in several places, to mix something which might re- 
semble (as far as was in my power) my friend's feeling and 
manner, the train easily caught, and two large editions were 
sold. A third being called for, Lord Kinedder became unwill- 
ing to aid any longer a deception which was going farther 
than he expected or deiared, and the real author's name waj 
given." 



380 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



general accuracy of his narrative, or his purpose in 
composing it, "was brought into question, AokeI 

irpuJTOs [h Ava^aySpa^] (Kadii <pT}ai >^a6op7vos £V irafToSai:?} 
*l<TTopia) T^v 'Ojii'ipa Troirjatv &no(p>)vaa9in ilvnt Trcpi aptrrii 

Kal SiKaioavvrji.^ But whatever theories might be 
framed by speculative men, his work was of an 
historical, not of an allegorical nature. EvaurfXAsro 

fitrd Tj MfVrcw, Kal otth eKaaTOTC a<piKQiTO, iravra tu tiri- 
X(optn ^itpuraro, Kal itrropiiiii' €Trvv6dv£T0' tlKOi 6i piv t^v xai 

pvtjfxocvva -nnvTiav ypdipEadai.'^ Listead of recommend- 
ing the choice of a subject similar to that of Ho- 
mer, it was to be expected that critics should have 
cxliorted the poets of these latter days to adopt 
or invent a narrative in itself more susceptible of 
poetical ornament, and to avail themselves of that 
advantage in order to compensate, in some degree, 

1 Diogenes Laerfins, lib. ii. Anaxag. Segm. 11. 

2 Homeri Vila, in Herod. Henr. Stvph. 1570, p. 356. 

3 A RECEIPT TO MAKE AN EPIC POEM. 
FOR TUE FABLK. 

"Take oat of any oUI poem, liislory book, romance, or le- 
gend (for instance, Geoffry of Monnioutli, or Don Belianis of 
Greece), those parts of story whicli afford most scope for long 
descriptions. Put these pieces together, and throw all tlie ad- 
ventures yoQ fancy into one tale. Then take a hero whom 
you may choose for the sound of his name, and put him into 
the midst of these adventures. There lei him '.vork for twelve 
books ; at the end of which you may take him out ready pre- 
pared to conquer or marry, it being necessary that the conclu- 
sion of an epic poem be fortunate." 

To make an Episode. — " Take any remaining adventure of 
your former collection, in which yoo could no way involve 
your hero, or any unfortunate accident that was too good to be 
thrown away, and it will be of use, applied to any otlier per- 
son, who may be lost and evaporate in the course of the work, 
without liie least damage to the conijjosition." 

Fur the Mural and Allegory. — "These yon may extract 
out of the fable afterwards at your leisure. Be sure you strain 
thera sufficiently." 

FOR THE MANNERS. 
" For those of the hero, take all the best qualities you can 
find in all the celebrated heroes of antiquity ; if they will not 
be reduced to a consistency, lay them all on a heap upon him. 
Be sure they are qualities which your patron would be thouglil 
to have; and, to prevent any mistake which the world may 
be subject to, select from the alphabet those capital letters tliat 
compose his name, and set them at the head of a dedication 
before your poem. However, do not absolutely observe the 
exact quantity of these virtues, it not being determined whether 
or no it be necessary for the hero of a poem to be an honest 
man. For the under characters, gather them from Homer and 
\ irsil, and cnange ihc names as occa.s!on serves." 

fOR THE MACHINEa. 
" Take of deitie«, male and female, as many as yon can use. 
fr'eparale them inio equal parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. 
Let Juno put him in a ferment, and Venus mollify him. Re- 
member on all occasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If 
you have need of devils, draw them out of Milton's Paradise, 
and extract your spirits from Tasso. The use of th^rae ma- 
chines is evident, for, since no epic po;.'ra can possibly subsist 
without them, the wisest way is to reserve them for your great- 
est necessities. When you cannot extricate your hero by any 
human means, or yourself by your own wits, seek relief from 
Heaven, aud the gods will do your business very readily. This 



the inferiority of genius. The contrary course haa 
been inculcated by almost all the writers upon the 
Mj)opceia ; with what success, the fate of Homer's 
numerous imitators may best show. The ulti?num 
S2ipp!iciinn of criticism was indicted on the author 
if he did not choose a subject which at once de- 
prived liim of all claim to originality, and placed 
liim, if not in actual contest, at least in fatal com- 
parison, with those giants in the land, whom it was 
most his interest to avoid. The celebrated receipt 
for writing an epic poem, which appeared in The 
Guardian,^ was the first instance in wliich connnon 
sense was applied to this department of poetry ; 
and, indeed, if the question be considered on its 
own merits, we must be satisfied that narrative 
poetry, if strictly confined to the great occurrencei 

is according to tlie direct prescription of Horace in his Art of 
Poetry : 

' Nee Deus intersit, nisi djgnus vindice nodus 
Incident.' — Verse 191. 

' Never presume to make a god appear 
But for a business worthy of a god.' — Roscommon. 

That is to say, a poet shoald never call upon the gods for their 
assistance, but when he is iu great perplexity." 

FOR THE DESCRIPTIONS. 

For a Tempest. — '* Take Eurus, Zephyr, Auster, and Bore- 
as, and cast them together into one verse. Add lu these, of 
rain, liglitning, and of thunder (the loudest you can), qumitvm 
sv£icit. Mix your clouds and billows well together until they 
foam, and thicken your description here and there with a 
quicksand. Brew your tempest well in your head before you 
set it a-blowing." 

For a Battle. — "Pick a large quantity of images and de- 
scriptions from Homer's Iliad, with a spice or two of Virgil ; 
and if there remain any overplus, you may lay them by for a 
skirmish. Season it well with similes, and it will make an ex- 
cellent battle." 

Fur a Burning Town. — " If such a description be necessary, 
because it is certain there is one in Virgil, Old Troy h ready 
burnt to your hands. But if you fear that would be thought 
borrowed, a cliapter or two of tlie Theory of Conflagration,! 
well circumstanced, and done into verse, will be a good sug- 
cedaneum." 

As fur similes and 7nrtnphors, '" they may be found all 
over the creation. The most igtiorant may gather theni, but 
the danger is in applying thera. For this, advise with your 
bookseller." 

FOR THE LAN'GtJAGE. 

(I mean the diction.) " Here it will do well to be an imita- 
tor ot Milton ; for you will find it easier to imitate him iu this 
than any thing else. Hebraisms and Greciams are to be found 
in him without the trouble of learning the languages. I knew 
a painter, who (1'ke our poet) had no genius, make his daub- 
in"-s to be thought originals, by setting them in the smoke. 
You may, in the same manner, give the venerable air of an- 
tiquity to your [dece, by darkening up and down like Old Eng- 
lish. With this you may be easily furiiiblied upon any occa- 
sion, by the Dictionary commonly printed ut the end of Chan- 
cer." 

1 From Lib, iii. De Conflagrnlionp Mundi, or Ti'lluriB Theoria Sitcn^ 
piibliahcd LQ -Itij, 16S9. By Dr. Thuiniis Bumtt, nmetar of tlio Cbnrtor- 

HOUM. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



381 



of historv, would be deprived of the individual in- 
tcri'st wliicli it is so well calculated to excite. 

Modern poets may therefore be pardoned in 
seeking simpler subjects of verse, more interesting 
in proportion to tlieir simplicity. Two or tliree 
figures, well gi-ouped, suit the artist better than 
a crowd, for wliatever purpose assembled. For 
the same reason, a scene immediately presented 
to the imagination, and directly brouglit home to 
the feelings, though involving the fate of but one 
or two persons, is more favorable for poetry than 
the politicid struggles and convulsions which in- 
fluence the fate of kingdoms. The former are 
within the reach and comprehension of all, anil 
if depicted with vigor, seldom fail to fix atten- 
tion : The other, if more sublime, are more vague 
and distant, Jess capable of being distinctly un- 
derstood, and infinitely less capable of exciting 
those sentuuents which it is the very purpose of 
poetry to inspire. To generalize is always to 
destroy effect. We would, for example, be more 
interested in the fate of an individual soldier in 
combat, than in the grand event of a general 
action ; with the happiness of two lovers raised 
from misery and anxiety to peace and union, than 
with the successful exertions of a whole nation. 
From what causes this may originate, is a sep- 
arate and obviously an immaterial consideration. 
Before a.scribing this peculiarity to causes de- 
cidedly ajid odiously selfish, it is proper to recol- 
lect, that while men see only a Urnited space, and 
while their aft'ections and conduct are regulated, 
not by aspu'ing to an universal good, but by 
exerting their power of making themselves and 
others happy within the limited scale allotted to 
each individual, so long wdl individual liistory 
and individual virtue be the readier and more 
accessible road to general interest and attention ; 

*' I must not conclode without cautioning all writers without 
genius in one material point, which is, never to be afraid of 
liaving too much fire in their works. I should advise rather 
to take their warmest thoughts, and spread them abroad upon 
paper ; for they are observed to cool before they are read." — 
Pol'E. The Oitardian, No. 78. 

1 '* In all this we cheerfully acquiesce, without abating any 
thing of our former hostility to tlie modern Romaunl style, 
which is founded on very different principles. Notliing i.s, in 
our opinion, so dangerous to the very e-xistence of poetry as 
the extreme laxity of rule and consequent faciUty of compo- 
Rition, which are its principal characteristics. Onr very ad- 
mission in favor of that license of plot and conduct which ia 
claimed by the Romance writers, ought to render us so much 
the more guarded in extending the privilege to the minor 
poets of composition and versification. The removal of all 
technical bars and impediments sets wide open the gates of 
Parnassus ; and so much the better. We dislike mystery 
quite as much in matters of taste, as of politics and religion. 
But let us not, in opening the door, pull down the wall, and 
level the very foumhation of the edifice." — Critical Review, 
1613. 



and, perhaps, we may add, that it is the more 
useful, as well as the more accessible, inasmuch 
as it affords an ex.-uuple cjipable of being easily 
imitated. 

According to the author's idea of Romantic 
Poetry, as distmguislied from Epic, tlie former 
comprehends a fictitious narrative, framed and 
combined at the pleasure of the writer ; begin- 
ning and ending as he may judge best ; wliicli 
neither exacts nor refuses the use of supernatural 
machinery ; which is free from the technical rules 
of the Epiie ; and is subject only to those wliich 
good sense, good taste, and good morals, apply 
to every species of poetiy without exception. 
Tlie date may be in a remote age, or in the 
present ; the story may detail the adventures of 
a prince or of a peasant. In a word, the autlior 
is absolute master of his cotmtry and its inliabi- 
tants, and every thing is permitted to him, except 
ing to be heavy or prosaic, for which, free and 
unembarrassed as he is, he has no maimer of 
apology. Those, it is probable, will be founl the 
pecuharities of this species of composition ; and, 
before joining the outcry against the vitiated taste 
tliat fosters and encourages it, the justice and 
grounds of it ought to be made perfectly ap- 
parent. If the want of sieges, and battles, and 
great military evolutions, in our poetry, is com- 
plained of, let us reflect, that the campaigns and 
heroes of om' days are perpetuated in a record 
that neither requires nor admits of the aid of fic- 
tion ; and if the complaint refers to the inferiority 
of our bards, let us pay a just tribute to their 
modesty, limituig them, as it does, to subjects 
which, however indifferently treated, have still 
tile intere.st and charm of novelty, and wliich tlms 
prevents them from adding insipidity to their 
other more insuperable defects.' 

" In the same letter in which William Erskine acknowl- 
edges the receipt of the first four pages of Rokeby, he ad- 
verts also to the Bridal of Triermain as being already in rapid 
progress. The fragments of this second poem, inserted in the 
Register of the preceding year, had attracted considerable 
notice ; the secret of their authorship had been well kept ; 
and by some means, even in the shrewdest circles of Edin- 
burgh, the belief had become prevalent that they proceeded 
not from Scott, bnt from Erskine. Scott had no sooner com- 
pleted his bargain as to the copyright of the unwritten Rokeby. 
than he resolved to pause from time to time in its compo-i- 
tion, and weave those fragments into a shorter and lighter 
romance, executed in a different metre, and to be published 
anonymously, in a small pocket volume, as nearly as possible 
on the same day with the avowed quarto. He expected 
great amusement from the comparisons which the critics 
would no doubt indulge themselves in drawing between him- 
self and this humble candidate ; and Erskine good-humoredly 
entered into the scheme, undertaking to do nothing which 
should effectually suppress the i:otion of bis having set him 
self up as a modest rival to his friend." — Life of Scott, vol 
iv. p. 12. 



382 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^I)c Bribal of ^vicvmain. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Come, Lucy ! while 'tis moniiBg btmr, 

The woodland brook we needs must pass; 
So, ere the siin assume his power, 
We shelter in our poplar bower, 
"Wliere dew Ues long upon the flower, 

Though vanish'd from the velvet grass. 
Curbing the stream, this stony ridge 
May serve us for a silvan bridge ; 

For here, compell'd to disunite. 

Round petty isles the runnels glide. 
And chafing off their puuy spite, 
llie shallow murmurers waste their might, 

Yielding to footstep free and Ught 
A dry-shod pass from side to side. 

II. 

Nay, why this hesitating pause ? 
And, Lucy, as thy step witlidraws. 
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim ? 

Titania's foot without a shp, 
Like thine, though timid, hglit, and sUm, 

From stone to stone miglit safely trip, 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her shpper's silken rim. 
Or trust thy lover's strength : nor fear 

That this same stalwart arm of mine. 
Which could yon o.ak's prone trunk uprear. 
Shall shrink beneath the bm-den dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine. — 
So, — now, the danger dared at last. 
Look back, and smile at perils past ! 

in. 

And now we reacli the favorite glade. 

Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and stone, 
'Wliere never harsner sounds invade. 

To break affection's whispering tone. 
Than the deep breeze that waves the shade, 

Than the small brooklet's feeble moan. 
Come ! rest thee on thy wonted seat ; 

Moss'd is the stone, the turf is green, 

' MS.—" Han;hly eye." 



A place where lovers best may meet, 

Wlio would not that their love be seen. 
The boughs, that dim the summer sky, 
Shall hide us from each lurking spy. 

That fern would spread the invidious tale, 
How Lucy of the lofty eye,' 
Noble in birth, in fortmies high. 
She for whom lords and barons sigh. 
Meets her poor Ai'thm' in the dale. 

IV. 
How deep that blush ! — how deep that sigh ! 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye ? 
Is it because that crimson draws 
Its color from some secret cause. 
Some hidden movement of the breast. 
She would not that her Arthur guess'd ? 
O ! quicker for is lovers' ken 
Than the dull glance of common men,' 
And, by strange sympathy, can spell 
The thoughts the loved one will not tell 1 
And mine, in Lucy's blush, saw met 
The hues of pleasure and regret; 
Pride mingled in the sigh her voice. 

And shared with Love the crimson glow 
Well pleased that thou art Ailhur's choice. 
Yet shamed thine own is placed so low : 
Thou turn'st thy self-confessing cheek, 

As if to meet the breeze's cooUiig ; 
Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak, 

For Love, too, has his hours of schooling. 

V. 
Too oft my anxious eye has spied 
Tliat secret grief thou fain wouldst hide. 
The passijig pang of himibled pride ; 
Too oft, when tlu-ough the splendid hall, 

The load-star of each heart and eye. 
My fair one leads the glittering ball, 
Will her stol'n glance on Arthur fall. 
With such a blush and such a sigh ! 
Thou woiddst not yield, for wealth or 
rank, 
The heart thy worth and beauty won, 



' with wings as swift 



As meditation or tlie thonghts of love." — Hamlet. 



TANTO I. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



383 



Nor leare me on tliis mossy bank, ' 

To meet a rival on a throne : 
"VTliy, then, should vain repinings rise, 
That to thy lover fate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A Baron's birth, a menial train, 
Since Heaven assign'd him, for his part, 
A lyre, a falehion, and a heart 1 

VI. 

My eword rits master must be dumb ; 

But, when a soldier names my name, 
Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come. 

Nor (head to hear of Arthur's shame. 
My heart — 'mid all yon courtly crew. 

Of lordly rank and lofty line, 
Is there to love and honor true, 

That boasts a pulse so w.arm as mine !' 
They praised thy diamonds' lustre rare — 

Mateh'd with thine eyes, I thought it faded ; 
rhey praised the pearls that bound thy hair — 

I only saw the locks they braided ; 
They talk'd of wealthy dower and land. 

And titles of Iiigh birth the token — 
. thought of Lucy's heai't and hand. 

Nor knew the sense of wh.at was spoken. 
And yet, if rank'd in Fortune's roll, 

I might have learn'd their choice unwise, 
IVho rate the dower above the soul. 
And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes.'" 

VIL 

5Iy lyre — it is an idle toy. 

That borrows accents not its own. 

Like warbler of Colombian sky. 
That sings but in a mmiic tone.^ 

Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well, 

Nor boasts it aught of Border spell ; 

1 MS. — " Tliat boasts so warm a heart as mine." 
3 MS. — '* And Lncy's gems before her eyes." 
3 The Mocking Bird. 

* MS. — " Perchance, becaase it song their praise." 

* See Appendix, Note A. 

* '* The Introduction. thoQgh by no means destitute of beau- 
I'es, is decidedly inferior to the Poem ; its plan, or conception. 
£ neitlier very ingenious nor very slrilting. Tile best passages 
tre those in which the author adheres most strictly to his ori- 
ginal ; in tiiose which are composed without liaving his eyes 
fix^d on liis model, there is a sort of affectation and sPVaining 
at humor, that will probably excite some feeling of disappoint- 
ment, either because the effort is not altogether successful, or 
bec&nse it does not perfectly harmonize witJi the tone and col- 
oring of the whole piece. 

" The ' Bridal' itself is purely a tale of chi%'alry ; a tale of 
* Britain's isle, and Arthur's days, when midnight fairies 
Jaunced the maze.' The author never gives us a glance of 
onlinary life, or of ordinary personages. From the splendid 
court of Arthur, we are conveyed to the halls of enchant- 
luen'., and, of course, are introduced to a system of man- 
ners, perfectly decided and appropriate, but altogether remote 



Its strings no feudal slogan pour. 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore ; 
No shouting clans applauses raise, 
Because it sung their fathers' praise ;* 
On Scottish moor, or English down, 
It ne'er was graced with fair renown ; 
Nor won, — best meed to minstrel true, — 
One favoring smile from fail- Buccleuch ! 
By one poor streamlet sotmds its tone, 
And heard by one dear maid alone. 

VIIL 

But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell 

Of en'ant knight, and damozelle ; 

Of the dread knot a Wizard tied. 

In punishment of maiden's pride. 

In notes of marvel and of fear. 

That best may charm romantic ear. 
For Lucy loves, — like Collins, ill-starred name !' 
'Whose lay's requital, was that tardy fiime, 
Wlio bound no laurel round his living head. 
Should hang it o'er his monument when dead, — 
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand. 
And thread, like him, the maze of Fairy-land ; 
Of golden battlements to view the gleam. 
And slmnber soft by some Elysian stream ; — 
Such lays she loves, — and such my Lucy's choice, 
What other song can claim her Poet's voice ?° 



®lje Sribal of ©ricrmain. 



CASTO FmST. 



Whebe is the Maiden of mortal strain. 

That may match with the Baron of Triermain ?' 



from tliose of this vulgar world." — ^uarterlTf Review, Juhj, 
1813. 

" The poem now before us consists properly of two distinct 
subjects, interwoven together something in the manner of the 
Last Minstrel and his Lay, in the first and most enchanting of 
Walter Scott's romances. The first is the history (real or im- 
aginary, we presume not to guess which) of the author's pas- 
sion, courtship, and marriage, with a young lady, his superior 
in rank and circumstances, to whom he relates at intervals the 
story which may be considered as the principal design of the 
work, to which it gives its title. This is a mode of introdu- 
cing romantic and fabulous narratives which we very muirli 
approve, though there may be reason to fear that too frequent 
repetition may wear out its effect. It attaches a degree of 
dramatic interest to the work, and at the same time soAena the 
absurdity of a Gothic legend, by throwing it to a greater dis- 
tance from the relation and auditor, by representing it, not as 
a train of facts which actually took place, but as a mere fable, 
either adopted by the credulity of former times, or invented 
for the purposes of amusement, and the exercise of the im- 
agination." — Critictii llcvieic, 1813. 

' See Appendix, Note B. 



384 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i. 


She must be lovely, aiul constant, and kind, 


And hearken, my meiTy-men ! What tune or 


Holy and piu^e, and liumble of mind, 


where [brow, 


Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood, 


Did she pass, that maid with her heavenly 


Courteons, and generous, and noble of blood- 


With her look so sweet and her eyes so fair, 


Lovely as the sun's first raj', 


And her graceftd step and her angel air. 


■ff hen it breaks the clouds of an April day ; 


And the eagle plume in her dark-brown hair, 


Constant and true as the widow'd dove, 


That pass'd from my bower e'en now ?" 


Kind as a minstrel that sings of love; 




Pure as the fountam in rocky cave, 


V. 


Where never sunbeam kiss'd the wave ; 


Answer'd him Richard de Bretville ; he 


Humble as maiden that loves in vain, 


Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy, — 


Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; 


" Silent, noble chieftain, we 


Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies. 


Have sat smce midnight close, 


Yet bUthe as the light leaves that dance in its 


When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings, 


sighs ; 


Murmm-'d from our melting strings, 


Courteous as monarch the morn he is crown'd. 


And hush'd you to repose. 


Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad 


Had a harp-note soimded here. 


gi-ound ; 


It had caught my watchful ear, 


Noble her blood as the cuiTcnts that met 


Although it fell as faint and shy 


In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet— 


As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh, 


Such must her form be, her mood, and her 


When she thinks her lover near." — 


straui, 


Answer'd Philip of Fasthwaite tall. 


That shall match -with Sii' Roland of Triermain. 


He kept guard in the outer hall, — 




" Since at eve om- watch took post. 


II. 


Not a foot has thy portal cross'd ; 


Sir Roland de Vaux he hath lain him to sleep, 


Else had I heard the steps, though low 


His blood it was fever'd, his breathing was deep, 


And light they fell, as when earth receives. 


He had been pricking against the Scot, 


In morn of fi-ost, the wither'd leaves. 


The foray was long, and tlie sku-mish hot : 


That drop when no winds blow." 


His dinted hebn and liis buckler's plight 




Bore token of a stubborn fight. 


TL 


All in the castle must hold them stdl, 


" Then come thou hither, Henry, my page. 


Harpers must lull liini to bis rest. 


Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, 


"With the slow soft tunes he loves the best, 


When that dark castle, tower, and spire, 


Till sleep sink down *pon his breast, 


Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 


Like the dew on a smumer hUl. 


And redden'd all tlie Nine-stane Hill, 




And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 


IIL 


Tlu-ough devouring flame and smothermg smoke 


It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 


Made the warrior's heart-blood chiH 


The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray, 


The trustiest thou of all my train, 


That like a silvery crape was spread 


My fleetest courser thou must rein. 


Round Skiddaw's dun and distant liead. 


And ride to Lyulph's tower, 


And famtly gleam'd each painted pane 


And from the Baron of Triermain 


Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 


Greet well that sage of power. 


"WTien that Baron bold awoke. 


He is sprung from Druid su-es, 


Stai-tiug he woke, and loudly cUd call. 


And British bards that tuned their lyres 


Rousing his menials m bower and hall. 


To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise. 


While hastily he spoke. 


And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.' 




Gtfted like his gifted race. 


IV. 


He the characters can trace, 


" Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye all 


Graven deep in elder time 


Touch'd his harp with that dying fall, 


Upon HeUvellyn's cliffs sublime ; 


So sweet, so soft, so faint, 


Sign and sign well doth he know. 


It seem'd an angel's whisper'd call 


And can bode of weal and woe. 


To an expuing saint ! 


Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars, 


1 Dnmnailrajse is one of the grand passes from Cnmberland 


of stones, erected, it is said, to tbe memory of Donmail, tha 


into VVestHiorelaiid. It takes its name from a cairn, or pile 


last King of Cumberland. 



CANTO I. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



385 



From mystic dreams and course of stars. 


So perilous to knightly worth, 


He shall tell if micKlle earth 


In tlie valley of St. Jolm! 


To that enchantiiii^ shape gave birth, 


Listen, youth, to what I tell, 


Or if "twas but au au-y tiling, 


And buid it on thy memory well ; 


Such as fiiutastic slumbers briug. 


Nor muse that I commence the rhyme 


Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes, 


Far distant, 'mid the wTecks of time. 


Or fading tints of western skies.* 


The mystic tale, by bard and sage. 


For, by the Blessed Rood I swear. 


Is handetl ilown from Merlin's age. 


If tliat fail- form breathe vital air, 




No other maiden by my side 


X. 


Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride !"^ 


3lmlf\)'B JTale. 




" Kis-G Arthur has ridden from merry Carlisle, 


vn. 


Wlien Pentecost "was o'er : 


The faithful Page he mounts his steed. 


He jom-ney'd like errant-knight the while. 


And soon he cross'd green Irtliing's mead. 


And sweetly the summer sun did smile 


Da.shVl o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain, 


On mountain, moss, and moor. 


And Eden bari'd his course in vain. 


Above liis solitary track 


He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round,' 


Rose Glai-amm-a's ridgy back, 


For feats of cliivalry renown'd. 


Amid whose yawning gulfs the sun 


Left Mayburgh's mound^ and stones of power. 


Cast imiber'd radiance red and dun. 


By Druids raised in magic hour, 


Though never sunbeam could discern 


And traced the Eamont's winding way, 


The surface of that sable tarn," 


TUl Ulfo's lake" beneath him lay. 


In whose black mirror you may spy 




The stars, while noontide lights the sky. 


VIII. 


The gallant ICing he sku-ted still 


Onward he rode, the pathway still 


The margin of that mighty hill ; 


■Winding betwixt the lake and hill ; 


Rock upon rocks incumbent hung. 


Till, on the fragment of a rock. 


And torrents, down the gullies flung. 


Struck from its base by lightning shock, 


Join'd the rude river that brawl'd on. 


He saw the hoary Sage : 


Recoiling now from crag and stone. 


The silver moss and lichen twined, 


Now diving deep from human ken. 


■With fern and deer-hair, check'd and lined. 


And raving down its diu-ksome glen. 


A cushion fit for age ; 


The Monarch judged tliis desert wild, 


And o'er him shook the aspen-tree, 


"Witli such romantic ruin pUed, 


A restless, rustling canopy. 


"Was theatre by Nature's hand 


Then sprung young Henry from his seUe, 


For feat of high achievement plann'd. 


And gi-eeted Lyulpli grave. 




And then his master's tale did tell. 


XL 


And then for counsel crave. 


" rather he chose, that Monarch bold. 


Tlie Man ofYears mused long and deep. 


On vent'rous quest to ride, 


Of time's lost treasures taking keep. 


In plate and mail, by wood and wold. 


And then, as rousing from a sleep, 


Than, with ermine trapp'd and cloth of gold, 


His solemn answer gave. 


In princely bower to bide ; 




The bursting crash of a foeman's spear, 


IX 


As it sliiver'd against his mail. 


" That maid is born of middle earth. 


■Was merrier music to his ear 


And may of man be won, 


Tlian courtier's wliisper'd tale : 


Though there have glided since her buth 


And the clash of Caliburn more dear. 


Five hundred years and one. 


"When on the hostile casque it rung, 


But Where's the Knight in all the north. 


Than all the lays 


Tliat dare the adventure follow forth, 


To their monarch's praise 


1 *' Jost like Aurora, when slie ties 


his nightly visitant, of whom at this time he could know noth- 


A rainbow round the morning skies." — Moore. 


ing, but that she looked and sung like an angel, if of mortal 


' " This powerful Baron required in the fair one whom he 


mould, shall be his bride." — (Quarterly Rcvicic. 


sbonid honor with his hand an assemblage of qualities, that 


3 See Appendix, Note C. « Ibid. Note D. 


appears to us rather unreasonable even in those high days, 


6 Ulswaler. 


profuse as they are known to have been of perfections now 


8 The small lake called Scales-tarn lies so deeply embosomed 


ftuattalnable. His resolution, however, was not more inflexi- 


in the recesses of the huge mountain called Saddleback, nion* 


ale than that of any mere modem yonth ; for he decrees that 


poetically Glaramara, is of such great depth, and so complete- 



386 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i. 


That the harpers of Reged sung. 


And, where the Gothic gateway fiown'd, 


He loved better to rest by wood or river, 


Glanced neither biU nor bow. 


Than in bower of his bride, Dame Guenever, 




For he left that lady, so lovely of cheer, 


XIV. 


To foUow adventures of danger and fear ; 


" Beneath the castle's gloomy pride, 


And the frank-hearted Monarch full Uttle did 


In ample round did Arthur ride 


wot, [Launcelot. 


Three tunes ; nor hving thing he spied. 


Tlmt she smiled, in his absence, on brave 


Nor heard a hving sound. 




Save that, awakening from her dream. 


XII. 


The owlet now began to scream, 


" He rode, tUl over down and dell 


In concert with the rusliing stream. 


The shade more broad and deeper fell ; 


That wash'd the b.attled mound. 


And though around the mountain's head 


He lighted from his goodly steed, 


FloVd streams of purple, and gold, and red, 


And he left him to graze on bank and mead , 


Dark at the base, unblest by beam, 


And slowly he climb'd the naiTow way, 


Frown'd the black rocks, and ro.ar'd the stream. 


That reach'd the entrance grim and gray. 


With toil the King his way pursued 


And he stood the outward arch below, 


By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood, 


And his bugle-horn prepared to blow. 


Till on his course obhquely shone 


In summons blithe and bold 


The narrow valley of S.u>-t John, 


Deeming to rouse from iron slepp 


Down sloping to the western sky, 


The guardian of this dismal Keep, 


■RTjere lingering sunbeams love to lie. 


Which well he guess'd the hold 


Right glad to feel those beams again, 


Of wizard stern, or goblin griui. 


Tlie King drew up his chargers rein ; 


Or pagan of gigantic hmb. 


With gauntlet raised he screen'd his sight. 


The tyrant of the wold. 


As dazzled with the level light, 




And, from beneath liis glove of mail. 


XV. 


Scann'd at liis ease the lovely vale, 


" The ivory bugle's golden tip 


While 'gainst the sun his armor bright 


Twice touch'd the Monarch's manly Up, 


Gleam'd ruddy like the beacon's light. 


And twice his hand vrithdrew. 




— Think not but Arthm-'s heart was good i 


XIII. 


His shield was cross'd by the blessed rood, 


" Paled in by many a lofty liiU, 


Had a pagan host before liim stood. 


The narrow dale lay smooth and still. 


He had charged them through and through 


And, down its verdant bosom led, 


Tet the silence of that ancient place 


A winding brooklet found its bed. 


Simk on his heart, and he paused i space 


But, midmost of the vale, a momid 


Ere yet his horn he blew. 


Arose with any turrets crown'd, 


But, instant as its 'larum rung. 


Buttress, and rampire's cu-cUng bound. 


The castle gate was open flmig, 


And mighty keep and tower ; 


Portculhs rose with crashing groan 


Seem'd some primeval giant's hand 


Full harshly up its groove of stone : 


The castle's massive walls had plann'd. 


The balauce-beams obey'd the blast, 


A ponderous bulwai'k to withstand 


And down the trembling drawbridge cast ; 


Ambitious Kimrod's power. 


The vaulted arch before him lay. 


Above the mo.ited entrance slung. 


With naught to bar the gloomy way, 


The balanced drawbridge trembUng hung, 


And onward Arthur paced, with hand 


As jealous of a foe ; 


On CaUbm-n's' resistless brand. 


Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 




With hon studded, clench'd, and bai-r'd, 


XVI. 


And prong'd portcullis, join'd to guard 


" A hundred torches, flashing bright, 


The gloomy pass below. 


DispeU'd at once the gloomy night 


But the gr.ay walls no banners crown'd. 


That lour'd along the walls. 


Upon the watch-tower's airy round 


And show'd the King's astonish'd sight 


No warder stood his horn to sound. 


The inm.ates of the halls. 


No guaid beside the bridge was found. 


Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim, 


ly bidden from tbe snn, that it is said its beams never rc3,ch it. 


I This was the name of King Arthur's well-known gword. 


ind that tiie reflection of the stars may be seen at mid-day. 


sometimes also called Excalibar. 



CANTO I. THE BRIDAL OF TRIEJIMAIN. 387 


yor giant huge of form and limb, 


Raised, with imposing air, her hand, 


Nor heathen knight, was there ; 


And reverent silence did command. 


But the cressets, which odors flung aloft, 


On entrance of then- Queen, 


Show'd by theu- yeUow light and soft, 


And they were mute. — But as a glance 


A band of damsels fail-. 


They steal on Arthm-'s countenance 


Onward tliey came, like summer wave 


Bewilder'd with sm-prise, 


That dances to the shore ; 


Their smother'd mirth again 'gan speak. 


.An hunch-ed voices welcome gave. 


In arclily dimpled chin and cheek. 


And welcome o'er and o'er 1 


And laughter-lighted eyes. 


An hundred lovely hands assail 




The bucklers of the monarch's mail, 


XIX. 


And busy labor'd to unhasp 


"The attributes of those high days 


Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 


Now only Uve in minstrel lays ; 


One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair. 


For Natm-e, now exhausted, still 


And one flung odors on his hair ; 


Was then profuse of good and ill. 


His short cmd'd ringlets one smooth'd down, 


Strength was gigantic, valor high, 


One wreathed them with a myi-tle crown. 


And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky, 


A bride upon her wedding-day, 


And beauty had such matchless beam 


■Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. 


As hghts not now a lover's di-eam. 




Yet e'en in that romantic age. 


XVII 


Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen, 


" Loud laugh'd they aU, — the King, in vain. 


As Arthtu-'s dazzled eyes engage, 


With questions task'd the giddy train ; 


When forth, on that enchanted stage. 


Let him entreat, or crave, or call. 


With ghttermg train of maid and page. 


'Twas one reply, — loud laugh'd they all. 


Advanced the castle's Queen ! 


Then o'er him mimic chains they fling. 


While up the hall she slowly pasa'd, 


Framed of the fairest flowers of spring. 


Her dark eye on the Kuig she cast. 


While some their gentle force unite. 


That flash'd expression strong ■' 


Onward to drag the wondering k^jght. 


The longer dwelt that lingermg look. 


Some, bolder, lu-ge his pace with blows. 


Her cheek the Uvelier color took. 


Dealt with the lily or the rose. 


And scarce the shame-faced King could brook 


Behind him were m triumph borne 


The gaze that lasted long. 


The warlike arms he late had worn. 


A sage, who had that look espied, 


Four of the train combmed to rear 


Where kindUng passion strove -with pride. 


The terrors of Tmtadgel's spear ;' 


Had whisper'd, ' Prince, beware ! 


Two, laugliiug at then- lack of strength, 


From the chafed tiger rend the prey. 


Dragg'd Caliburn in cumbrous length, 


Rush on the hon when at bay. 


One, while she aped a martial stride. 


Bar the fell dragon's blighted way. 


Placed on her brows the helmet's pride ; 


But shvm that lovely snare !' — ' 


Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter and sm-prise, 




To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes. 


XX. 


With revel-shout, and triumph-song. 


" At once, that inward strife suppress'd, 


Thus gayly march'd the giddy throng. 


The dame approach'd her warlike guest, 




With greeting, m that fair degree. 


xvin. 


Wliere female pride and comtesy 


" Through many a gallery and hall 


Are bended with such passmg art 


They led, I ween, then- royal thrall ; 


As awes at once and charms the heai-t.* 


At length, beneath a fan- arcade 


A com-tly welcome first she gave, 


Then- march and song at once they staid, 


Then of his goodness 'gan to crave 


The eldest maiden of the band 


Construction fair and true 


(The lovely maid was scarce eighteen), 


Of her light maidens' idle mirth, 


1 TlDtadgel Castle, in Cornwall, is reported to have been the 


3 '* Aronse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts. 


oirth-place of King An^ar. 


Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 




Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 


2 "In the description of the Queen b entrance, as well as in 


Of wild Fanaticism." 


the contrasted enumeration of the levities of her attendants, the 


Waverley JVovels^ vol. xvii. p. 207. 


author, we think, has had in his recollection Gray's celebrated 


* " Still sways their souls with that commanding art 


description of the power of harmony to produce all the graces 


That dazzles, leads, yet chills the volgar heart." 


of motion in the body." — Quarterly lit'ciew 


Byron's CojAuir, 1814 



888 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii. 


Wto drew from lonely glens tlieir birth, 


The Saxon stem, the pagan Dane, 


Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 


Maraud on Britain's shores again. 


And dignity their due ; 


Aj'thur, of Christendom the flower, 


And then slie pray'd tliat he would rest 


Lies loitering in a lady's bower ; 


Tliat night her castle's honor'd guest. 


The horn, that foemen wont to fear. 


The Monarch meetly thanks express'd ; 


Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer. 


The banquet rose at her behest, 


And Cahburn, the British pride, 


With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, 


Hangs useless by a lover's side. 


Apace the evening ilew.' 


IL 


XXI. 


" Another day, another day, 


" The Lady sate the Monarch by. 


And yet another, ghdes away ! 


Now in her turn abash'd and shy. 


Heroic plans in pleasure drown'd. 


And witli indifference seem'd to hear 


He thinks not of the Table Round ; 


The toys he wliisper'd in her ear. 


In lawless love dissolved his life, 


Her bearing modest was and fair. 


He thinks not of his beauteous' wife: 


Yet shadows of constraint were there, 


Better he loves to snatch a flower 


That shoVd an over-cautious care 


From bosom of his paramour. 


Some inward tliouglit to hide ; 


Than from a Saxon knight' to wrest 


Oft did she pause in full reply, 


The honors of his heathen crest I 


And oft cast down her large dart eye. 


Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses brown, 


Oft clieck'd the soft voluptuous sigh, 


The heron's plume her hawk struck down, 


Tliat heaved her bosom's pride. 


Than o'er the altar give to flow 


Slight symptoms tlicse, but shepherds know 


The banners of a Paj'nim foe.' 


How hot the mid-day sun shall glow. 


Thus, week by week, and day by day. 


From the mist of moruing sky ; 


His life inglorious gUdes away ; 


And so tlie wily monarch guess'd. 


But she, th.at soothes his dream, with fear 


That this assumed restraint express'd 


Beholds his hour of waking near 1' 


More ardent passions in tlie breast, 




Than ventured to the eye. 


IIL 


Closer he press'd, wliile beakers rang. 


" Much force have mortal charms to stay 


While maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang, 


Om- peace in Virtue's toilsome way ; 


Still closer to her ear — 


But Guendolen's might far outsliine 


But why pursue the common tale ? 


Each maid of merely mortal line. 


Or wherefore show how knights prevail 


Her mother was of human birth. 


When ladies dare to hear ? 


Her sire a Genie of the earth. 


Or wherefore trace, from wliat slight cause 


In days of old deem'd to preside 


Its source one tyrant passion di-aws, 


O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride, 


TiU, mastering all within,^ 


By youths aud virgins worship'd long, 


■Wliere lives the man that has not tried. 


With festive dance and choral song. 


How niu-th can into folly ghde, 


TiU, wlien the cross to Britain came. 


And folly into sin?" 


On heathen altars died the fi.arae. 




Now, deep in Wastdale solitude. 
The downfall of his rights he rued, 




®l)c Bribal of Cricrmain. 


And, born of his resentment heir. 
He train'd to guile that lady fair. 
To sink in slothful sm and shame 




CANTO SECOND. 


The cliampions of the Christijin name. 
Well skill'd to keep vain thoughts aUve, 




I. 


And all to promise, naught to give, — 


Jlgulplj's Ealt, coittinuetr. 


The timid youth had hope m store. 


" Anotheb, day, another day. 


Tlie bold and pressing gain'd no more. 


And yet another glides away I 


As wilder'd children leave^eir home, 


» " On the opinion that may he formed even of these two 


Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest."— Pope. 


atanzas (six. and xx.) we are willing to hazard tiie justness of 


3 MS.—" Lovely." < MS.—" Paynim knight." 


the eologium we have hestowed on the general poetical merit 


6MS.— '• Vanciuish'd foe." 


(if this little work." — QitartcHif Review, 


e The MS. has this and the Elxtli couplet of stanza iil. in- 


« " One Master Passion in the breast, 


terpolated. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



389 



Aftor the rainbow'a arcli to roam, 
Her lovers barter'd fair esteem, 
Fiiitb, fame, and honor, for a dream.' 

IV. 

" Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame' 
She practised thus — till Ai'thur came ; 
Theu, frail humanity had part. 
And all the mother elaim'd her heart 
Forgot each rule her father gave, 
Sunk from a princess to a slave. 
Too late must Gueudolen deplore. 
He, that has all,' can hope no more I 
Now must she see* her lover strain. 
At every turn, her feeble chain ;' 
Watch, to new-bind each knot, and shrink 
To view each fast-decaying link. 
Aj't she invokes to Nature's aid, 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ; 
Each varied pleasure heard her call, 
The feast, the tourney, and the ball: 
Her storied lore she next applies, 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes ; 
Now more than mortal wise, and then 
In female softness sunk again ; 
Now, raptured, with each wish complying. 
With feign'd reluctance now denying ; 
Each chm'm she varied, to retain 
A varying heart' — and all in vain 1 

y. 

" Tims in the garden's nan'ow bound, 
Flank'd by some castle's Gothic round. 
Fain would the artist's skill provide, 
The limits of his realms to hide. 
The walks in labyruiths he twuioii, 
Shade after shade with skill combines. 
With many a varied flowery knot. 
And copse, and arbor, decks the spot. 
Tempting the hasty foot to stay. 

And linger on the lovely way 

Vain art ! vain hope ! 'tis fruitless all ! 
At length we reach the bounding wall, 
And, sick of flower and trim-dresa'd 

tree, 
Long for rough glades and forest free. 

1 MS. — " Po the poor dupes exchanged esteem. 

Fame, faith, and honor, for a dream.'* 
9 MS. — " Such art^ as best her sire became." 
s MS.— "That who gives all," &c. 

* MS. — " Now must she watch,^' &c. 

* M:?. -*' her wasting chain." 

6 '* As some iair female, unadorn'd and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms iier reign, 
Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
But when those charms are past, for charms oic frail, 
When time advances, and *heD lovcre fail. 



VI. 

" Three summer months had scantly flown. 
When Arthur, in embarrass'd tone, 
Spoke of Ills hegemen and liis throne ; 
Said, idl too long had been his stay, 
And duties, wliich a monarch sway. 
Duties, unknown to humbler men. 
Must tear her knight from Guendolen. — 
She listen'd silently the wliUe, 
Her mood express'd in bitter smile ;'' 
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail, 
And oft resiune the unfinish'd tale,® 
Confessing, by his downcast eye. 
The wrong he sought to justify. 
He ceased. A momeiit mute she gazed. 
And then her looks to heaven she raised ; 
One pahn her temples veil'd, to hide" 
The tear that sprung in spite of pride ; 
The other for an instant press'd 
The foldings of her silken vest I 

VII. 
" At her reproachful sign and look. 
The hint the Monarch's conscience took." 
Eager he spoke — ' No, lady, no ! 
Deem not of British Arthur so. 
Nor think he cau deserter prove 
To the dear pledge of mutual love. 
I swear by sceptre ami by sword. 
As belted knight and Britam's lord, 
That if a boy shall claim my care, 
That boy is born a kingdom's heu' : 
But, if a maiden Fate allows. 
To choose that maid a fitting spouse, 
A summer-day in lists shall strive 
My knights, — the bravest knights alive, — 
And he, the best and bravest tried, 
Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.' — 
He spoke, with voice resolved and high — 
The lady deign'd him not reply. 

VIII. 
" At dawn of morn, ere on the brake 
His matins did a warbler make," 
Or stirr'd his wing to brush away 
A suigle dew-drop from the spray, 

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In all the glaring impotence of dress." 

Goldsmith. 
' MS. — '■ Wreathed were her lips in bitter smile.** 

6 MS. " his broken tale. 

With downcast eye and flushing cheeks. 
As one who 'gainst his conscience speaks." 
* MS. — " One hand her temples press'd to hide." 
to •' The scene in which Arthur, sated with his lawless love, 
and awake at last to a sense of his duties, announces his imme- 
diate departure, is managed, we think, with uncommon skill 
and delicacy." — (Quarterly Review. 
u MS. — " A single warbler was awake." 



390 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n. 


Ere yet a sunbeam, through the mist, 


That burn'd and blighted where it fell !* 


The castle-battlements had kiss'd, 


The frantic steed rusli'd up the dell,' 


The gates revolTe, the drawbridge falls, 


As whistles from the bow tlie reed ; 


And Arthur saUies from the walls. 


Nor bit nor rein cotdd check his speed. 


Doff 'd his soft garb of Persia's loom. 


Until he gain'd the hill ; 


And steel from spur to helmet-plume, 


Then breath and sinew fail'd apace. 


His Lybian steed full proudly trode, 


And, reeling from the desperate race, 


And joyful neigh'd beneath his load. 


He stood, exhausted, still. 


The Monarch gave a pas^mg sigh 


The Monarch, breathless and amazed. 


To penitence' and pleasures by, 


Back on the fatal castle gazed 


When, lo 1 to his astonish'd ken 


Nor tower nor donjon could he spy. 


Appear'd the form of Gueudolen. 


Darkening against the morning sky ;" 




But, on the spot where once they frown'd. 


IX.' 


The lonely streamlet brawl'd around 


" Beyond the outmost wall she stood. 


A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 


Attu-ed like huntress of the wood : 


Fragments of rock and rifted stone.' 


Sandall'd her feet, her ankles bare," 


Musing on this strange hap the while. 


And eagle-plumage deck'd her hair ; 


The King wends back to fair Carlisle ; 


Fii-m was her look, her beai-ing bold, 


And cares, that cumber royal sway. 


And in her hand a cup of gold. 


Wore memory of the past away. 


* Thou goest !' she said, ' and ne'er again 




Must we two meet, m joy or pain. 


XI. 


Full fain would I this hour delay, 


" Full fifteen years, and more, were sped. 


Tliough weak the wish — yet, wilt thou stay ? 


Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. 


—No ! thou look'st forward. Still attend,— 


Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought. 


Part we like lover and like friend.' 


The Saxons to subjection brought:' 


She raised the cup — ' Not this the juice 


Rython, the mighty giant, slain 


The sluggish vines of earth produce ; 


By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 


Pledge we, at parting, in tlie draught 


The Pictish Gillamore in fight 


WTiich Genii love !' — she said, and quaff'd ; 


And Roman Lucius, own'd his might ; 


And strange unwonted lustres fly 


And wide were through the world renown'd' 


From her flush'd cheek and sparkling eye. 


The glories of his Table Round. 




Each knight, who .sought adventurous fame, 


X. 


To the bold court of Britain came. 


" The courteous Monarch bent him low. 


And all who suffcr'd causeless wrong. 


And, stooping down from saddlebow, 


From tyrant proud, or faitour strong. 


Lifted the cup, in act to di-mk. 


Sought Arthur's presence to complain. 


A drop escaped the goblet's brink — 


Nor there for aid implored in vain." 


Intense as liquid fire from heU, 




Upon the charger's neck it fell. 


XIL 


Screaming with agony and fright, 


"For this the King, with pomp and pride, 


He bolted twenty feet upright — 


Held solemn court at Wliitsuntide, 


— The peasant still can show the dint. 


And summon'd Prmce and Peer, 


■ftTiere his hoofs hghted on the flint. — 


All who owed homage for then- land. 


From Arthur's hand the goblet flew. 


Or who craved knighthood from his hand. 


Scattering a shower of fiery dew,' 


Or who had succor to demand. 


1 MS.— "To deep remorse." 


Then stopp'd exhausted ; — all amazed, 


• MS. — *' Her arms and buskin'd feet were bare." 


The rider down the valley gazed, 


3 MS. .'of!|>°™"S{dew." 


But tower nor donjon," &c. 


« See Appendix, Note E. 




7 MS. — " But, on the spot where once they frown'd. 


* The author has an indistinct recollection of an adventure. 


The stream begirt a silvan mound, 


eomewhat similar to that which is here ascribed to King Ai^ 


With rocks in shatter'd fragments crown'd." 


thiir, having befallen one of the ancient Kings of Denmarlt. 


e Arthur is said to have defeated the Saxons in twelve 


Tlic liorn in whieli the burning liquor was presented to that 


pitched battles, and to have achieved the other feats alluded 


Monarch, is said still to be preserved in the Royal Museum at 


to in the text. 


Copenhagen. 


B MS.—" And wide was blazed the world around." 


* MS * * Curb, bit, and bridle he disdain'd. 


It" MS. — " Pought before Arthur to complain, 


Until a mountain crest he gain'd, 


Nor there for succor seed in vain." 



CANTO n. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 391 


To come from far and near. 


A maiden, on a palfrey white. 


At such high tide, were glee and game 


Heading a band of damsels bright, 


Mingled with feats of martial fame, 


Paced through the circle, to alight 


li'ur many a stranger champion came. 


And liiieel before the King. 


In Usts to break a spear ; 


Arthiu", with strong emotion, saw 


And not a knight of Arthur's host, 


Her graceful boldness check'd by awe, 


Save that he trode some foreign coast, 


Her dress, like huntress of the wold. 


But at tliis feast of Pentecost 


Her bow and baldric trapp'd with gold, 


Before him must appear. 


Her sandaird feet, her ankles bare,* 


Ah: Minstrels 1 when the Table Round 


And the eagle-plume that deck'd her hair. 


Arose, with all its warriors erown'd. 


Graceful her veil she backward tlimg— 


There was a theme for bards to sound 


The King, as from his seat he sprung. 


In triumph to theu- string ! 


Almost cried ' Guendolen 1' 


Fire hundred j-eai-s are past and gone, 


But 'twas a face more frank and wild, 


But Time shiiU tb-aw his dying groan, 


Betwixt the woman and tlie child, 


Ere he behold the British thi-one 


Where less of magic beauty smiled 


Begirt with such a ring 1 


Than of the race of men ; 




And in the forehead's haughty grace, 


XIII. 


Tlie lines oi Britam's royal race,' 


" The heralds named the appointed spot, 


Pendragon's, you might ken. 


As Caerleon or Camelot, 




Or Carlisle fair and free. 


XV. 


At Penrith, now, the feast was set, 


" Fidtering, yet gracefully, she said — 


And in fair Eamont's vale were met 


' Great Prince ! behold an orphan maid. 


The flower of CluTidry.' 


In her departed mother's name, 


There Galaad sate with manly grace, 


A father's vow'd protection claim ! 


Yet maiden meekness in his face ; 


The vow was sworn in desert lone. 


Tliere Murolt of the iron mace,^ 


In the deep valley of St. John.' 


And love-lorn Tristrem there : 


At once the King the suppliant raised. 


And Dinadam with lively glance, 


And kiss'd her brow, her beauty praised ; 


And Lauval with the fairy lance, 


His vow, he said, should well be kept. 


And Mordred with his look askance. 


Ere in the sea the sim was dipp'd, — '' 


Bninor and Bevidere. 


Then, conscious, glanced upon his queen : 


Why should I teU of numbers more ? 


But she, unruffled at the scene 


Sir Cay, Sir Banicr, and Su- Bore, 


Of human frailty, construed mUd, 


Sir Carodac the keen. 


Look'd upon Lancelot and smiled. 


The gentle Gawain's courteous lore, 




Hector de Mares and Pellinore, 


XVL 


And Lancelot,^ that ever more 


"' Up ! up ! each k-night of gallant crest 


Look'd stoln-wise on the Queen.* 


Take buckler, spear, and brand 1 




He that to-day sliaU bear bun best. 


XIV. 


Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 


" When wme and mirth did most abound, 


And Arthur's daughter, when a bride. 


And harpers play'd thch blithest round. 


Shall bring a noble dower ; 


A shi-Uly trumpet shook the ground. 


Both fiur Strath-Clyde and Reged wide. 


And marshals clear'd the ring ; 


And Carhsle town and tower.' 


I " The whole description of Arthur's Court is pictnresqae 


And eagle-plumes that deck'd her hair." 


■nd appropriate." — (Quarterly Review, 


" MS. — " The lineaments of royal race." 


3 See Appendix, Note F. 


' Mr. Adolplius, in commenting on the similarity of man. 


' MS. — " And Lancelot for evermore 


ners in the ladies of Sir Walter Scott's poetry, and those of hii 


Tliat scowl'd npon the scene." 


then anonymous Novels, says, "In Rokeby, the filial attach- 


* See Appendlt, Note G. 


ment and duteous anxieties of Matilda form the leading fea- 


» MS — " The King with strong emotion saw. 


ture of her character, and the chief source of her distresses. 


„ I dignity and mingled i 
Her! " ' . ^^ . [awe. 
j strange attire, her reverend J 


The intercourse between King Arthur and his daughter Gyneth, 


in The Bridal of Triermain. is neither long nor altogether ami- 


Attired ) . . . 


cal)le ; but the monarch's feelings on first beholding that beau- 


Herd Mike huntress of the wold. 


tiful 'slip of wilderness,' and his manner of receiving her 


Her sillien buskins braced with gold, 


before the dueen and Court, are too forcibly and naturally 


( sandaird feet, her i 
""i arms and bnskin'd J ""^'^ ^'^^ 


described to be omitted in this enumeration."— /.e»cr5 on tht 


Author 0/ Waverlcy, ISH, p. 212. 



392 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Then might you hear each raUant knight, 

To page and squire that cried, 
' Bring luy armor bright, and my courser wight ! 
*Tis not each day that a warrior's might 

May win a royal bride.' 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 

In haste aside they fling ; 
Tlie helmets glance, and gleams the lance, 

And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. 
Small care had they of their peaceful array, 

They might gather it that wolde ; 
For brake and bramble gUtter'd gay. 

With pearls and cloth of gold. 

XVII. 

" Witliin trumpet sound of the Table Round 

Were fifty champions free, 
And they all arise to fight that prize, — 

Tliey all arise but three. 
Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock's oath, 

One gallant could withliold. 
For priests will allow of a broken vow, 

For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glance from ladies bright 

Among the troop were thrown. 
To plead their riglit, and true-love plight, 

And 'plain of honor flown. 
The knights they busied them so fast, 

With buckUng spur and belt. 
That sigh and look, by ladies cast. 

Were neither seen nor felt. 
From pleading, or upbraiding glance. 

Each gallant turns aside. 
And only thought, ' If speeds my lance, 

A queen becomes my bride ! 
She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide. 

And Carlisle tower and town ; 
She is the lovehest maid, beside, 

Tliat ever heir'd a crown.' 
So in haste their coursers they bestride, 

And strike their visors down. 

XVIII. 

" Tlie champions, arm'd in martial sort. 

Have throng'd into tlie list. 
And but three kniglits of Arthm-'s court 

Are from the tourney missed. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown, — 
There were two who loved then- neighbor's wives, 

And one who loved his own.' 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

' See Appendi.Y, Note H. 

2 See the comic tale of The Boy and the Mantle, in the third 
Tolume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton 
or Norman original of which Ariosto is supposed to have taken 
his Tale of the Enchanted Cup. 

' •* The preparations for the combat, and the descriptions of 



The second Tristrem bold. 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Wlio won the cup of gold," 
What time, of all King Arthur's crew 

(Thereof came jeer and laugh). 
He, as the mate of lady true. 

Alone the cup could quaSl 
Tliough envy's tongue would fain sm-mi/ie, 

That, but for very shame. 
Sir Carodac, to fight that prize, 

Had given both cup and dame ; 
Yet, since but one of that fair com"t 

Was true to wedlock's shrine. 
Brand him who will with base report, — 

He shall be iiee from mine. 

XIX. 

"Xow caracoled the steeds in air. 
Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair- 
As all around the hsts so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 
King Arthur saw, with startled eye. 
The flower of chivalry march by. 
The biJwark of the Christian creed. 
The kingdom's shield in liour of need. 
Too late he thought him of the woe 
Miglit from their civU conflict flow ;' 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue. 
And Gyneth then apart he drew; 
To her liis leading-staff resign'd. 
But added caution grave and kind. 

XX. 

" ' Tliou see'st, my child, as promise-bound, 

I bid the trump for tourney sound. 

Take thou my warder, as the queen 

And umpue of tlie martial scene ; 

But mark thou this : — as Beauty bright 

Is polar star to vahant knight. 

As at her word liis sword lie draws. 

His fairest guerdon lier applause. 

So gentle maid should never ask 

Of knightliood vain and dangerous task ; 

And Beauty's eyes should ever be 

Like the twin stars that soothe the sea. 

And Beauty's breath siiall whisper peace, 

And bid tlie storm of b.attle cease. 

I teU thee this, lest all too far, 

Tliese knights urge tourney into war. 

Blithe at the trumpet let them go, 

its pomp and circnmstance, .ire conceived in the best manner 
of the author's original, seizing the prominent parts of the 
picture, and detailing them with the onited beauty of Mr. 
Scott's vigor of language, and the march and richness of *he 
late Thomas Warton's versification." — Quarterly Jicricir, 
1813. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



393 



And fairly counter blow for Wow ; — 

No strij.)liri;^s these, who succor need 
Frtr a razt'd helm or falling steed. 
Rut. Gyncth, when the strife grows warm, 
And threatens death or deadly harm, 
Tliy aire entreats, thy king commands, 
Thou drop the warder frtun thy hands. 
Trust thou thy father with thy fate. 
Doubt not lie choose thee fitting mate ; 
Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride 
A rose of Arthur's chaplet died.* 

XXI. 

" A ]iroud and discontented glow 
O'ershadow'd Gyneth's brow of snow ; 

She put the warder by : — 
' Reserve thy boon, my hege,' she said, 
' Thus cliart'er'd down and limited. 
Debased and narrow'd, for a maid 

Of less degree than I. 
No petty chief, but holds his heir 
At a more honor'd price and rare 

Than Britain's King holds me ! 
Although the sim-bui'n'd maid, for dower. 
Has but her father's rugged tower, 

His barren lull and lee. — • 
King Artluu- swore, " By crown and sword, 
As belted knight and Britain's lord. 
That a whole summer's day should strive 
ilis knights, the bravest knights alive !" 
Recall thine oath ! and to her glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
Not on thy daughter will the stain 
That soils thy sword and crown, remain. 
But think not she wUl e'er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried ; 
Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
For clashing sword or splinter'd spear, 

Nor shrink though blood should flow ; 
And all too well sad Guendoleu 
Hath taught the faithlessness of men. 
That child of hers .should pity, when 

Their meed they undergo.' — 

XXII. 
" He frowu'd and sigh'd, the Monarch bold :- 
' I give — what I may not witlihold ; 
For, not f >r danger, dread, or deatli. 
Must British Arthur break his faitk 
Too late I mark, thy mother's art 
Hath taught thee this relentless part. 
I blame her not, for she had wrong. 
But not to these my faults belong. 
Use, then, the warder a-s thou wilt ; 
But trust me, that if life be spilt,' 
In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace, 
Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place.' 



1 MS.- 



■"if blood be epitt." 



With that he turn'd his head a.side. 
Nor brook'd to gaze upon her pride. 
As, with the truncheon raised, she 8at« 
The arbitress of mortal fate ; 
Nor brook'd to mark, in ranks disposed, 
How the bold champions stood opposed. 
For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 
Upon his ear like passing bell !^ 
Then first from sight of martial fray 
Did Britiun's hero turn away. 

XXIII. 

" But Gyneth heard the clangor high. 
As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
Oh, blame her not ! the blood was hers, 
That at the trumpet's summons stirs ! — 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 

A while untroubled view ; 
So well accomphsh'd was each knight. 
To strike and to defend in fight. 
Their meetmg w.as a goodly sight. 

While plate and mail held true. 
The lists with planted plumes were strewn, 
Upon the wind at random thrown. 
But helm .ind breastplate bloodless shone. 
It seem'd their feather'd crests alone 

Should this encounter rue. 
And ever, as the combat grows, 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose, 
Like lark's shrill song the flourish flows, 
Heard while the gale of AprU blows 

The merry greenwood tlu'ough. 

XXIV. 
" But soon too earnest grew their game. 
The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame, 
And, horse and man, to ground there came 

Knightif, who shall rise no more ! 
Gone was the pride the war that graced. 
Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced. 
And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced. 

And pennons stream'd with gore. 
Gone, too, were fence and fiiir array. 
And desperate strength made deadly way 
At random through the bloody fray. 
And blows were dealt with headlong sway, 

Unheeding where they fell ; 
And now the trumpet's clamors seem 
Like the sluill sea-bird's wailing scream. 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing streatn. 

The sinking seaman's knell ! 

XXV. 

" Seem'd in this dismal hour, that Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate, 

And spare dark Mordred's crime ; 



2 M8.- 



' dying knell." 



394 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n. 



Already gasping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Round, 

Of chivahy the prime.' 
Arthur, in anguish, tore away 
From head and beard his tresses gray, 
And she, proud Gynetli, felt dismay. 

And quaked with ruth and fear ; 
But still she deem'd her mother's shade 
[lung o'er the tumult, and forbade 
The sign that had the slaughter staid, 

And chid the rising tear. 
Then Bruuor, Taulas, Mador, feU, 
Helias the White, and Lionel, 

And many a champion more ; 
Rochemont and Dinadam are down, 
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 

Lies gasping in his gore. 
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt press'd 
Even to the confines of the hst, 
Toung V.inoc of the beardless face 
(Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race), 
O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool bled. 
His heart's blood dyed her sandals red. 
But then the sky was overcast, 
Then howl'd at once a whirlwind's blast, 

And, rent by sudden throes, 
Yawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth. 
And from the gulf, — tremendous birth ! — 
The form of Merlin rose. 

XXVI. 

" sternly the "ff i;iard Prophet eyed 
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed, 

And sternly raised his hand : — 
' Madmen,' he said, ' yom* strife forbear ! 
And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 
The doom thy fates demand ! 

Long shall close in stony sleep 

Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; 

Iron lethargy shall seal 

Heart that pity scorn'd to feel. 

Tet, because thy mother's art 

Warp'd tliine unsuspicious heart, 

And for love of Arthur's race. 

Punishment is blent Avith grace. 

Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 

In the Valley of Saint John, 

And this weird" shall overtake thee ; 

Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee, 

1 "The difficult subject of a tonrnament. in which several 
knights engage at once, is admirably treated by the novelist in 
Ivanhoe, and by his rival in The Bridal of Triermain, and the 
leading thooght in both descriptions is the sodden and tragic 
change from a scene of pomp, gayety, and youthful pride, to 
one of misery, confusion, and death." — .^dolphus, p. 245. 

"The tide of battle seemed to flow now toward the south- 
ern, now toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one 
or the other party prevailed. Meantime, the clang of the blows, 
and the shoots of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the 



For feats of arras as far renown'd 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
Long endinance of thy slumber 
Well may teach the world to number 
All their woes from Gyneth's pride. 
When the Red Cross champions died.' 

XXVII 

" As MerUn speaks, on Gyneth's eye 
Slumber's load begins to he ; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light ahve. 
Twice, with effort and with pause, 
O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 
Twice her strength in vain she tries, 
From the fatal chair to rise ; 
Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 
Vanoc's death must now be wroken. 
Slow the dark-fringed eyehds fall, 
Curtaining each azure ball. 
Slowly as on summer eves 
Violets fold their dusky leaves. 
The weighty baton of command 
Now bears down her sinking hand, 
On her shoulder droops her head ; 
Net of pearl and golden thread. 
Bursting, gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And so lovely seem'd she there, 
Spell-bound in her ivory chair. 
That her angry she, repenting. 
Craved stern Merlin for relenting, 
And the champions, for her sake, 
Would agam the contest wake ; 
Till, in necromantic night, 
Gyneth vanish'd from their sight. 

XXVIIL 
" Still she bears her weird alone. 
In the Valley of Saint John ; 
And her semblance oft will seem, 
Mmghng in a champion's dream. 
Of her weary lot to 'plain. 
And crave his aid to burst her chain. 
While her wondrous tale was new, 
Warriors to her rescue drew. 
East and west, and south and north. 
From the Liffy, Thames, and Forth. 
Most have sought in vain the glen, 

sound of the trnmpets, and drowned the groans of tho^e who 
fell, and lay rolling defenceless lienealh the feet of the horses. 
The splendid armor of the combatants was now defaced with 
dost and blood, and gave way at every stroke of the sword 
and battle-a-xe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests, 
drifted upon the breeze like snow-flakes. All that was bean- 
tifnl and graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and 
what was now visible was only calculated to awake terror or 
compassion." — Icanftoc — Jf'avcrlcy JiJ'oveiSj vol. xvi. p. 187 
■^ Doom. 



CANTO II. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



395 



Tower nor castle could they ken ; 


Damnuig whate'er of vast and fair 


Not at every time or tide, 


Exceeds a canvas three feet square. 


Nor by every eye, descried. 


Tliis thicket, for their gumption fit, 


Fast and vigil raust be borne, 


May furnish such a happy bit. 


Many a night in watching worn. 


Bards, too, are hers, wont to recite 


Ere an eye of mortal powers 


Their own sweet lays by waxen light. 


Can discern those magic towers. 


Half in the salver's tingle drown'd. 


Of the persevering few. 


While the chassc-cafe glides around;' 


Some from hopeless task withdrew, 


And such may hither secret stray. 


When they read the cUsmal threat 


To labor an extempore : 


Graved upon the gloomy gate. 


Or sportsman, with his boisterous hollo, 


Few have braved the yawning door, 


May here his wiser spaniel follow. 


And those few return'd no more. 


Or stage-struck JuUet may presume 


In the lapse of time forgot. 


To choose this bower for tiring-room ; 


■WeUuigh lost is Gyneth's lot ; 


And we alike must shun regard. 


Sound her sleep as in the tomb, 


From painter, player, sportsman, bard. 


Till waken'd by the trump of doom." 


Insects that skim in Fashion's sky. 




Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us. 


END OF LTULPH's TALE. 




For all can hum and all can buzz. 


Here pause, my tale ; for aU too soon, 


in. 

But oh, my Lucy, say how long 


My Lucy, comes the hour of noon. 


We still must dread this trifling throng. 


Already from thy lofty dome 


And stoop to hide, with coward art. 


Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam, 


The genume feelings of the heart ! 


And each, to kill the goodly day 


No parents thine, whose just command 


Tliat God has granted them, liis way 


Should rule their child's obedient hand ; 


Of lazy sauntermg has sought ; 


Tliy guardians, with contending voice. 


Lordlings and witlings not a few. 


Press each liis individual choice. 


Incapable of doing aught. 


And which is Lucy's ? — Can it be 


Yet ill at ease with naught to do. 


That puny fop, trimm'd cap-a-pee. 


Here is no longer place for me : 


Who loves in the saloon to show 


For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to see 


Tlie arms that never knew a foe ; 


Some phantom, fashionably tliin. 


Whose sabre trails along the ground. 


With limb of lath and kerchief'd chin. 


Whose legs m si apeless boots are drown'd ; 


And lounging gape, or sneering grin. 


A new AcliUles, sm-e, — the steel 


Steal sudden on our privacy. 


Fled from his breast to fence his heel ; 


And how should I, so humbly born. 


One, for the simple manly grace 


Endure the graceful spectre's scorn ? 


That wont to deck our martial race, 


F.oith ! iU, I fear, wliile conjuring wand 


Who comes in foreign trashery 


Of English oak is hard at hand. 


Of tinkling chain and spur. 




A walking haberdashery. 


n. 


Of feathers, lace, and fur : 


Or grant the hour be all too soon 


In Rowley's antiqu.ated phrase. 


For Hessian boot and pantaloon, 


Horse-milliner' of modern days ? 


And grant the lounger seldom strays 




Beyond the smooth and graveU'd maze, 


IV 


Laud we the gods, that Fashion's train 


Or is it he, the wordy youth. 


Holds hearts of more adventurous strain. 


So early train'd for statesman's part, 


Artists are hers, who scorn to trace 


Who talks of honor, faith, and truth, 


Their rules from Nature's boundless grace, 


As themes that he has got by heart ; 


But their right paramount assert 


Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach. 


To limit her by pedant art, 


Whose logic is from Single-speech ;' 


1 *' The trammels of the palfraye pleased his sight, 


a See " Parliamentary Logic, &c., by the Right Honorabl# 


And tlie fiorsc-mitlancrc his head with roses dight." 


William Gerard Hamilton" (1808), commonly called " Sia. 


Rowley's Ballads of Charitie. 


gle-Speech Hamilton." 



S96 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto in. 


Wio scorns the meanest thought to vent, 


'Tis there — nay, ctaw not back thy himd !- 


Save in the pbi-ase of Parliament ; 


'Tis there this sleuder finger round 


Who, in a tale of cat and mouse. 


Must golden amulet be bound. 


Calls " order," and " divides the house,** 


Which, bless'd with many a holy prayer. 


Who " craves permission to reply," 


Can change to rapture lovers' care. 


Whose " noble friend is in liis eye ;" 


And doubt and jealousy shall die, 


Whose loving tender some have reckon'd 


And fears give place to ecsta.sy. 


A motion you should gladly second ? 






vin. 


V. 


Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long 


What, neither ? Can there be a third, 


Has been thy lover's tale and song. 


To such resistless swains preferr'd ? — 


0, why so silent, love, I pray ? 


why, my Lucy, tm-n aside. 


Have I not spoke the Hvelong day ? 


With that quick glance of injured pride ? 


And will not Lucy deign to say 


Forgive me, love, I cannot bear 


One word her friend to bless ? 


That alter'd and resentful air. 


I ask but one — a simple sound. 


Were all the wealth of Russel mine, 


Within three Uttle letters bound. 


And all the rank of Howard's line. 


0, let the word be YES ! 


AU would I give for leave to dry 




Tliat dew-drop trembhng in thine eye. 
Tliink not I fear such fops can wile 






From Lucy more tli.an careless smile ; 




But yet if wealth .and high degree 


®l)c Bribal of (Sricnimin. 


Give gilded counters currency. 




Must 1 not lear, when rank and bu"th 




Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth ? 
Nobles there are, whose martial fires 


CANTO TUmD. 




Kival the fame that raised their sires. 


INTRODUCTION. 


And p.atriots, skill'd through storms of fate 




To guide and guard the reeling state. 


I. 


Such, such there are— If such should come, 


Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won. 


Artlun must tremble and be dumb, 


My Ufe's best hope, and now muie own ! 


Self-exiled seek some di.staut shore. 


Doth not this rude and Alpme glen 


And mourn till life and grief are o'er. 


Recall our favorite haunts agen ? 




A wUd resemblance we can trace. 


VI. 


Though reft of every softer grace. 


What sight, wliat signal of .alarm. 


As the rough warrior's brow m.ay bear 


That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm ? 


A likeness to a sister fair. 


Or is it, that the rugged way 


Full well advised our Highland host. 


Makes Beauty lean on lover's stay f 


That tills wild pass on foot be cross'd. 


Oh, no ! for on the v,ale and brake, 


While round Ben-Cruach's mighty base 


Nor sight nor somids of danger wake, 


Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise. 


And tills trim sward of velvet green. 


The keen old carl, with Scottish pride. 


Were carpet fur the Fairy Queen. 


He praised liis glen .and mountains wide : 


Tliat pressure slight was but to tell. 


An eye he bears for nature's face, 


Tliat Lucy loves her Arthur well. 


Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. 


And fain would banish from his mind 


Even in such mean degree we find 


Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 


The subtle Scot's observing mind ; 




For, nor the chariot nor the train 


VII. 


Could gape of vulgar wonder gain, 


But wouldst thou bid the demons fly 


But when old Allan would expoimd 


Like mist before the dawnuig sky 


Of Beal-na-paish' the Celtic sound, 


There is but one resistless spell — 


His bonnet doff'd, and bow, appUed 


Say, wilt thou guess, or must I tell ? 


His legend to my bonny bride ; 


'Twere hard to name, in minstrel phrase. 


While Lucy blush'd beneath liis eye. 


A landaulet and four blood-bays, 


Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. 


But bards agree tliis wizard band 




Can but be bound in Northern land. 


1 Beal-na-paish, the Vale of tlie BridaL 



CANTO III. THE BRIDAL 


OF TRIERMAIN. 397 


II. 


When twice yoii pray'd I would again 


Enough of him.. — Now, ere we lose, 


Restune the legendary strain 


Plunged in the vale, tlie tiistant views, 


Of the bold Knight of Tricrmain i 


Turn thee, my love ! look back once more 


At length yon peevish vow you 


To the blue lake's retiring .^hore. 


swore. 


On its smooth breast the shadows seem 


That you would sue to me no more,' 


Like objects m a morning dream. 


Until the mhistrel fit drew near, 


What time the sluniberer is aware 


And made me prize a hstening ear. 


He sleeps, and all tlie vision's air : 


But, loveMest, when thou fii'st didst 


Even so, on yonder li(iuid lawn. 


pray 


In hues of briglit reflection ihawn, 


Continuance of the knightly lay, 


Distinct the shaggy mountains lie. 


Was it not on the happy day 


Distmct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 


That made thy hand mine own ? 


The summer-clouds so plain we note, 


When, dizzied with mine ecstasy. 


That we might count each dappled spot : 


Naught past, or present, or to be. 


We gaze and we admire, yet know 


Could I or tliink on, hear, or see. 


The scene is all delusive show. 


Save, Lucy, thee alone ! 


Such dreams of bliss' would Arthur draw. 


A giddy draught my rapture was, 


When first his Lucy's form he saw ; 


As ever chemist's magic gas. 


Yet sigh'd and sickeu'd as he drew, 




Despau-uig they could e'er prove true ! 


V. 




Agam the summons I denied 


Ill 


In yon fair capital of Clyde : 


But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view 


My Harp — or let me rather choose 


Up the fair glen, our destined way : 


The good old classic form — my Muse, 


Tlie fairy patli that we pursue, 


(For Harp's an over-scutched phrase 


Distinguisb'd but by greener hue, 


Worn out by bards of modern days). 


Wmds round the purple brae, 


My Muse, then — seldom will she wakj, 


While Alpme tlowers of varied dye 


Save by dim wood and sUent lake ; 


For carpets serve, or tape.stry. 


She is the wild and rustic Maid, 


See how the little runnels leap. 


Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread 


In tltfeads of silver, down the steep, 


Where the soft greensward is inlaid 


To swell the brooklet's moan I 


With varied moss and thyme ; 


Seems that the Higliland Naiad grieves. 


And, lest the simple lily-braid. 


Fantastic while her crown she weaves. 


That coronets her temples, fade, 


Of rowan, biixh, and alder leaves, 


She hides her still in greenwood shade, 


So lovely, and- so lone. 


To meditate her rhyme. 


There's no illusion tliere ; these flowers. 


, 


That wailing brook, these lovely bowers. 


VL 


Are, Lucy, all cm- own ; 


And now she comes ! The murmur 


And, smce thine Arthur call'd thee wife. 


dear 


Such seems the prospect of liis Ufe, 


Of the wild brook hath caught her car, 


A lovely path, on-wincUng still, 


The glade hath won her eye ; 


By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 


She longs to join with each bUthe rill 


'Tis true, that mortals cannot tell 


That dances down the Highland hill. 


What waits them in the distant deU ; 


Her bhther melody.' 


But be it hnp, or be it harm. 


And now my Lucy's way to cheer, 


We tread the pathway arm in arm. 


She bids Ben-Cruacl\'s echoes hear 




How closed the tale, my love whilere 


rv. 


Loved for its chivaby. 


And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why 


List how she tells, in notes of flame. 


I could thy bidding twice deny, 


" Child Roland to the dark tower came 1"* 


1 MS.—" Scenes of bliss." 


3 MS. — " Her wild-wood melody.'* 


^ MS. — " Until yon peevish oath you swore. 




That yOQ would sue for it no more." 


* The MS. has not this couplet. 



398 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO in, 



(ill)e I3viDal of (Iricrmam. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Bewcastle no'w must keep the Hold, 

Speii--Adam's steeds must bide in stall, 
Of Hartley-bum the bowmen bold 

Must only shoot from buttled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spin', 

And Teviot now may belt the brand, 
TiU'as and Ewes keep nightly stir. 

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of wasted fields and plunder'd flocks 

The Borderers bootless may complain ; 
They lack the sword of brave de Vaux, 

There comes no aid from Triermain. 
Tliat lord, on high adventure bound, 

Hath wander'd forth alone, 
And day and night keeps watchful roimd 

In the valley of Saint Jolm, 

II. 

When first began his vigil bold, 

The moon twelve summer nights was old, 

And shone both fan- and full ; 
High in the vault of cloudless blue. 
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she tirrew 

Her hght composed and cool. 
Stretch'd on the brown lull's heathy breast, 

Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
Chief where, distinguish'd from the rest, 
Those clustering rocks uprear'd their crest, 
The dwelling of the fiur distress'd. 

As told gray Lyulph's tale. 
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivering on liis armor bright. 

In beams that rose and fell, 
And danced upon his buckler's boss, 
Tliat lay beside him on the moss. 

As on a crystal well. 

III. 

Ever he watch'd, and oft he deem'd. 

While on the mound the moonlight stream' d, 

It alter'd to his eyes ; 
Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change 
To buttress'd walls their shapele-ss range. 
Fain tliink, by transmutation strange. 

He saw gray tm-rets rise. 
But scarce his heart, with hope tlurob'd high. 
Before the wild illusions fly, 

Wliich fancy had conceived. 
Abetted by an anxious eye 

That long'd to be deceived. 
It was a fond deception all. 



Such as, in solitary haU, 

Beguiles the musing eye. 
When, gazing on the sinking fire. 
Bulwark, and battlement, and spire, 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night. 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright. 
Or by the da-wn of mornmg light, 

Or evening's western flame. 
In every tide, at every hour. 
In mist, in simshine, and in shower. 

The rocks remain'd the same. 

IV. 
Oft has he traced the charmed mound, 
Oft cUmb'd its crest, or paced it round, 

Yet notliing might explore, 
S.ave that the crags so rudely piled. 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet stiU his watch the Warrior keeps, 
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps, 

And drinks but of the well ; 
Ever by day he walks the hill. 
And when the evening gale is chiU, 

He seeks a rocky cell. 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead, 
And tell his Ave .and liis Creed, 
Invoking every saint at need. 

For aid to burst his speU. 

V. 
And now the moon her orb has hid. 
And dwindled to a silver thread. 

Dim seen in middle heaven, 
Wliile o'er its curve careering fast. 
Before the fury of the blast 

The midnight clouds are driven. 
Tlie brooklet raved, for on the liiUs 
The upland showers had swoln the rills, 

And down the torrents came ; 
Mutter'd the distant thunder dread. 
And frequent o'er the vale was spread 

A sheet of hghtnmg flame. 
De Vaux, within liis mountam cave 
(No human step the storm durst brave). 
To moody meditation gave 

Each faculty of soul,' 
Till, lull'd by distant ton-ent sound. 
And the sad wuids that whistled round, 
Upon liis thoughts, in musing drown' d, 

A broken slumber stole. 

VI. 

'Twas then was beard a heavy sound 

(Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, 

1 MS — " His facnllies of sool." 



CANTO III. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 309 


'Mongst desert hills, ■vrhere, leagues ai'ound, 


Came mounted on that car of fire, 


Dwelt but the f,'orcoek and the deer) : 


To do his errand dread. 


As starting from his couch of fern,^ 


Far on the sloping valley's course. 


Again he heard, in clangor stern. 


On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse. 


That deep and solemn swell, — 


Sliingle and Scrae,* and FeU and Force,* 


Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke, 


A dusky light arose : 


Like some proud minster's pealuig clock. 


Displ.ay'd, yet alter'd was the scene ; 


Or city's larum-bell. 


Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen, 


What thought was Roland's first when fell. 


Even the gay tliicket's summer green, 


In that deep wilderness, the knell 


In bloody tincture glows. 


Upon Ills startled ear- ? 




To slander warrior were I loth. 


IX. 


Yet must I hold my minstrel troth, — 


De Vaux had mark'd the aimbeams set, 


It was a thought of fear. 


At eve, upon the coronet 




Of that enchanted mound. 


VII. 


And seen but crags at random flung. 


But lively was the mingled thrill 


That, o'er the brawluig torrent hung," 


That chased that momentary chill. 


In desolation frown'd. 


For Love's keen wish was there. 


Wliat sees he by that meteor's lour? — 


And eager Hope, and Valor high. 


A banner'd Castle, keep, and tower. 


And the proud glow of Cliiralry, 


Retm-n tlie lurid gleam. 


That burn'd to do and dare. 


With battled w.alls and buttress fast, 


Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd, 


And barbican'' and ballium' vast. 


Long ere the mountain-voice'' was hush'd. 


And airy flanking towers, that cast 


That answer'd to the knell ; 


Their sliadows on the stream. 


For long and far the unwonted sound. 


'Tis no deceit ! — cUstinctly clear 


Eddying in echoes round and round. 


Crenell" and parapet appear. 


Was toss'd from feU to fell ; 


"While o'er the pile that meteor drear 


And Glaramara answer flung, 


Makes momentary pause ; 


And Grisdale-pike responsive rmig. 


Then forth its solemn path it drew. 


■And Legbert heights their echoes swung, 


And fointer yet and fainter grew 


As far as Derwent's dell.' 


Those gloomy towers upon the view, 




As its wild light withdraws. 


VIIL 




Forth upon trackless darkness gazed 


X 


The Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed. 


Forth from the cave did Roland rush. 


Till all was hush'd and still. 


O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush ; 


Save the swoln ton-ent's sullen roar. 


Yet far he had not sped,'" 


And the night-blast that wildly bore 


Ere sunk was that portentous hght 


Its course along the hill. 


Belund the hills, and utter night 


Tlien on the northern sky there came 


Was on tlio valley spread." 


A light as of reflected flame. 


He paused perforce, and blew liis horn. 


And over Legbert-head, 


And, on the mountain echoes borne," 


As if by magic art controU'd, 


Was heard tm answering sound. 


A mighty meteor slowly roll'd 


A wild and lonely trumpet-note, — 


Its orb of fiery red ; 


In middle air it seem'd to float 


Thou wouldst have thought some demon dh'e 


High o'er the battled momid ; 


MS. " his conch of rock. 


His speaking-trumpet ; — back out of the clouds 


Again npon his ear it brolie." 


Of Glaramara southward came the voice ; 


MS. " mingled soantls were hnsh'd." 


And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head." 


* " The rock, hkesometliin^ starting from a sleep, 


Wordsworth. 


Took up t)ie lady's voice, and laugh'd again ; 


< Bank of locise stones. 6 Waterfall. 


That ancient Woman seated on Helm-Crag 


6 MS. " rocks atrandom piled, 


Was ready with her cavern ; Hammar-?car, 


That on the torrent brawling wild." 


And the tall steep of Silver-Ho\t. sent forth 


' The outer defence of the castle gate. 


A noise of laughter ; sonthern Loughrigg Iieard, 


6 Fortified court. 8 Apertures for shooting arrowi 


And Fairfield answer'd witli a mountain tone ; 


"> MS. " had not gone." 


Helvellya far into the clear blue sky 


11 MS. " the valley lone." 


Carried tlio lady's voice, — old Skiddaw blew 


12 MS.—" And far upon the echoes borne." 



400 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III. 



And sounds were heard, as when a guard 
Of some proud castle, holding ward, 

Pace forth their nightly round. 
The valiant Knight of Triermain 
Rung forth his ch.ollenge-blast again, 

But answer came there none ; 
And 'mid the mingled wind and rain, 
Dai'kling he sought the vale in vain,' 

TJutil the dawning shone ; 
And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, 
Distinctly seen by meteor-Ught, 

It all had passed away ! 
And that enchanted mound once more 
A pile of granite fragments bore, 

As at the close of day. 

XI. 

Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart 
Scorn'd from his venturous quest to part. 

He walks the vale ouce more ; 
But only sees, by night or day. 
That shatter'd pUe of rocks so gray. 

Hears but the torrenfs roar. 
Tdl when, through hills of azure borne,' 
The moon renuVd her silver horn. 
Just at the tune her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day, 

A summer mist arose ; 
Adown the vale the vapors float, 
And cloudy undulations moat' 
That tufted moimd of mystic note. 

As round its base they close. 
And higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side. 
Until the airy billows hide* 

Tlie rock's maje.stic isle ; 
It seem'd a veil of fihny lawn. 
By some fantastic fairy drawn^ 

Around enchanted pile. 

XII. 

The breeze came softly down the brook,' 
And, sighing as it blew, 

I MS. " he sought the towers in vain." 

" MS. — " But wlien, tlirougli fields of azure home." 
3 MS. — " And with their eddying billows moat." 
* MS. — " Until the mist's gray bosom hide." 

'' MS. " a veil of airy lawn." 

<■ " A sharp frost wind, which made itself heard and felt 
from time to time, removed the clouds of mist wliich might 
otherwise have slumbered till morning on the valley ; and, 
tiiougli it could not totally disperse the clouds of vapor, yet 
rhrew them in confused and changeful masses, now liovering 
round the heads of the mountains, now filling, as with a dense 
and voluminous stream of smoke, the various deep gullies 
where masses of the composite rock, or brescia, tumbling in 
fragments from the cliffs, have rnshed to the valley, leaving 
eacli behind its course a rent and torn ravine, resembling a de- 
eertcd water-course. The moon, which was now high, and 
twinkled with all the vivacity of a frosty atmosphere, silvered 



The veil of silver mist it shook, 
And to De Vaux's eager look 

Renew'd that wondrous view. 
For, though the loitering vapor braved 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantle's dewy fold ; 
And still, when shook that filmy screen. 
Were towers and bastions dunly seen, 
And Gothic battlements between 

Theii- gloomy length imroll'd.' 
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye 
Once more the fleeting vision die I 

— The gallant knight 'gan speed 
As prompt and light as, when the hound 
Is opening, and the horn is wound, 

Careers the hunter's steed. 
Down the steep dell his coiu'se amain 

Hath rivall'd archer's .shaft ; 
But ere the mound he could attain. 
The rocks their shapeless form regain, 
And, mocking loud liis labor vain. 

The motmtain spirits laugh'd. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wUd unearthly shout of scorn. 

XIII. 
Wroth wax'd the Warrior. — " Am I then 
Fooled by the enemies of men, 
Like a poor liind, whose Iiomeward way 
Is haunted' by mahcious fay ? 
Is Triermain become your taunt, 
De Vaux yotu- scorn ? False fiends, avaimt !" 
A weighty curtal-axe he bare ; 
The balefid blade so bright and square. 
And the tough shaft of heben wood. 
Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 
Backward liis stately form he drew, 
And at the rocks the weapon threw. 
Just where one crag's projected crest 
Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest. 
Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock 
Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 
If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell, 

the windings of the river, and the peaks and precipices which 
the mist left visible, while her beams seemed, as it were, ab- 
sorbed by the fleecy whiteness of the mist, where it lay thick 
and condensed, and gave to the more light and vapory rpecka, 
which were elsewhere visible, a sort of filmy transparency re. 
semhling the lightest veil of silver gauze." — fi'avcrleij ^^"0- 
vds — Rob Roy — vol. viii. p. 267. 

" The praise of truth, precision, and distinctness, is not very 
frequently combined with that of extensive magnificence and 
splendid complication of imagery ; yet, how masterly, and 
often sublime, is the panoramic display, in all these works, of 
vast and diversified scenery, and of crowded and tumultuous 
action," &c. — AdotphOs, p. 163. 

" " The scenery of the valley, seen by the light of the sum- 
mer and autumnal moon, is described with an aiirial touch to 
which we cannot do justice." — Quarterly Review. 

8 MS. — " Is wilder'd." 



CANTO HI. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 401 


Or if the blow dissolved some spell, 


Tliis cnciuring fabric plann'd ; 


But down the headlong ruin came, 


Sign and sigil, word of power. 


With cloud of dust, and flash of flame. 


From the earth raised keep and tower. 


Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, 


View it o'er, and pace it round, 


Crusli'd lay the copse, the earth was torn. 


Rampart, turret, battled mound. 


Till staid at length, the ruin djead 


Dare no more ! To cross the gate 


Cuiuber'd the torrent's rocky bed. 


Were to tamper with thy fate ; 


And bade the waters' high-swoln tide 


Strength and fortitude were vain. 


Seek other passage for its pride. 


View it o'er — and turn again." — 


XIV. 


XVII. 


When ceased that thunder, Triermain 


" Tliat would I," said the Warrior bold. 


Survey 'd the mound's rude front again ; 


" If that my frame wore bent and old. 


And, lo 1 the ruin had laid bare, 


And my tliin blood dropp'd slow and cold 


Hewn in the stone, a winding stair. 


As icicle in thaw ; 


Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lend 


But wliile my heart can feel it dance, 


The meiUis the summit to ascend ; 


BUthe as the sparkling wine of Fnmce, 


And by whose aid the brave De Vaux 


And this good arm wields sword or lance. 


Beg;m to scale these magic rocks. 


I mock these words of awe I" 


And soon a platform won. 


He said ; the wicket felt the sway 


■Wliere, the wUd witchery to close, 


Of his strong hand, and str.aight gave way, 


Witliin tlu-ee lances' length arose 


And, with rude crash and jarring bray, 


The Castle of Saint John 1 


The rusty bolts withdraw ; 


Xo misty pliantom of the air. 


But o'er the threshold as he strode. 


No meteor-blazon'd show was there; 


And forward took the vaulted road. 


In morning splendor, full and fair, 


An unseen arm, with force amain, 


The massive fortress shone. 


The ponderous gate flung close again. 




And rusted bolt and bar 


XV. 


Spontaneous took their place once more, ' 


Embattled high and proudly tower'd. 


While the deep arch with sullen roar 


Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lower'd 


Return'd their surly jar. 


The portal's gloomy way. 


"Now closed is the gin and the prey within 


Though for six hundi'ed years and more. 


By the Rood of Lanercost ! 


Its strength had brook'd tlie tempest's roar. 


But he that would wm the war-wolf's skin, 


The scutcheon'd emblems which it bore 


May rue hkn of his boast." 


Had suffer'd no decay : 


Thus muttering, on the Wamor went. 


But from the eastern battlement 


By dubious light down steep descent. 


A turret had made sheer descent, 




And, down m recent ruin rent. 


XVIII. 


In the mid torrent lay. 


Unbarr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a port 


Else, o'er the Castle's brow subUme, 


Led to the Castle's outer court : 


Insults of violence or of time 


Tliere the main fortress, broad and tall, 


Unfelt had pass'd away. 


Spread its long range of bower and hall. 


In shapeless characters of yore. 


And towers of varied size, 


The gate this stern inscription bore : — 


Wrought with each ornament extreme. 




That Gothic art, in wildest dream 


XVI. 


Of lancy, could devise ; 


Knsctf;)tfan. 


But full between the Wan-ior's way 


" Patience waits the destined day, 


And the main portal arch, there lay 


Strength can clear the cumber'd way. 


An inner moat ; 


Warrior, who hast waited long, 


Nor bridge nor boat 


firm of soul, of smew strong. 


Aflfords De Vaux the means to cross 


It is given to thee to gaze 


The clear, profound, and sUent fosse. 


On the pile of ancient days. 


His arms aside in haste he flings. 


Never mortal buUder's hand ' 


Cuira-ss of steel and hauberk rings. 




And down falls helm, and down the shield. 


* MS. — " And bade itg waters, in their pride. 


Rough with the dints of many a field. 


Seek other current for their tide." 


Fair was his manly form, and fair 



402 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto hi, 


Hia keen dark eye, and close curl'd hair, 


For the leash tliat boimd these monsters 


Wten, all unarm'd, save that the brand 


dread 


Of well-proved metal graced Ms liand, 


Was but of gossamer. 


With naught to fence liis dauntless breast 


Each Maiden's short barbaric vest' 


But the close gipon's' under-vest, 


Left all tmclosed the knee and breast, 


Wli.Ke sullied buff the sable stains 


And limbs of shapely jet ; 


Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 


White was their vest and turban's fold, 


Rohmd De Vaux upon the brim 


On arms and ankles rings of gold 


Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim. 


In savage pomp were set ; 




A quiver on their shoulders lay. 


XIX. 


And in their liand an assagay." 


Accoutred thus he dared the tide, 


Such and so silent stood they there, 


And soon he reach'd the fartlier side, 


That Roland wellnigh hoped 


And enter'd soon the Hold, 


He saw a band of statues rare, 


And paced a hall, whose walls so wide 


Statiou'd the gazer's soul to scare ; 


Were blazon'd all with feats of pride. 


But, when the wicket oped. 


^ By warriors done of old. 


Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw, 


In middle lists they counter'd here, 


Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw. 


WhUe trimipets seem'd to blow ; 


Scented the air, and hck'd liis jaw ; 


And there, in den or desert di'ear, 


While these weird Maids, in Moorish tongue, 


Tliey quell'd gigantic foe.^ 


A wild and dismal warning sung. 


Braved the fierce griffon m his ire, 




Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 


XXL 


Strange in their arms, and strange in face, 


" Rash Adventurer, bear thee back ! 


Heroes they seem'd of ancient race. 


Dread the spell of Dahomay ! 


Whose deeds of ai-ms, and race, and name, 


Fear the race of Zaltarak,' 


Forgotten long by later fame, 


Daughters of the burning day ! 


Were here depicted, to appal' 




Those of an age degenerate. 


" When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling. 


Whose bold intrusion braved their fate 


Ours it is the dance to braid ; 


In this enchanted hall. 


Z.ar.ali's sands in pillars reeling, 


For some short space the venturous Knight 


Join the measm"e that we tread. 


AVith these high ra.arvels fed his sight, 


When the Moon has donn'd her cloak. 


Then sought the chamber's upper end. 


And the stars are red to see, 


Where three broad easy steps ascend 


Slu'iU when pipes tlie sad SU'oc-, 


To an arch'd portal door, 


Music meet for such as we. 


In whose broad folding leaves of state 




Was framed a wicket window-grate. 


" Where the shatter'd columns lie. 


And, ere he ventured more, 


Showing Carthage once had been. 


The gallant Knight took earnest view 


If the wandering Santou's eye 


The grated wicket-window through. 


Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 




Oft he cons the prayer of death. 


XX. 


To the nations preaches doom. 


0, for his arms ! Of martial weed 


' Azrael's brand hath left the sheath ! 


Had never mortal Knight such need ! — 


Moslems, think upon the tomb !' 


He spied a stately gallery ; idl 




Of snow-white marble was the wall. 


" Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, 


The vaulting, and the floor ; 


Ours the hydra of the fen. 


And, contrast strange ! on either hand 


Ours the tiger of the brake, 


There stood arr.ay'd in sable band 


AH that plagues the sons of men. 


Four Maids whom Afric bore ;'' 


Ours the tempest's mitkught wrack. 


And each a Lybian tiger led, 


Pestilence that wastes by d.ay — 


Held by as bright and frail a thread 


Dread the race of Zaharak ! 


As Lucy's golden hair, — 


Fear the spell of D.ahomay 1' 


1 A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armor. 


The blackest Afrjqoe bore." 


s MS.— "They counter' il giant foe." 


6 MS. — " Each Maiden's short and savage vest." 


8 MS.—" Portray'd by limner to appal." 


B The MS. has not this couplet. 


* MS.—" Four Maidens stood in sable band 


" Zaharak or Zaharab is the .\rab name of the Gl«at Des«i* 



CANTO in. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



403 



xxir. 

Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 

Rung those vaulted roofs among, 
Long it was ere, foint and still. 

Died tlie far-resounding song. 
Wliile yet the distiuit echoes roll. 
The Warrior communed with liis soul. 

■' "When first I took this venturous quest, 
I swore upon the rood, 

Neither to stop, nor tui'n, nor rest. 
For evil or for good. 
My foiTviird path too well I ween. 
Lies yonder fearful ranks between ! 
For man unarm'd, 'tis bootless hope 
With tigers and with fiends to cope — 
Yet, if I turn, what waits me there. 
Save famine dire and fell despair ? — 
Other conclusion let me try. 
Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. 
Forwai'd, Uos faith and kniglitly fame ; 
Behind, are perjury and shame. 
In life or death I hold my word I" 
With that he drew his trusty sword. 
Caught down a bamier ii-om the wall. 
And enterd thus the fearful hall. 

XXIII. 

On high each wayward Maiden threw 

Her swartliy arm, witli wdd halloo ! 

On either side a tiger sprung — 

Against the leftward foe he flung 

The ready banner, to engage 

With tangUng folds the brutal rage ; 

The right-hand monster in mid-air 

He struck so fiercely and so fair. 

Through gullet and through spinal bone 

The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. 

His grisly brethren ramp'd and yeU'd, 

But the sUght leash their rage withheld, 

"WTiilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous road 

Firmly, though swift, the champion strode. 

Safe to the gallery's bound he drew. 

Safe pass'd an open portal through ; 

And when against pursuit he flung 

The gate, judge if the echoes rung ! 

Onward his daring course he bore, 

\Vliile, mix'd with dying growl and roar, 

Wild jubilee and loud hun-a 

Pursued him on his venturous way. 

XXIV. 
" Hurra, hurra ! Our watch is done ! 
We hail once more the tropic sun. 
PalUd be.ams of northern day. 
Farewell, farewell ! Hurra, hurra ! 

MS. — "That flasliM with such h golden flame." 



" Five hundred years o'er this cold glen 
Hath the pale sun come round agcn ; 
Foot of man, till now, hath ne'er 
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 

" Warrior I thou, whose daimtless heart 
Gives us from oiu' ward to pm"t, 
Be as strong in future tri;il. 
Where resistance is denial 

" Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
Zwenga wide and Atlas liigh, 
Zaharak and Dahomay ! 



Mount the winds 1 Hurra, huiTa 1" 

XXV. 

The wizard song at distance died, 

As if in ether borne astray, 
While through waste halls and chambers 
wide 

The Knight pursued his steady way, 
TUl to a lofty dome he came. 
That flash'd with such a brilliant flame,' 
As if the wealth of all the world 
Were there in rich confusion hurl'd. 
For here the gold, in sandy heaps, 
With duller earth, incorporate, sleeps ; 
Was there in ingots piled, and there 
Coin'd badge of empery it bare ; 
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, 
Dimm'd by the diamond's neighboring ray, 
Like the pale moon in morning day ; 
And in the midst fom' Maidens stand, 
The daughters of some distant land. 
Their hue was of the dark-red dye. 
That fringes oft a thimder sky ; 
Their hands palmetto baskets bare. 
And cotton fillets bound theii" hair ; 
Slim was their form, their mien was shy, 
To earth they bent the Immbled eye. 
Folded their arms, and suppUant kneel'd, 
And thus their proffer'd gifts reveal'd.' 

XXVL 

CHOEtrS. 

" See the treasures Merlin piled. 
Portion meet for Arthur's child. 
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream. 
Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream 1" 

FIEST MAIDEN. 

" See these clots of virgin gold ! 
Sever'd from the sparry mould, 
Natin-e's mystic alchemy 
In the mine thus bade them lie ; 

2 MS. — " And, Bnppliant as on earth they kneel'd. 
The gifts they protfer'd thus reveal'd." 



404 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And their orient smile can -win 


And soon he reach'd a com-t-yard square, 


Kings to stoop, and saints to sin." — 


■Where, dancing in the sultry air, 




Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fair 


SECOND MAIDEN. 


Was sparkling in the sun. 


" See, these pearls, that long have slept ; 


On right and left, a fau- arcade. 


These were tears by Naiads wept 


In long perspective view display'd 


For the loss of Marinel. 


Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade : 


Tritons in the silver shell 


But, full in front, a door, 


Treasured them, till hard and white 


Low-brow'd and dark, seem'd as it led 


As the teeth of Amphitrite." — 


To the lone dwelling of the dead. 




Whose memory was no more. 


THIRD M.UDEN. 




" Does a liveher hue delight ? 


XXIX. 


Here are rubies blazing bright. 


Here stopp'd De Vaux an instant's space, 


Here the emerald's fairy gi-eeu. 


To bathe his parched lips and face. 


And the topaz glows between ; 


And mark'd with well-pleased eye. 


Here their vai-ied hues unite. 


Refracted on the fountain stream. 


In the changeful chrysolite." — 


In rambow hues the dazzling beam 




Of that gay sununer sky. 


FOURTH MAIDEN. 


His senses felt a mild control. 


" Leave these gems of poorer shine, 


Like that which lulls the weary soul. 


Leave them all, and look on mine ! 


From contemplation high 


While their glories I expand. 


Rolaxmg, when the e.tr receives 


Shade thine eyebrows with thy liand. 


The music th.it the greenwood leaves 


Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze 


Make to the breezes' sigli. 


Blind the rash beholder's gaze." — 






XXX. 


CHORUS. 


And oft in such a dreamy mood. 


" Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 


The half-shut eye can frame 


Would 'twere all our mountains bore I 


Fair app.aritinns in tlie wood. 


We should ne'er in future story. 


As if the nymphs of field and flood 


Read, Peru, thy perish'd glory !" 


In gay procession came. 




Are these of such fantastic mould. 


SXVIL 


Seen distant down the fair arcade, 


Calmly and unconcern'd, the Knight 


These Maids enUnk'd in sister-fold. 


Waved aside the treasures bright : — 


Who, late at bashful distance staid. 


" Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray ! 


Now tripping from the greenwood shade. 


Bar not thus my destmed way. 


Nearer the musing champion draw, 


Let these boasted brilliant toys 


And, in a pause of seeming awe. 


Braid the hair of girls and boys !' 


Again stand doubtful now ? — 


Bid your streams of gold exp.ind 


Ah, that sly pause of witching powers ! 


O'er proud London's thirsty laud. 


That seems to say, " To please be ours, 


De Vans of wealth saw never need. 


Be yours to tell us how." 


Save to purvey him arms and steed, 


Tlieir hue was of the golden glow 


And all the ore he deign'd to hoard 


Tlmt suns of Candahar bestow, 


Inl.iys his helm, and hilts liis sword." 


O'er wliich in slight suffusion flows 


Tims gently pai-ting from then- hold. 


A frequent tinge of paly ro.se ; 


He left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 


Theii- limbs were fashion'd fair and free. 




In nature's justest symmetry ; 


xxvia 


And, wreathed with flowers, with odors graced 


And now the morning sun was high, 


Tlieir raven rmglets reach'd the waist : 


De Vaux was weary, famt, and dry ; 


In eastern pomp, its gilding pale 


When, lo I a plasliing sound he hears, 


The hennah lent each shapely nail, 


A gladsome signal that he nears 


And the dark sumah gave the eye 


Some frohc water-run ; 


More hquid and more lustrous dye. 




The spotless veil of misty lawn. 


* MS — " Let those boasted gems and pearia 


In studied disarrangement, drawn 


Braid the hair of toy-caught girls." 


The form and bosom o'er. 



CANTO III. 



THE BRIDAL OF TllIERMAIN. 



405 



To win the eye, or tempt the touch, 

For modesty show'd all too much — 

Too much — yet promised more. 

XXXI. 

" flentle Kni<;ht, a while delay," 

Thus they sung, " thy toilsome way, 

While we pay the duty due 

To our Master and to you. 

Over Avai'ice, over Fear, 

Love triumphant led thee here ; 

Warrior, list to us, for we 

xVre slaves to Love, are friends to thee. 

Though no treasured gems have we, 

To proffer on the bended knee, 

Though we boast nor arm nor heart, 

For the assagay or dart, 

Swiiins allow each simple girl 

Ruby hp and teeth of pearl ; 

Or, if dangers more you prize, 

Flatterers find them in our eyes. 

" Stay, then, gentle "Warrior, stay. 
Rest till evening steal on day ; 
Stay, stay ! — in yonder bowers 
We will braid thy locks with flowers. 
Spread the feast and fill the wine, 
Charm thy ear with sounds divine. 
Weave our dances till deUght 
Yield to languor, day to night. 
Then shall she you most approve, 
Sing the lays that best you love, 
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread. 
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head. 
Tin the weary night be o'er — 
Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more ? 
Wouldst thou more, fiiir Warrior, — she 
Is slave to Love and slave to thee." 

xxxn. 

O do not hold it for a crime 
In the bold hero of my rhyme. 

For Stoic look. 

And meet rebuke. 
He lack'd the heart or time ; 
As round the band of sirens trip. 
He kiss'd one damsel's laughing lip,' 
And press'd another's proftered hand, 
Spoke to them all in accents bland. 
But broke their magic circle through ; 
" Kind Maids," he said, " adieu, adieu ! 
My fate, my fortune, forward hes." 
He said, and vanish'd from their eyes ; 
But, as he dared that darksome way, 
Still heard behind their lovely lay : — 

1 MS. — " As round tlie band of sirens press'd, 
One damsel's laughing lip he kiss'd.* 



" Fidr Flower of Courtesy, depart 1 
Go, where the feeUngs of the he.art 
With the warm pulse m concord move ; 
Go, where Virtue sanctions Love 1" 

xxxin. 

Downward De Vaux through darksome ways 

And ruined vaults has gone. 
Till issue from their wilder'd maze. 

Or safe retreat, seem'd none, — 
And e'en the dismal path he strays 

Grew worse as he went on. 
For cheerful sun, for living air. 
Foul vapors rise and mine-fires glare. 
Whose fearful light the dangers show'd 
That dogg'd liim on that dreadful road. 
Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun. 
They show'd, but show'd not how to shun. 
These scenes' of desolate despair. 
These smothering clouds of poison'd air. 
How gladly had De Vaux exchanged. 
Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged ! 

Nay, soothful bards have said. 
So perilous his state seem'd now, 
He wish'd liim under arbor bough 

With Asia's willing maid. 
When, joyful sound ! at distance near 
A trumpet flourish'd loud and clear, 
And as it ceased, a lofty lay 
Seem'd thus to chide his lagging way. 

XXXIV. 
" Son of Honor, theme of story, 
Think on the reward before ye 1 
Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 
'Tis Ambition bids thee rise. 

" He that would her heights ascend. 
Many a weary step must wend ; 
Hand and foot and knee he tries ; 
Tims Ambition's minions rise. 

" Lag not now, though rough the way, 
Fortune's mood brooks no delay ; 
Gr.asp the boon that's spread before ye. 
Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory !" 

It ceased. Advancing on the sound. 
A steep ascent the Wanderer found. 

And then a turret stair : 
Nor climb'd he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air. 
And next a welcome glimpse was given. 
That cheer'd liim with the light of heaven. 

At length his toil had won 

> MS.— "This state," Sec. 



406 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A lofty ball with trophies dress'd, 
Where, as to gi-eet imperial guest. 
Four Maidens stood, whose crimson vest 
Was bound with golden zone. 

XXXV. 
Of Europe seem'd the damsels all ; 
The first a nymph of lively Gaul, 
Whose easy step and laughing eye 
Her borrow'd air of awe beUe ; 

The next a maid of Spain, 
Dark-eyed, dark-haii'd, sedate, yet bold; 
White ivory skin and tress of gold, 
Her shy and bashful comrade told 

For daughter of Almaine. 
Tliese maidens bore a royal robe, 
With crown, with sceptre, and with globe, 

Emblems of empery ; 
The fourth a space behuid them stood, 
And leant upon a harp, in mood 

Of minstrel ecstasy. 
Of merry England she, in dress 
Like ancient British Druidess. 
Her hair an azure fillet bound. 
Her graceful vestm*e swept the groimd. 

And, in her hand display'd, 
A crown did that fourth Maiden hold, 
But unadom'd with gems and gold, 

Of glossy laurel made.' 

XXXVI. 

At once to brave De Vaux knelt down 

These foremost Maidens three, 
And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown, 

Liegedom and seignorie. 
O'er many a region wide and fair, 
Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir ; 

But homage would he none : — ^ 
" Rather," he said, " De Vaux would ride, 
A Warden of the Border-side, 
In plate and mail, than, robed in pride, 

A monarch's empire own ; 
Rather, far rather, would he be 
A free-born knight of England free, 

Than sit on Despot's throne." 
So pass'd he on, when that fourth Maid, 

As starting from a trance. 
Upon the harp her finger laid ; 
Her magic touch the chords obey'd, 

Then- soul awaked at once ! 

SONG OF THE FOmiTH MAIDEN. 

■ " Quake to your foundations deep, 
Stately Towers, and Banner'd Keep, 



1 MS — " Of laurel leaves was made." 
* MS. — " Bat the firm kiiiglit pass'd on." 
5 MS. — " Spread your pennons all abroad." 



Bid your vaulted echoes moan, 
As the dreaded step they own. 

" Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell. 
Hear the foot-fiiU ! mark it well ! 
Spread your dusky wings abroad,' 
Boune ye for your homeward road I 

" It is His, the first who e'er 
Dared the dismal Hall of Fear; 
His, who hath the snares defied 
Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Prids 

" Quake to your foundations deep. 
Bastion huge, and Turret steep !* 
Tremble, Keep ! and totter. Tower ! 
This is Gyneth's waking hour." 

XXXVII. 
Thus while she sung, the venturous Krughl 
Has reach'd a bower, where milder light' 

Through crimson curt.ains fell ; 
Such soften'd shade the hiU receives. 
Her purple veil when twilight leaves 

Upon its western swell. 
That bower, the gazer to bewitch. 
Hath wondrous store of rare and rich 

As e'er was seen with eye ; 
For there by magic skill, I wis. 
Form of each thing that hving is 

Was limn'd in proper dye. 
All seem'd to sleep — the timid hare 
On form, the stag upon his lair. 
The eagle in her eyrie fair 

Between the earth .and sky. 
But what of pictmed rich and rare* 
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where 
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair. 

He saw King Arthur's child I 
Doubt, and anger, and dismay. 
From her brow had pass'd .away. 
Forgot was that fell tourney-day," 

For, as she slept, she smiled : 
It seem'd, that the repentant Seer 
Her sleep of many a hundred year 

With gentle dreams beguiled. 

XXXVIII. 

That form of maiden loveUness, 

'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth. 

That ivory chair, that silvan dress. 

The arms and ankles bare, express 
Of Lyulph's tale the truth. 

Still upon her garment's hem 



* MS. " and battled keep." 

6 MS. " soften'il light." 

8 MS. — " But what of rich or what of lare." 



CANTO III. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



407 



Vanoc's blood made purjile gem, 


And to require of bard 


And the warder of command 


Tliat to his dregs the tale should run, 


Cmnber'd still her sleeping hand ; 


Were ordinance too hard. 


Still her dark locks dishevell'd flow 


Our lovers, briefly be it said. 


From net of pearl o'er breast of snow ; 


Wedded as lovers wont to wed,' 


And so fair the slumberer seems, 


Wlien tale or play is o'er ; 


That De Vaux imjicach'd liis dreams, 


Lived long and blest, loved fond and 


Vapid all and void of miglit. 


true. 


Hiding half iier charms from sight. 


And saw a numerous race renew 


Motionless a wliile he stands, 


Tlie honors that they bore. 


Folds his .arms and clasps liis hands, 


Know, too, that when a pilgrim strays. 


Trembhng in his titful joy, 


In morning mist or evening maze, 


Doubtful how he should destroy 


Along the mountain lone. 


Long-enduring spell ; 


That fairy fortress often mocks 


Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 


His gaze upon the castled rocks 


Dark-fringed Mds of Gyneth's eyes^ 


Of the Valley of St Jolm ; 


■ftliat these eyes shall tell. — 


But never man since brave De Vatix 


" St. George ! St. Mary ! can it be 


The charmed portal won. 


That they will kindly look on me 1" 


'Tis now a vain illusive show, 




That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow 


XXXIX. 


Or the fresh breeze hath blown.* 


Gently, lo ! the Warrior kneels, 




Soft that lovely hand he steals, 


IL 


Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp — 


But see, my love, where far below 


But the warder leaves her grasp; 


Cm- Ungering wheels are moving clow, 


Lightning flashes, rolls the thimder I 


The whiles, up-gazing still. 


Gyueth startles from her sleep. 


Our menials eye om- steepy way, 


Totters Tower, and trembles Keep, 


Marvelling, perchance, wliat whim can stay 


Burst the Castle-walls asimder ! 


Our steps when eve is suiking gray, 


Fierce and fi-equent were the shocks, — 


On this gigantic hill. 


Melt the magic halls away ; 


So think the vulgar — Life and time 


But beneath their mystic rocks, 


Ring all their joys in one dull chime 


In the arms of bold De Vaux, 


Of luxury and ease ; 


S.afe the princess liiy ; 


And, 1 beside these suuple knaves. 


Safe and free from magic power, 


How many better born are slaves 


Blushing like the rose's flower 


To such coarse joys as theses — 


Opening to the day ; 


Dead to the nobler sense that glows 


And round the Champion's brows were bound 


When nature's grander scenes unclose ! 


The crown that Druidess had woimd. 


But, Lucy, we will love them yet. 


Of the gi'een lam'el-bay. 


The mountain's misty' coronet. 


And this was what remain d of all 


The greenwood, and the wold ; 


The wealth of e.ach enchanted hall. 


And love the more, that of theii- maze 


The Garland and the Dame : 


Adventure liigh of other d.ays 


But where should Warrior seek the meed. 


By ancient bards is told. 


Due to high worth for daring deed, 


Bringing, perchance, like my poor tale, 


Except from Lovi; and F.\aie ! 


Some moral truth in fiction's veil :* 




Nor love tliem less, that o'er the hill 




The evening breeze, as now, comes chill ; — 






My love shall wrap her warm, 


CONCLUSION. 


And, fearless of the slippery way, 




While safe she trips the heathy brae. 


L 


Shall h.ang on Arthur's ann. 


My LtJCT, when the Maid is won, 




The Minstrel's ta.sk, thou know'st, is done ; 


THE END OF TEIEEMAIN.' 


1 MS — ** Yet know, this maid and warrior too, 


3 MS.— " Silvan." 


Wedded as lovere wont to do." 


< The MS. lias not this conplet. 


■ MS. — ** That melts whene'er the hreezes blow, 


5 "The Bridal of Triermain is written in the style of Mr 


Or beams a clondles3 sun." 


Walter Scott ; and if in magn U voluisse sat est, the antho 



408 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



whatever may be llie merits of Iiis work, lias earned the meed 
at which he aspires. To attempt a serious imitation of the 
most popular living poet — and tliis imitation, not a ehort frag- 
ment, in whicli eU his peculiarities might, with comparatively 
little difficulty, he concentrated — but a long and complete 
work, with plot, character, and machinery entirely new— and 
with no manner of resemblance, therefore, to a parody on any 
production of the original author ; — this must be acknowledged 
an altemptof no timid daring." — Edinburgh Magazine, 1817. 



" The fate of this work must depend on its own merits, for 
it b not borne u|) by any of the adventitious circumstances that 
frequently contribute to literary success. It is usiiered into the 
world in the most modest guise ; and the anther, we believe, 
is entirely unknown. Siiould it fail altogether of a favorable 
reception, wl- shall be disposed to abate something of the in- 
dignation which we have occasionally expressed against the ex- 
travagant gaudiiuss of modern publications, and imagine that 
tliere are readers whose suffrages are not to be obtained by a 
work without a name. 

" The merit of, the Bridal of Triermain, in oar estimation, 
consists in its perfect simplicity, and an interweaving the re- 
finement of modern times with the peculiarities of the ancient 
metrical romance, which are in no respect violated. In point 
of interest, the first and second cantos are superior to the third. 
One event naturally arises out of that which precedes it, and 
the eye is delighted and dazzled with a series of moving pic- 
tures, each of them remarkable for its individual splendor, and 
all contributing mare or less directly to produce the ultimate 
result. The third canto is less profuse of incident, and some- 
what more mouotoiious in its etfect. This, we conceive, will 
be the impression oh the first perusal of the poem. When we 
have leisure to mart the merits of the composition, and to sep- 
arate them from tha progress of the events, we are disposed to 
think that the extraordinary beauty of the description will near- 
ly compensate for liie defect we have already noticed. 

" But it is not from the fable that an adequate notion of the 
merits of this singular work can be formed. We have already 
spoken of it as an imitation of Mr. Scott's style of composi- 
tion ; and if we are compelled to make the general approbation 
more precise and specific, we should say, that if it be inferior 
in vigor to some of his productions, it equals, or surpasses them, 
in elegance and beauty ; that it is more uniformly tender, and 
'ar less infected with Ihe unnatural prodigies and coarsenesses of 
the earlier romancere. In estimating its merits, iiowever, we 
should forget that it is offered as an imitation. The diction 
nndoubtedly reminds us of a rhythm and cadence we have 
heard before ; but the sentiments, descriptions, and characters, 
have '.jualities that are native and unborrowed. 

"In his sentiments, the author lias avoided the slight de- 
ficiency we ventured to ascribe to his prototype. The pictures 
of pure description are perpetually illuminated witli rellectiona 
that bring out their coloring, and increase their moral effect : 
these reflections are suggested by the scene, produced without 
effort, and e.\pre£ped v/ith unaffected simplicity. Tlie descrip- 
tions a-e spirited and striking, possessing an airiness suited to 
the mythology and m;.nners of the times, though restrained by 
conect taste. Amon« the characters, many of which are such 
as we expect to find in this department of poetry, it is impossi- 
ble not to distinguish that of Arthur, in which, identifying 
him=elf with his original, the author has contrived to unite the 
valor of the hero, the courtesy and dignity of the monarch , and 
the amiable weaknesses of any ordinary mortal, and thus to 
nresent to us the express lineaments of the flower of chivalry." 
-^Quarterly Review. 1813. 



' With regard to this poem, we have often heard, from what 
may be deemed good authority, a very cnrious anecdote, which 



we shall give merely as such, without vouching for the truih 
of it. When the article entitled, ' The Inferno of Altisidora,' 
appeared in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1809, it will 
be re^iembered that the last fragment contained in that singu- 
lar production, is the begmning of the romance of Triermain. 
Report says, that the fragment was not meant to be en imita- 
tion of Scott, but of Coleridge ; and tliat, for this purpose, 
the author borrowed both the name of the hero and the .^ieene 
from the then unpublished poem of Christabelle ; and further, 
that so few had ever seen the manuscript of that poem, that 
amongst these few the author of Triermain could not he mis- 
taken. Be that as it may, it is well known, lliat on the ap- 
pearance of this fragment in the Annual Register, it was uni- 
versally taken for an imitation of Walter Scott, and never once 
of Coleridge. The author perceiving this, and tliat the poem 
was well received, instantly set about drawing it out into a reg- 
ular and finished work ; for siiortly after it was announced in 
the papers, and continued to he so for three long years ; the 
author, as may be supposed, having, during that period, his 
hands occasionally occupied with heavier metal. In 1813, tlie 
poem was at last produced, avowedly and manifestly as an im- 
itation of Mr. Scott ; and it may easily be observed, that from 
the 27th page onward, it becomes much more decidedly like 
the manner of that poet, than it is in the preceding part which 
was published in the Register, and which, undoubtedly, does 
bear some similarity to Coleridge in the poetry, and more es- 
pecially in the rhythm, as, e. g. — 

' Harpers must lull him to his rest. 
With the slow tunes he loves the best, 
Till sleep sink down upon his breast, 
Like the dew on a summer hill.* 

* It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 

The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray, 
That, like a silvery crape, was spread 
Round Skiddaw's dim and distant head * 

* What time, or where 

Did she pass, that maid with the heavenly brow, 
Willi her look so sweet, and her eyes so fair, 
And her graceful step, and her angel air, 
And the eagle-plume on her dark-brown hai*. 
That pass'd from my bower e'en now V 

' Although it fell as faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh, 
When she thinks her lover near.' 

* And light they fell, as when earth receive*. 
In morn of frost, the wither'd leaves. 

That drop when no winds blow.' 

' Or if 'twas but an airy thing, 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 
Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes, 
Or fading tints of western skies.' 

" These, it will be seen, are not exactly Coleridjfe, bil the" 
are precisely such an imitation of Coleridge as, we conceive 
another poet of our acquaintance would write : on that ground, 
we are inclined to give some credit to the anecdote here re- 
lated, and from it we leave our readers to guess, as we have 
done, who is the author of the poem." — Blackvsoad' s Mag' 
azine. April, 1817. 



The quarto of Rokeby was followed, within two months, bj 
the small volume which had been designed for a twin-birlh ; 
— the MS. had been tratiscribed by one of the Dallaniynea 
themselves, in order to guard against any indiscretion of th« 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



109 



press-people ; and the mystification, aided and abetted by Ers- 
kine, in no small degree heiglitened tbe interest of its reception. 
Seolt bays, in tbe Introduction to tlie Lord of the Isles, " As 
Mr. Erskirie was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and 
a-s I took care, in several places, to mix something that might 
resemble (as far as was in my power) my friend's feeling and 
manner, tlie train easily cauglii, and two large editions were 
lold." Among tlie passages to which he here alludes, are no 
doubt tliose in whicli the character of the minstrel Arthur is 
nhaded wilh the colorings of an almost effeminate gentleness. 
Vet, in the midst of lliem, tlie "mighty minstrel" himself, 
from time to time, escapes ; as, for instance, where the lover 
bids Lucy, in that exquisite picture of crossing a mountain 
stream, trust to his " stalwart arm,"^ 

" Which could yon oak's prone trunk uprear." 

Nor can I pass the compliment to Scott's own fair patroness, 
where Lucy's admirer is made to confess, with some momen- 
tary lapse of gallantry, that ho 

" Ne'er won — best meed to minstrel true — 
One favoring smile from fair Buccleuch ;" 

Bor tae burst of genuine Borderism, — 

" Bewcastle now must keep the hold, 

Speir-Adam's steeds must bide in stall ; 
Of Hartley-burn the bow-men bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur. 

And Teviot now may belt the brand, 
Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir, 
And Eskdale foray Cumbertaad."— 
52 



But, above all, the choice of the scenery, both of theli troduc- 
tions and of the story itself, reveals the early and treasured pre- 
dilections of the poet. 

As a wholf, the Bridal of Triermain appears to me as char- 
acteristic of .Scott as any of his larger poems. His genius fjcr- 
vades and animates it beneath a thin and playful veil, wlii.;li 
perhaps adds as much of grace as it takes away of sjiUn lor 
As Wordsworth says of the eclipse on the lake of Lugano 

" 'Tis sunlight sheathed and gently charm'd ;" 

and I think there is at once a lightness and a polish o\ .^i-.- 
fication beyond what he has elsewhere attained. If it be a 
miniature, it is such a one as a Cooper might have hang ft- 
lessly beside the masterpieces of Vandyke. 

Tlie Introductions contain some of the most exquisite j,as- 
sages he ever produced ; but their general effect has always 
struck me as unfortunate. No art can reconcile ns to con- 
temptuous satire of the merest frivolities of modem life — soir*; 
of them already, in twenty years, grown obsolete — intcrl?iJ 
between such bright visions of the old world of romance, w jeo 

" Strength was gigantic, valor high, 
And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky, 
And beauty had such matchless beam 
As lights not now alover's dream." 

The fall is grievous, from the hoary minstrel of Newark , an(! 
his feverish tears on Killeerankie, to a pathetic swain, ivlio 
can Btoop to denounce as objects of his jealousy — 

" The landaolet and four blood-bays — 
The Hessian hoot and pantaloon." 

I<VCKHiRT--/,?/eo/.«'-" kq] ' :» M 



410 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

Like Collins, thread the viaze of Fairy-land. — P. 383. 

Collins, according to Johnson, " by indulging some pecu- 
liar habits of thought, was eminently deliglited with those 
flights of imagination which pass the bounds of nature, and to 
which the mind is reconciled only by a passive acquiescence 
in jiopular traditions. He Icved fairies, genii, giants, and mon- 
sters ; he deli;;hled to rove througli the meanders of enchant- 
ment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose 
by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens." 



KOTE B. 
The Baron of Triermain.—P. 383. 

Trierraain was a fief of the Barony of Gilslarid, in Cumber- 
land : it was possessed by a Saxon family at tlie time of the 
Conquest, but, " after the death of Gilmore, Lord of Tryer- 
maine and Torerossock, Hubert Vaox gave Tryerraaine and 
Torerossock to his second son, Ranulph Vaox ; whicii Ra- 
niilph afterwards became heir to his elder brcther Robert, the 
founder of Lanercost, wlio died without issue. Ranulph, be- 
ing Lord of all Glisland, gave Gilmore'a lands to his younger 
eon, named Roland, and let the Barony descend to his eldest 
son Robert, son of Ranulph. Roland had issue Alexander, 
and lie Rannlph, after whom succeeded Robert, and they were 
named Rolands successively, that were lords thereof, until the 
reign of Edward the Fourth. That house gave for arms, Vert, 
II bend dexter, chequy, or and gules." — Bvv.y''s ^Antiquities 
of IVestmoreland and Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 483. 

This branch of Vaux, with its collateral alliances, is now 
represented by the family of Braddyl of Conishead Priory, in 
the county palatine of Lancaster; for it appears that about 
the time above mentioned, the boose of Triermain was united 
to its kindred family Vaux of Caterlen. and, by marriage with 
the heiress of Deiamore and Leybourne, became the re])resen- 
tative of those ancient and noble families. The male line 
failing in JohnDe Vaux, about the year 1G65, his daughter and 
heiress, Mabel, married Clirisiopher Richmond, Esq., of High- 
head Castle, in the county of Cumberland, descended from 
an ancient family of that name. Lords of Corby Castte, in the 
same county, soon after the Conquest, and which tliey ahen- 
ated about the 15th of Edward the Second, to Andrea de 
Harcta, Earl of Carlisle. Of this family was Sir Tliomas Je 
Raigeraont (miles auratus), in tiie reign of King Edward the 
First, wlio appears to have greatly distinguished himself at the 
siege of Kaerlaveroc, with William, Baron of Leybourne, In 
an ancient heraldic poem, now extant, and preserved in the 
British Museum, describing that siege, ^ his arms are stated to 
be, Or, 2 Bars Gemelles Gules, and a chief Or, the same borne 
by his descendants at the present day. The Ricbmonds re- 
moved to their castle of Highhead in the reign of Henry the 
Eighth, when the then representative of the family married 
Margaret, daughter of Sir Hugh Lowther, by the Lady Doro- 
thy de Clifford, only child by a second marriage of Henry Lord 
Clifford, great-grandson of John Lord Clifford, by Elizabeth 
Percy, daughter of Henry Csurnamed Hotspur), by Elizabeth 

1 This Poem baa been recently ejiled by Sir Nicolas Harrifl Nicholas, 
183^. 



Mortimer, which said Elizabeth was daughter of Edu n\ Mor- 
timer, third Earl of Marche, by Philippa, sole dangliier and 
heiress of Lionel, Duke of Clarence. 

The third in descent from tlie above-mentioned John Rich- 
mond, became the representative of the families of Vaux, of 
Triermain, Caterlen, and Torerossock, by his marriage with 
Mabel de Vaux, the heiress of them. His grandson, Henry 
Richmond, died without issue, leaving five sisters co-heiresses, 
four of whom married ; but Margaret, who married William 
Gale, Esq., of Whitehaven, was the only one who had male 
issue surviving. She had a son, and a daughter married to Hen 
ry Curwen of Workington, Esq., who represented the county 
of Cumberland for many years in Parliament, and by her had 
a daughter married to John Christian, Esq. (now Curwen). 
John, son and heir of William Gale, man-ied Sarah, daughter 
and heiress of Christopher Wilson of Bardsea Hall, in the 
county of Lancaster, by Margaret, aunt and co-heiress of Thom- 
as Braddyl, Esq., of Braddyl, and Coiiisiiead Priory in the 
same county, and had issue four sons and two daughters. 1st, 
William Wilson, died an infant; 2d, Wilson, who, upon the 
death of his cousin, Tliomas Braddyl, without issue, succeeded 
to his estates, and took the name of Braddyl, in pursuance of 
his will, by the King's sign-manual ; 3d, William, died young ; 
and, 4th, Henry Richmond, a lieutenant-general of the army, 
married Sarah, daughter of the Rev. R. Baldwin ; Margaret 
married Richard Greaves Townley, Esq., of Fulbourne, in the 
county of Cambridge, and of Bellfield, in the county of Lan- 
caster ; Sarah married to George Bigland of Bigland Hall, in 
the same county. Wilson Braddyl, eldest son of John Gale, 
and grandson of Margaret Richmond, married Jane, daugliter 
and heiress of Matthias Gale, Esq., of Catgill Hall, in the 
county of Cumberland, by Jane, daughter and heiress of the 
Rev. S. Bennet, D. D. ; and, as the eldest surviving male 
branch of tJ'.e families above mentioned, he quarters, in addi- 
tion to his own, their paternal coats in the following order, as 
appears by the records in the College of Arms. 1st, Argent, 
a fess azure, between 3 saltiers of the same, charged with an 
anchor between 2 lions' Iieads erased, or, — Gale. 2-', Or, 3 
bars gemelles gules, and a chief or. — Richmond. 3d, Or, a 
fess chequey, or and gules between 9 gerbes gules, — Vaux of 
Caterlen. 4tli, Gules, a fess chequey, or and gules between 
6 gerbes or, — Vaux of Torerossock. 5th, Argent (not vert, as 
stated by Burn), a bend chequey, or and gules, for Vaux of 
Triermain. 6th, Gules, a cross patonce, or, — Deiamore. 7th, 
Gules, 6 lions rampant argent. 3, 2, and 1, — Leybourne. — This 
more detailed genealogy of the family of Triermain was obli- 
gingly sent to the author by Major Braddyll of Conishead 
Priory. 



Note C. 



He pass'd red Penrith's Tahle JRound.—V. 385. 

A circular intrenchment, about half a mile from Penrith, is 
thus popularly termed. The circle within the ditch is about 
one hundred and sixty pacet in circumference, with openings 
or approaches, directly opposite to each other. As the ditch 
is on the inner side, it could not b** mtemleJ for the purpose of 
defence, and it has reasonably been c^iijectui^d, that the en- 
closure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats of chiv- 



APPENDIX TO THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



411 



airy, aiul the embankment around for the convenience of the 
«[)i'ctators. 



Note D. 



JUayburgk^s mound. — V. 385. 

Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur's Round Table, is 
a proiiigious enclosure of great antifjuity, formed by a collec- 
lion of stones upon the lop of a gently sloping hill, called May- 
liurgh. In the plain which it encloses there stands erect an 
unhewn stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar masses 
are said to have been destroyed during the memory of man. 
The whole appears to be a monument of Druidical times. 



Note E. 



The monarch, breathless and amazed, 

Back on the fatal castle gazed 

A'or toicer nor donjon could he spif. 
Darkening against the morning sky. — P. 390. 

— ^*' We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John's, a 
very narrow dell, hemmed in by mountains, through which a 
small brook makes many meanderings, washing little enclo- 
sures of grass-ground, which stretch up the rising of the hills. 
In the widest part of the dale yoo are struck with the appear- 
ance of an ancient ruined castle, which seems to stand upon 
the summit of a little mount, the mountains around forming 
an amphitheatre. This massive bulwark shows a front of va- 
rious towers, and makes an awful, rnde, and Gothic appear- 
ance, with its lofty turrets and ragged battlements ; we traced 
the galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The greatest 
atitiinity stands characterized in its architecture ; the inhabit- 
ants near it assert it as an antediluvian structure. 

" Tlie traveller's curiosity is roused, and he prepares to 
make a nearer approach, when that curiosity is pnt upon the 
rack, by his being assured, that, if he advances, certain genii 
who govern the place, by virtue of their supernatural art and 
necromancy, will strip it of all its beauties, and, by enchant- 
ment, transform the magic walls. The vale seems adapted 
for the habitation of such beings ; its gloomy recesses and re- 
tirements look like haunts of evil spirits. There was no de- 
lusion in the report ; we were soon convinced of its truth ; for 
this piece of antiquity, so venerable and noble in its aspect, as 
we drew near, changed its figure, and proved no other than a 
shaken massive pile of rocks, which stand in the midst of this 
little vale, disunited from the adjoining mountains, and have 
BO much the real form and resemblance of a castle, thai they 
bear the name of the Castle Rocks of St. John." — Hutchin- 
son's Excursion to the Lakes, p. 121. 



Note F. 



Thefiower of Chivalry, 
There Oalaad sate with manly grace, 
Yet maiden meekness in his face; 



There Morolt of the iron mace, 

Jlnd lovc'lorn Tnstrem there. — P. 391. 

The diameters named in the sianza are all of them more c* 
less distinguished in the romances which treat of King Arthur 
and his Round Table, and their names are strung together 
according to the established custom of minstrels upon such 
occasions ; for example, in the ballad of the Marriage of Sir 
Gawaine ; — 

*' Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 
They rode with them that daye, 
And, foremost of the companye. 
There rode the slewarde Kaye. 

*' Soe did Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, 
And, eke Sir Garratte keen. 
Sir Tristrem too, that gentle knight, 
To the forest fresh and greeoe." 



Note G. 



Lancelot, that ever more 

Look'd stolcn-icise on the Queen. — P. 391. 

Upon this delicate subject hear Richard Robinson, citizen 
of London, in his Assertion of King Arthur : — " But as it is a 
thing sufficiently apparent that she (Guenever, wife of King 
Arthur) was beautiful, so it is a thing doubled whether she 
was chaste, yea or no. Truly, so far as I can with honestie, I 
v/ould spare the impayred honour and fame of noble women. 
But yet the truth of the historic pluckes mo by the eare, and 
willeth not onely, but commandeth me to declare what the 
ancients have deemed of her. To wrestle or contend with so 
great authoritie were indeede unto mei a controver?ie, and 
that greate." — Assertion of King Arthure. Imprinted by 
John Wolfe, London, 1582. 



Note H. 



There were two who loved their neighbor's wives, 
And one who loved kis own. — P. 392. 

*' In our forefathers' tyrae, when Papistrie, as a standyng 
pooIe, covered and overflowed all England, fewe books were 
read in our tongue, savying certaine bookcs of chevalrie, as 
they said, for pastime and pleasure ; which, as some say, were 
made in the monasteries, by idle monks or wanton chanons. 
As one, for example, La Morte d^ Arthure ; the whole pleas- 
ure of which book standeth in two speciall poynts, in open 
manslaughter and bold bawdrye; in which booke they be 
counted the noblest knightes that do kill most men withon* 
any qoarrell, and commit fowlest adonlteries by sutlest shiftes ; 
as Sir Launcelot, with the wife of King Arthur, his master; 
Sir Tristram, with the w-fe of King Marke, his uncle; Sir 
Lamerocke, with the wife of King Lote, that was his own 
annt. This is good stufle for wise men to laugh at ; or honest 
men to take pleasure at : yet I know when God's Bible wai 
banished the Court, and La Morte d' Arthure received into the 
Prince's chamber." — Ascham's Schoolmaster. 



©l)c Corb of tl)c 2 sits 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



KOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

The composition of " Tlie Lord of the Isles," as 
we now have it in the Author's MS., seems to have 
been begun at Abbotsford, in the autumn of 1814, 
and it ended at Edinburgh tlie 16th of December. 
Some part of Canto I. had probably been com- 
mitted to writing in a rougher form earlier in the 
year. The original quarto appeared on the 2d of 
January, 1815.' 

It may be mentioned, that those parts of this 
Poem which were written at Abbotsford, were 
composed almost all in the presence of Sir Walter 
Scott's family, and many in that of casual visitors 
also : the original cottage which he then occupied 
not affording him any means of retirement. Nei- 
ther conversation nor music seemed to disturb him. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1833. 

I COULD h.ardly have chosen a subject more pop- 
ular in Scotland, than any thing connected with 
the Bruce's history, unless I had attempted that 
of Wallace. But I am decidedly of opinion, that a 
popular, or what is called a taking title, though 
weU qualified to ensure the publishers against lossi 
and clear then- shelves of the original unpression, 
is rather apt to be hazardous than otherwise to the 
reputation of the author. He who attempts a sub- 
ject of distinguished popularity, has not the privi- 
lege of awakening the enthu.siasm of his audience ; 
on the contrary, it is akeady awakened, and glows, 
it may be, more ardently than that of the author 
himself. In this case, the warmth of the author is 
inferior to that of the party whom he addresses, 
who has, therefore, little chance of being, in Bayes's 
plu'ase, " elevated and surprised" by what he has 
thought of with more enthusiasm than the writer. 
The sense of this risk, joined to the consciousness 

1 Published by Archibald Constable and Co., £2 2s. 

' Sir Walter Scott's Jonrnal of this voyage, some frafrmente 
of which were printed in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 
1814, is now given entire in his Life by Loekhart, vol. iv. 
rhap. 28-33. 

3 Harriet, Duchess of Bucclenoh, died 24tli August, 1814. 
Sir Walter Scott received the monrnful intelligence wliiie 



of striving against wind and tide, made the task of 
composing the proposed Poem somewhat heavy 
and hopeless ; but, like the prize-fighter in " As 
You Like it," I was to wrestle for my reputation, 
and not neglect any advantage. In a most agree- 
able pleasure-voyage, which I have tried to com- 
memorate in the Introduction to the new eiUtiim 
of the " Pirate," I visited, in social and friendly 
company,^ the coasts and islands of Scothmd, and 
made myself acquainted with the localities of wliich 
I meant to treat. But tliis voyage, which was in 
every other effect so dehghtful, was in its conclu- 
sion saddened by one of those strokes of fate wliich 
so often mingle themselves with oiu- pleasures. 
The accomphshed and excellent person who had 
recommended to me the subject for " The Lay of 
the Last jilinstrel," and to whom I proposed to in- 
scribe what I already suspected might be the close 
of my poetical labors, was unexpectedly removed 
from the world, which she seemed only to have 
visited for purposes of kmdness and benevolence. 
It is needless to say how the author's feelings, or 
the composition of his trifhng work, were affected 
by a circumstance which occasioned so many tears 
and so much sorrow." True it is, that " The Lord 
of the Isles" was concluded, unwillingly and in 
haste, under the painful feeling of one who has a 
task which must be finished, rather than with the 
ardor of one who endeavors to perform that task 
well. Although the Poem cannot be said to have 
made a favorable impression on the public, the sale 
of fifteen thousand copies enabled the author to 
retreat from the field with the honors of war.' 

In the mean time, what was necessarily to be 
considered as a failtu'e, was much reconciled to my 
feeUngs by the success attending my attempt in 
another species of composition. " Waverley" had, 
under strict incognito, taken its flight from the 
press, just before I set out upon the voyage already 
mentioned ; it had now made its way to popul.arity, 
and the success of that work and the volumes 

visiting tlie Giant's Causeway, and iramediately returned 
home. 

* " As Scott passed through Edinburgh on his return from his 
voyage, the negotiation as to the Lord of the Isles, which had 
been protracted through several months, w.-is completed — 
Constable agreeing to give fifteen hundred guineas for on^half 
of the copyright, while the other moiety was retained hy thtj 
author."- -Life, vol. iv. p. 394. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



413 



which followed, was sufficient to have satisfied a 
greater appetite for applause than I have at any 
time possessed.' 

I may as well add in this place, that, being 
much urged by my intimate friend, now unhappily 
no more, William Erskine (a Scottish judge, by 
the title of Lord Kinedder), I agreed to write the 
Uttle romantic tale called the "Bridal of Trier- 
main ;" but it was on the condition, that he should 
make no serious effort to disown the composition, 
if report should lay it at his door. As he was 
more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as 
I took cai'e, in several places, to mix something 
which might resemble (as far as was in my power) 
my friend's feeling and maimer, the train easily 
caught, and two large editions were sold. A third 
being called for. Lord Einedder became unwilling 
to aid any longer a deception which was going far- 
ther than he expected or desired, and the real au- 
thor's name was given. Upon another occasion, I 
sent up another of these trifles, which, like school- 
boys' kites, served to show how the wind of popu- 
Lir taste was setting. The manner was supposed 

* The first edition of Waverley appeared in July, 1814. 
3 " Harold the Dauntless" was fiist pablished in a small 
&2mo volume, January, 1817. 



to be that of a rude minstrel or Scald, in opj)o>i- 
tion to the " Bridal of Triermain," wliich was de- 
signed to belong rather to the Italian school. This 
now fugitive piece was called " Harold the Daunt- 
less ;"" imd I am still astonished at my having 
committed the gross error of selecting the very 
name which Lord Byron had made so famous. It 
encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious 
friend, Mr. James Hogg, had pubUshed about the 
same time, a work called the " Poetic Mirror," con- 
taining imitations of the principal living poets.^ 
There was in it a very good imitation of my own 
etyle, which bore such a resemblance to " Harold 
the Dauntless," that there was no discovering the 
original from the imitation ; and I beUeve that 
many who took the trouble of thinking upon the 
subject, were rather of opinion that my ingenious 
friend was the true, and not the fictitious Smion 
Pure. Since this period, which was in the year 
1817, the Author has not been an intruder on tho 
pubUc by any poetical work of importance. 

W. S. 
Abbotsfoed, April, 1830. 

3 Mr. Hogg's '* Poetic Minor" appeared in October, 181C. 



•iU 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



®l)e Corb of tl)e Mks. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



The scene of this Poein lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast of ArgyJcshire ; and, 
afterwards, in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon the coast of Ai/rshire. Finally, it is laid 
near Stirling. The story opens in the spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of 
Scotland by the English, and the Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned frmn the Island 
of Raehrin, on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Many of the per- 
sonages and incidents introdticed are of historical celebrity. The authorities used are chiefly those of 
the venerable Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the re- 
storer of Scottish monarchy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of whose Metrical History 
of Robert Bruce^ xcill soon, I trust, appear, under the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr. Jamieson. 

Abbotsford, \Oth December, 1814.' 



1 The work alluded to appeared in 1820, tinder the title of 
" The Brace and Wallace." 2 vols. 4to. 

2 "Here is another genuine lay of the great Minstrel, with 
all his characteristic faults, beauties, and irregularities. The 
eame glow of coloring — the same energy of narration — the 
Bame amjihtmiw of description, are conspicuous here, which 
distinguish all his other productions : with the same still more 
characteristic disdain of puny graces and small originalities — 
the true poetical hardihood, in the strength of whicli lie urges 
on his Pegasus fearlessly through dense and rare, and aiming 
gallantly at the great ends of truth and effect, stoops but rarely 
to study the means by which they are to be attained — avails 
himself, without scruple, of common sentiments and common 
images wherever they seem fitted for his purposes — and is origi- 
nal by the very boldness of his borrowing, and impressive by 
his disregard of epigram and emphasis. 

" Though bearing all these marks of the master's hand, the 
work before us does not come up, in interest, to The Lady of 
the Lake, or even to Marmion. There is less connected story ; 
and, what there is, is less skilfully complicated and disen- 
tangled, and less diversified with change of scene, or variety of 
character. In the scantiness of the narrative, and the broken 
and discontinuous order of the events, as well as the inartificial 
insertion of detached descriptions and morsels of ethical reflec- 
tion, it bears more resemblance to tlie earliest of the author's 
greater productions; and suggests a comparison, perhaps not 
altogfllier to his advantage, with the structure and execution 
of the Lay of the Last Minstrel : — for though there is probably 
more force and substance in the latter parts of the present work. 
It is certainly inferior to that enchanting performance in deli- 
cacy and sweetness, and even — is it to be wondered at, after 
four such publications ? — in originality. 

"The title of ' The Lord of '.he Isles' has been adopted, we 



presume, to raatcb that of * The Lady of the Lake ;* but there 
is no analogy in the stories — nor does the title, on this occasion, 
correspond very exactly with the contents. It is no unusual 
misfortune, indeed, for the author of a modern Epic to have 
his hero turn out but a secondary personage, in the gradual 
unfolding of the story, while some unruly underling runs off 
with the who!e glory and interest of the poem. But here the 
author, we cor.ceive, must have been aware of the misnomer 
from the beginning ; the true, and indeed the ostensible hero 
being, from the very first, no less a person than King Robert 
Bruce." — Edinburgh Review, No. xlviii. 1815. 

" If it be possible for a poet to bestow upon his writings a 
superfluous degree of care and correction, it may also be pos- 
sible, we should suppose, to bestow too little. Whether this 
be the case in the poem before us, is a point upon which Mr. 
Scott can possibly form a much more competent judgment than 
ourselves; we can only say, that without possessing greate? 
beauties than its predecessors, it has certain violations of pro- 
priety, both in the language and in the composition of the siory, 
of which the former efforts of his muse afforded neither so 
many nor such striking examples. 

" We have not now any quarrel with Mr. Scott on Recount 
of the measure which he has chosen; still less on account of 
his subjects; we believe that they are both of them not only 
pleasing in themselves, but well adapted to each other, and 
to the bent of his peculiar genius. On the contrary, it is be- 
cause we admire his genius, and are partial to the subjects 
which he delights in, that we so much regnt he shoulil le:ive 
room for any difference of opinion respecting them, merely 
from not bestowing upon his publications that common degree 
of labor and meditation which we cannot help saying it is 
scarcely decorous to withhold." — Qvartcrly Review, No. 
xxvi. July, 1815. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4i; 



Sl}c fori of tlje Islce. 



CANTO FIRST. 



Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold 
Rests OQ the groves of noble Somerville,' 
Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold 
Tweed and his tributaries mmgle still ; 
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill, 
Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell. 
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill ; 
And yet some tints of amnmer splendor tell 
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's wes- 
tern fell. 

Autiuun departs — from Gala's' fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ; 
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it 

o'er, 
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The last bhthe shout hath died upon om- ear, 
And harvest-home hath hush'd the clanging 

wain, 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear. 
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, 
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scat- 

ter'd grain. 

Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleas- 
ure stdl, 
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to 

stray. 
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the hiU, 
To listen to the wood's expiring lay. 
To note the red leaf sliivering on the spray. 
To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain. 
On the waste fields to trace the gleanei*'s way, 
And moi'alize on mortal joy and pain? — 
Oh ! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the min- 
strel strain. 

No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, 
Tliough faint its beauties as the tints remote 
That gleam through mist in Autumn's evening 

sky. 
And fev as leaves that tremble, sear and dry, 

1 John, fifteenth Lord Somerville, illustrions for his patriotic 
devotion to liie science of agriculture, resided frequently in his 
bciuliful villa called the Pavilion, situated on tiie Tweed over 
against Melrose, and was an intimate friend and almost daily 
companion of the poet, from whose windows at Abhotsford 
his lontsliip's plantations formed a prominent object. Lord S. 
die.; :n 1819. 

' The river Gala, famous in song, flows into the Tweed a 
few nundrcd yards below Abhotsford : but probably the word 



■When wild November hath his bugle wound ; 
Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I,' 
Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest 

bound, 
■Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest 

found. 

So slialt thou list, and haply not immoved, 
To a wild tale of Alb3'n's warrior d.ay ; 
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved. 
Still Uve some relics of the ancient lay. 
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay, 
■With such the Seer of Skye' the eve beguiles ; 
'Tis known amid the patiiless wastes of Reay, 
In Harries known, and in lona's piles, 
■Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the 
Isles. 



I. 

" Wake, Maid of Lorn !" the Minstrels sung. 

Thy rugged halls, Artornish I rung,' 

And the dark seas, thy towers that lave. 

Heaved on the beach a softer wave. 

As 'mid the timeful choir to keep 

The diapason of the Deep. 

LuU'd were the wuids on Tnninmore, 

And green Loch-AUine's woodland shore, 

As if wild woods and waves had pleasure 

In listing to the lovely measure. 

And ne'er to symphony more sweet 

Gave momitain echoes" answer meet. 

Since, met from mainland and from isle, 

Ross, An-an, Ilay, and Argyle, 

Each minstrel's tributary lay 

Paid homage to the festal day. 

Dtill and dishonor'd were the bard, 

■Worthless of guerdon and regard. 

Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, 

Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim, 

■Who on that morn's resistless call 

■Were sUent in Artornish haU. 

II. 

" ■Wake, Maid of Lorn 1" 'twas thus they sunir. 
And yet more proud the descant rung, 
" 'Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right is ours. 
To charm dull sleep'' from Beauty's bowers ; 
Earth, Ocean, Air, have naught so shy 

Oala here stands for the poet's neighbor and kinsman, and 
much attached friend, John Scott, Esq., of Gala. 

^ MS. " an humble gleaner I." 

' MS. " the aged of Skye." 

6 See Appendix, Note A. 

6 MS. — " Made mountain echoes,"&c. 

7 AIS. "for right is oqib 

To summon sleep," Stc. 



410 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But owns the power of minstrelsy. 


V. 


In Lettermore the timid deer 


Retired her maiden train among. 


Will paiise, the harp's wild chime to 


Edith of Lorn received the soug,'' 


hear ; 


But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 


Rude Heiskar's seal through sm-ges dark 


That had her cold demeanor seen ; 


Will long pursue the minstrel's bark ;' 


For not upon her cheek awoke 


To list his notes, the eagle proud 


The glow of pride when Flattery spoke, 


WiU poise him on Ben-CaUliach'a cloud ; 


Nor could their tenderest numbers bring 


Then let not Maiden's ear disdain 


One sigh responsive to the string. 


The summons of the minstrel traui, 


As vainly had her maidens vied 


But, while our hai'ps wild music make, 


In sldll to deck the princely bride. 


Edith of Lorn, awake, awake 1 


Her locks, in dark-brown length array'd. 




Cathleen of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid ; 


III. 


Young Eva with meet reverence drew 


" wake, wliile Dawn, with dewy shine, 


On the light foot the silken shoe. 


Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine ! 


While on the ankle's slender round 


She bids the mottled thrush rejoice 


Those striugs of peJirl fair Bertha wound, 


To mate thy melody of voice ; 


That, bleach'd Locln-yan's depths within. 


The dew that on the violet Ue3 


Seem'd dusky still on Edith's skin. 


Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes ; 


But Emion, of experience old. 


But, Edith, wake, and all we see 


Had weightiest task — the mantle's fold 


Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee !" — 


In many an artful plait she tied. 


" She comes not yet," gray Ferrand cried ; 


To show the form it seem'd to hide, 


" Brethren, let softer spell be tried, 


Till on the floor descending roU'd' 


Those notes prolong'd, that soothing theme. 


Its waves of crimson bleut with gold. 


Which best may mix with Beauty's dream, 




And whisper, with theu" silvery tone. 


VL 


The hope she loves, yet fears to own." 


1 lives there now so cold a maid, 


He spoke, and on the harp-striiigs died 


■Who thus in beauty's pomp array'd, 


The strains of flattery and of pride ; 


lu beauty's proudest pitch of power. 


More soft, more low, more tender fell 


And conquest won — the bridal hotu* — 


The lay of love he bade them teU. 


With every charm that wins the heart, 




By Nature given, enhanced by Art, 


IV. 


Could yet the fair reflection view, 


■Wake, Maid of Lorn ! the moments fly. 


In the bright mirror pictured true. 


Which yet that maiden-name aUow ; 


And not one dunple on her cheek 


Wake, Maiden, wake ! the hour is nigh, 


A tell-tale consciousness bespeak? — 


■When Love shall claim a phghted 


Lives still such maid ? — Fair damsels, say, 


vow. 


For further vouches not my lay, 


By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest. 


Save that such lived in Britain's isle. 


By hope, that soon shall fears remove, 


When Lorn's bright Edith scorn'd to smile. 


We bid thee break the bonds of rest. 




And wake thee at the call of Love ! 


VIL 




But Morag, to whose fostering care 


" Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder bay 


Proud Lorn had given his daughter fau-. 


Lies many a galley gayly mann'd, 


Morag, who saw a mother's aid' 


We hear the merry pibrochs play, 


By all a daughter's love repaid. 


We see the streamers' silken band. 


(Strict was that bond — most kind of all — 


What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs 


Inviolate in Highland hall) — 


swell, 


Gray Morag sate a space apart. 


What crest is on these banners wove, 


In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 


Tlie harp, the minstrel, dare not teU — 


In vain the attendants' fond appeal 


The riddle must be read by Love." 


To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal ; 


1 See Appendix, Note B, 


3 MS. — " The train upon the pavement } g-^tj t, 




Then to the floor descending 1 


*MS. — ' Retired amid her menial train, 


* MS. — *' Bat Morag, who the maid had press'd, 


Edith of Lorn received tlie strain." 


An infant, to her fostering breast, 




And seen a mother's early aid,*' &c. 



CAMO I. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 411 


She msirk'd her cliild receive their care, 


Yet, empress of this joyful day. 


Colli as the image sculptured fmr 


Edith is sad wliile idl are gay." — 


(Korm of some sainted patroness), 




Which cloister'd maids combine to dress ; 


IX. 


She mark'd — and knew her nursling's heart 


Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, 


In the vain pomp took little part. 


Resentment check'd the struggling sigh. 


Wistful a while she gazed — then press'd 


Her hurrying hand indignant dried 


The maiden to her anxious breast 


The bm-ning tears of injured pride — 


In iinish'd lovehness — and led 


" Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise 


To where a turret's airy head, 


To swell yon hireling harpers' lays ; 


Slender and steep, and battled round, 


Make to yon maids thy boast of power, 


O'erlook'd, dark Mull ! thy mighty Sound,' 


That they may waste a wondering hour. 


Where thwai-ting tides, with mingled 


TelUng of banners proudly borne. 


roar, 


Of pealing bell and bugle-horn, 


Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore. 


Or, theme more dear, of robes of price, 




Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 


VIII. 


But thou, experienced as thou art. 


" Daughter," she said, " these seas behold, 


Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart, 


Round twice a hundred islands roll'd, 


That, bound in strong affection's chain, 


From Hirt, that hears then: northern roar. 


Looks for retiu-n, and looks in vain >. 


To the green Hay's fertile shore ;" 


No ! sum tliine Edith's wretched lot 


Or mainland turn, where many a tower 


In these brief words — He loves her not ! 


Owns thy bold brother's feudal powcr,^ 




Each on its own dark cape recUned, 


X. 


And Ustening to its own wild wind, 


" Debate it not — too long 1 strove 


From where Miugarry, sternly placed. 


To call his cold observance love, 


O'erawes the woodland and the waste,* 


All blinded by the league that styled 


To where Dunstaflfnage hears the raging 


Edith of Lorn, — while yet a child. 


Of Connal with his rocks engaging. 


She tripp'd the heath by Morag's side, — 


Tliink'st thou, amid this ample round. 


The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride. 


A single brow but thine has frowu'd. 


Ere yet I saw him, while afar 


To sadden this auspicious mom, 


His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war 


Tliat bids the daughter of high Lorn 


Train'd to believe our fates the same. 


Impledge her spousal faith to wed 


My bosom throbb'd when Ronald's name 


The hen- of mighty Somerled !' 


Came gracing Fame's heroic tale. 


Ronald, from many a hero sprung, 


Like perfume on the summer gale. 


The fair, the v;\ljant, and the young, 


What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told 


Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name* 


Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold ; 


A thousand bards have given to fame. 


Who touch'd the harp to heroes' praise, 


Tlie mate of monarchs, and allied 


But his achievements swell'd the lays ? 


On equal terms with England's pride. — 


Even Morag — not a tale of fame 


From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot. 


Was hers but closed with Ronald's name. 


Who hears the tale,' and triumphs not? 


He came ! and all that had been told 


Tlie damsel dons her best attire, 


Of liis high worth seem'd poor and cold, 


The shepherd lights his beltane fire. 


Tame, lifeless, void of energy. 


Joy, joy ! each warder's horn hath sung. 


Unjust to Ronald and to me ! 


Joy, joy ! each matin bell hath rung 




Tlie holy priest says grateful mass. 


XL 


Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass, 


" Since then, what thought had Edith's heart 


No mountain den holds outcast boor. 


And gave not plighted love its part ! — 


Of heart so dull, of soul so poor, 


And what requital ?® cold delay — 


But he hath flung his task aside, 


Excuse that shumi'd the spousal day. — 


And claim'd tliis mom for holy-tide ; 


It dawns, and Ronald is not here ! — 


1 Sx Appendix, Note C. ' Ibid. Note D. 


' MS.—" The news." 


<xiO i.r-.i..-,. r. .. j_i _,» 


g \/ta II Wlmn fn\m tlint liAnv fi«i1 Rilitti's lto«rt 


* i»!o. lamer 3 leoaal power. 

< See AppenrtLv, Note E. i Ibid. Note F 


'* irin.-"* >vncn, iroin iii&i iioor, nau niuim s ueiuL 
A thought, and Ronald iack'd liU pail '. 


• Ibid. Note G 

53 


And what her f^ucrdon 1" 



418 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Hunts lie Bentalla's nimlile deer,' 

Or loiters he in secret dell 

To bid some lighter love farewell, 

And swear, that though he may not scorn 

A daughter of the House of Lorn,'' 

Yet, when these formal rites are o'er. 

Again they meet, to pai't no more ?" 

xn. 

— " Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts remove, 

More nobly tliink of Ronald's love. 

Look, where beueath the castle gray 

His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 

See'st not each galley's topmast bend. 

As on the yards the sails ascend ? 

Hiding the dark-blue land, they rise 

Like the white clouds on April skies ; 

The shouting vassals man the oars. 

Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores, 

Onward their merry course they keep. 

Through whistling breeze and foaming 

deep. 
And mark the headmost, seaward east. 
Stoop to the freshening gale her ma«t. 
As if she veil'd its banner'd pride. 
To greet afar her prince's bride ! 
Thy Ronald comes, and wliile in speed 
His galley mates the flying steed. 
He chides her sloth !" — Fair Edith sigh'd, 
Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied : — 

XIIL 

" Sweet thought, but vain ! — No, Morag I 

mark. 
Type of liis course, yon lonely bark, 
That oft hath sliifted helm and sail, 
To win its way against the gale. 
Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes 
Have view'd by fits the course she tries;' 
Now, though the darkening scud comes on, 
And dawn's fair promises be gone. 
And though the weary crew may see 
Our sheltermg haven on their lee. 
Still closer to the rising wind 
Tliey strive her shivering sail to bind, 
Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge* 
At every tack her course they urge, 
As if they fear'd Artornish more 
Than adverse winds and breakers' roar." 

XIV. 
Sooth spoke the maid. — Amid the tide 
Tlie skiff she mark'd lay tossing sore, 

• MS. — " And on ils dawn the bride^oom lags ; — 

Hants lie Bentalla's nimble stags ?" 
» See Appendix, Note II. 

* MS. — " Since dawn of morn, with vacant eyee ' 



And shifted (ft her stooping side. 
In weary tack from sliore to shore. 
Yet on her destined course no more 

She gain'd, of forward way. 
Than what a minstrel may compare 
To the poor meed which peasants share. 

Wlio toil the Hvelong day ; 
And such the risk her pilot braves. 

That oft, before she wore, 
Her boltsprit kiss'd the broken waves. 
Where in wliite foam the ocean raves 

Upon the shelving shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose true, 
Undaunted toil'd her hardy crew. 

Nor look'd where shelter lay. 
Nor for Artornish Castle drew, 

Nor steer'd for Aros bay. 

XV. 
Thus while they strove with wind and 

seas. 
Borne onward by the willing breeze, 

Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, 
Streamcr'd with siUv, and trick'd with gold, 
Mann'd with the noble and the hold 

Of Island chivalry. 
Around their prows the ocean roars. 
And chafes beneath their thous.ind oars. 

Yet bears them on their way : 
So chafes' the war-horse in his might. 
That fieldward bears some vaUant knight, 
Champs, till both bit aiid boss are white, 

But, foaming, must obey. 
On each gay deck they might behold 
Lances of steel and crests of gold. 
And hauberks with their burnish'd fold. 

That shimr.^e.''d fair and free ; 
And each proud galley, as she pass'd, 
To the wild ca-lence of the blast 

G.ave ft ilJer minstrelsy. 
Full many a shrill triumphant note 
Siuline and Scallastle bade flo.at 

Their misty shores around ; 
And Moi ven's echoes answer'd well. 
And Duart heard the distant ssvell 

Come down the darksome Sound. 

XVL 

bo bore they on with mirth and pride. 
And if that laboring bark they spied, 

'Twas with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boor, 
Wlien, toiling in his task obscure. 

Young Eva view'd the course she tries.'* 

* MS. " t])e brealiers' verge." 

6 MS. — " So fumes," Sec. 

6 MS. — " Tliat beaiB to fight some gallant knight.' 



OANTO I. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



419 



They pass him careless by.' 


Tims to the Leader spoke : — 


Let them sweep on with heedless eyes I 


"Brother, how hopest thou to abide 


But, had they known what mi^'hty prize 


The fury of tliis wilder'd tide. 


In that frail vessel lay, 


Or liow avoid the rock's rude side. 


The famish'd wolf, that prowls the wold, 


Until the d.ay has broke ! 


Had scatheless pass'd the unguarded fold, 


Didst thou not mark the vessel reel. 


Ere, drifting by these galleys bold. 


With quivering planks, and groaning keel, 


Unchallenged were her way !^ 


At the hist billow's shock ! 


And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep thou on, 


Yet how of better counsel tell, 


With mirth, and pride, and minstrel tone 1 


Though here thou sce'st poor Isabel 


But hadst th(ju known who saU'd so nigh, 


Half dead with want and fear ; 


Far other glance were in thine eye I 


For look on sea, or look on land. 


Far other flush were on thy brow, 


Or yon dark sky — on every hand 


That, shaded by the bonnet, now 


Despair and death are near. 


Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer 


For her alone I grieve, — on me 


Of bridegroom when the bride is near 1 


Dtmger sits light, by land and sea, 




I follow where thou wilt ; 


xvn. 


Either to bide the tempest's lour. 


Yes, sweep they on 1 — -We will not leave. 


Or wend to yon unfriendly tower, 


For them that triumph, those who ^ieve. 


Or rush amid then- naval power,' 


"With that armada gay 


With war-cry wake then- wassiul-hour 


Be laughter loud and jocund shout, 


And die with hand on hilt." — 


And bards to cheer t!ie wassaU rout 




"With tale, romance, and lay f 


XX. 


And of wild mu-th each clamorous art, 


That elder Leader's calm reply 


Which, if it cannot cheer the heart. 


In steady voice was given, 


May stupefy and stun its smai't, 


" Li man's most dark extremity 


For one loud busy day. 


Oft succor dawns from Heaven. 


Yes, sweep they on ! — But with that skiff 


Edward, trim thou the shatter'd sail, 


Abides the minstrel tale, 


The helm be mine, and down the gale 


"WTiore there was ctead of surge and cliff, 


Let our free course be driven ; 


Liibor that strain'd each smew stiff, 


So shall we 'scape the western bay, 


And one sad Maiden's waih 


The hostile fleet, the unequal fray, 




So safely hold our vessel's way 


XVIIL 


Beneath the Castle wall ; 


All day with fruitless strife they toil'd, 


For if a hope of safety rest, 


With eve the ebbmg currents boil'd 


'Tis on the sacred name of guest. 


More fierce from strmt and lake ; 


"ftTio seeks for shelter, storm-distress'd. 


And midway thi-ough the clKiunel met 


Within a cliieftain's hall. 


Conflictuig tides that foam and fret. 


If not — it best beseems our worth, 


And high their mingled billows jet. 


Our name, our right, our lofty bu-th, 


As spears, that, in the b.attle set, 


By noble hands to faU." 


Spring upward as they break. 


XXI 


Then, too, the lights of eve were past,* 


And louder sung the western blast 


The helm, to his strong arm consign'd. 


On rocks of Iiminmore ; 


Gave the reef'd sail to meet the wind. 


Rent was the sail, and strain'd the mast, 


And on her alter'd way, 


And many a le.ak was gaping fast. 


Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship 


And the pale steersman stood aghast. 


Like greyhound starting from the slip 


And gave the conflict o'er. 


To seize liis flying prey. 




Awaked before the rushuig prow, 


SIX. 


The mimic fires of ocean glow. 


'Twas then that One, whose lofty look 


Those lightnings of the wave ;' 


Nor labor duU'd nor terror shook. 


Wild sparkles crest the broken tides, 


* MS. — " As the gay nobles give the boor. 


3 MS.—" With mirth, song, tale, and lay." 


When, toiling in hiii task obscnre, 


* MS.—" Then, too, the clouds were sinking fast." 


Their greatness passes by." 


i " the hostile power." 


• MS.—" She held unchallenged way." 


« See Appendix, Note I. 



420 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And, flashiug roimd, the vessel's sides 

With elvish lustre lave,' 
WhUe, far behind, their livid light 
To the dark billows of the night 

A gloomy splendor gave. 
It seems as if old Ocean shakes 
From his darl: brow the lucid" flakes 

In envious pageantry. 
To match the meteor-light that streaks 

Grim Hecla's midnight sky. 

XXII. 

Nor lack'd they steadier light to keep 
" Theu' course upon the darken'd deep ; — 
Artornish, on her frowning steep 

'TwLxt cloud and ocean hung, 
Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, 
And landward far, and far to sea. 

Her festal radiance flung.* 
By that bhthe beacon-light they steer'd, 

Whose lustre mingled well 
With the pale beam that now appear' d. 
As the cold moon her head uprear'd 

Above the eastern fell. 

XXIIL 

Thus guided, on their course they bore, 
UntiJ they near'd tlie mainland shore, 
Whcj frequent on the hollow blast 
Wild shouts of merriment were cast. 
And wind and wave and sea-bird's cry 
With wassail sounds in concert vie,' 
Like funeral slu'ieks with revelry. 

Or hke tlie battle-shout 
By peasants heiird from chffs on high, 
When Triumph, Rage, and Agony, 

Madden the tiglit and route. 
Now nearer yet, through mist and storm 
Dimly arose the Castle's form'. 

And deepen'd' shadow made. 
Far lengtlien'd on tlie main below. 
Where, dancing in reflected glow, 

A hundred torches play'd, 
Spangling the wave with lights as vain 
As pleasures in this vale of pain, 

That dazzle as they fade.' 

MS. — " And, biirsTtnif round the vessel's sides, 
A livid lustre gave." 
J MS.—" Livid." 

s " The description of the vessel's approach to the Castle 
i.lirough the tempestuous and sparkling watere, and the con- 
trast of the gloomy Jispect of the billows with llie glittering 
splendor of Artornish, 

' 'Twixt cloud and pcean hung,* 
Bending her radiance abroad through the terrors of the night, 
and mingling at intervals the shouts of her revelry with the 
wilder cadence of lite blast, is one of the happiest in.=tances of 
Mr. Scott's felicity in awful and magnificent scenery." — Criti- 
ral Review 



XXIV. 
Beneath the Castle's sheltermg lee. 
They staid their course in quiet sea. 
Hewn in the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a stau% 

So straight, so high, so steep, 
"With peasant's staff one vahant hand 
Might well the dizzy pass have mann'd, 
'Gainst hundreds arm'd with spear and brand, 

And plunged them hi the deep.' 
His bugle then the helmsman womid ; 
Loud aiiswer'd every echo round. 

From turret, rock, and bay. 
The postern's hhigcs crash and groan. 
And soon the warder's cresset shone 
On those rude steps of slippery stone, 

To liglit the upward way. 
"Thrice welcome, holy Sne I" he said; 
" Full long the spousal train have staid, 

And, vex'd at thy delay, 
Fear d lest, amidst these wildering seas, 
The darksome night and freshening breeze 

Had driven thy bark astray." — 

XXV. 

" Warder," the younger stranger^ said, 
" Thine errmg guess some mirth had made 
In luirtliful horn- ; but nights Hke these, 
Wlien the rough winds wake western seas, 
Brook not of glee. "We crave some aid 
And needful shelter for this maid 

Until the break of day ; 
For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plaok 
Is easy as the mossy bank 

That's breathed upon by May, 
And for our storm-toss'd skiff we seek 
Short shelter in this leeward creek. 
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak 

Again to bear away." — 
Answered the Warder, — *' In what name 
Assert ye hospitable claim ? 

Whence come, or wliither bound ? 
Hath Erin seen your partmg sails ? 
Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? 
And seek ye England's fertile vales, 

Or Scotland's mountain ground !" — 

* MS.—" The wind, the wave, the sea-birJa' cry, 
In melancholy concert vie." 

6 MS. — "Darksome." 

8 " Mr. Scott, we observed in the newspapers, was engaged 
during last summer in a maritime expetlition ; and, according- 
ly, the most striking novelty in the present poem is the extent 
and variety of the sea pieces with which it abounds. One of 
the first we meet with is the picture of the distresses of tlio 
King's little bark, and her darkling run to the Bhelter of Ar- 
tornish Castle." — Edinburgh Rcv'ew, IHI.'i 

' See Appendix, Note K. 

8 MS.—" That young leader." 



CANTO I. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 421 


XXVI. 


Such as few arms could wield ; 


" Warriors — for other title none 


But when he bouu'd him to such task, 


For some brief space we list to own, 


Well could it cleave the strongest casque, 


BouHcl by a vow — warriors are we ; 


And rend the surest shield.' 


In strife by lauJ, and storm by sea, 




We liave boon known to fame ; 


XXIX. 


And tliose brief words liave import dear. 


Tlie raised portcullis' arch they pass. 


When sounded in a noble ear. 


Tlie wicket with its bars of brass. 


To harbor safe, and friendly cheer, 


Tlie entrance long and low,' 


Tliat ^ives us rightful claim. 


Flank'd at each turn by loop-holes strait, 


Gnuit us the trivial boon we seek. 


Where bowmen might in ambush wait 


And we in other realms will speak 


(If force or fraud should burst the gate). 


Fair of your courtesy ; 


To gall an entering foe. 


Deny — and be your niggard Hold 


But every jealous post of ward 


Scorn'd by the noble and the bold. 


Was now defenceless and unbarr'd. 


Shunn'd by the pilgrim on the wold, 


And all the passage free 


And wanderer on the lea !" — 


To one low-brow'd and vaulted room, 




Where squire and yeoman, page and groom. 


XXVII. 


Plied their loud revelry. 


" Bold stranger, no — 'gainst claim like thine. 




No bolt revolves by hand of mine,* 


XXX. 


Though urged in tone that more express'd 


And " Rest ye here," the Warder bade. 


A monarch than a suppliant guest. 


" Till to our Lord your suit is said. — 


Be what ye will, Artornish HaU 


And, comrades, gaze not on the maid, 


On tliis glad eve is free to all. 


And on these men who ask our aid. 


Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 


As if ye ne'er liad seen 


'Gainst our ally, great England's Lord, 


A damsel tired of midnight bark, 


Or mail upon your shoulders borne, 


Or wanderers of a moulding stark.' 


To battle witli the Lord of Lorn, 


And bearing martial mien." 


Or, outlaw'd, dwelt by gi-eenwood tree 


But nut for Eacliin's reproof 


With the fierce Ivnight of EUerslie,' 


Would page or vassal stand aloof. 


Or aided even the murderous strife. 


But crowded on to stai-e. 


When Comyn fell beneath the knife 


As men of courtesy untaught, 


Of that fell homicide The Bruce,' 


Till fieiy Edward roughly caught. 


Tliis night had been a term of truce. — 


From one the foremost there,' 


Ho, vassals ! give these guests your cai-e. 


His checker'd plaid, and in its shroud. 


And show the narrow postern stair." 


To liide her from the vulgar crowd. 




Involved his sister fair. 


XXVIIL 


His brother, as the clansman bent 


To hand these two bold brethren leapt 


His sullen brow in discontent. 


(The weary crew their vessel kept), 


Made brief and stern excuse ; — 


And, lighted by the torches' flare. 


" Vassal, were tliine the cloak of pall 


That seaward flung their smoky glare. 


That decks thy Lord in bridal hall, 


The younger knight that maiden bare 


'Twere honor'd by her use." 


Half Ufeless up the rock ; 




On liis strong shoulder lean'd her head. 


XXXL 


And do\vn her long dark tresses shed. 


Proud was his tone, but calm ; nis eye 


As the wild vine in tendrils spread, 


Had that compelling dignity. 


Droops from the mountain oak. 


His mien th.at bearing haught and high, 


Him fnllow'd close that elder Lord, 


Whicli common spuits fear !' 


And in his hand a sheathed sword, 


Needed nor word nor signal more, 


' MS. " 'gainst claim like yonre, 


MS. — " Or warlike men of moulding stark." 


No bolt ere closed our castle doors." 


1 MS.—" Till that hot Edward fiercely caujht 


» Sir William Wallace. 


From one, the boldest ther«." 


' ?ee Ap[ieridix. Note L. 


6 " Still sways their souls with that commanding art 


• MS. — " Well could it cleave the gilded casqne, 


That dazzles, learis. yet chills the vulgar heart. 


And rend the trustiest shield *' 


What is that spell, that thus his lawless train 


• MS. — " The entrance vaulted low." 


Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain^ 



422 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO II. 



Ifod, wink, and laugliter, all Tvere o'er ; 
Upon each other back they bore,' 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appear'd the Seneschal, 
Commission'd by his lord to call 
The strangers to the Baron's hall, 

Where feasted fair and free 
That Island Prince in nuptial tide, 
With Edith there his lovely bride, 
And her bold brother by her side, 
And many a chief, the flower and pride 

Of Western land and sea.' 

Here pause we, gentles, for a space ; 
And, if our tale hath won your grace, 
Grant us brief patience, and again 
We will renew the minstrel strain." 



Slje Corir of tl)c Islcg. 



CANTO SECOND. 



Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board ! 
Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair ! 
Tlu'ough the loud hall in joyous concert pour'd. 
Let mirth and music sound the du'ge of Care ! 
But ask thou not if Happiness be there, 
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe, 
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear ; 
Lift not the festal mask ! — enough to know. 
No srene of mortal Ufe but teems with mortal woe.' 

n. 

With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay, 
With all that olden time deem'd gay. 
The Island Chieftain feasted high; 
But there was in his troubled eye 
A gloomy fire, and on his brow 
Now sudden flush'd, and faded now, 
Emotions such as draw their birth 



What sliould it bp, that thns their faith can bind ? 
Tlie power of Thought — the magic of the Mind ! 
I.ink'd with snccfss, .nssiimed .tnd kept with skill. 
That moulds another's weakness to its will ; 
VVielils with her bands, but, still to these unknowr. 
Makes even their mightiest deed" appear his cwn. 
Such bath it been — shall be — beneath the sur. 
The many still must labor for the one ! 
Tis Nature's doom." 

Byron's Cursair. 
' MS. — " Of mountain chivalry." 

J " The first Canto is full of business and description, and 
tne scenes are such as Mr. Scott's mase generally excels in. 
The scene between Edith nnd her nurse is spirited, and con- 



From deeper som-ce than festal mirth. 
By fits he paused, and harper's strain 
Anil jester's tale went round in vain, 
Or fell but on liis idle ear 
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear, 
Tlien would he rouse him, and employ 
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,* 

And call for pledge and lay. 
And, for brief space, of till the crowd, 
As he was loudest of the loud. 

Seem gayest of the gay.' 

III. 

Yet naught amiss the bridal throng 
Mark'd in brief mirth, or musing long ; 
Tlie vacant brow, the unhsteuiiig ear, 
They gave to thoughts of raptures near, 
And his fierce starts of sudden glee 
Seem'd bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy. 
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd. 
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,* 
And jealous of liis honor'd Hue, 
And that keen knight, De Argentine' 
(From England sent on errand high, 
The western league more firm to tie),® 
Both deem'd in Konald's mood to find 
A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
But one sad heart, one tearful eye. 
Pierced deeper through the mj'stery, 
And watch'd, with agony and fear. 
Her wayward biidegroom's varied cheer. 

IV. 

She watch'd — yet fear'd to meet his glance, 
And he shumi'd hers, till when by chance 
They met, the point of foeman's lance 

Had given a milder pang! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 
He writhed — then sternly mann'd liis heai-t 
To play his hard but destined part, 

And from the table sprang. 
" FiU me the mighty cup !" he said, 
" Erst own'd by royal Somerled :' 
FiU it, tm on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 



tains many very pleasing lines. The description of Lord Ro- 
nald's fleet, and of the hark endeavoring to make her way 
against the wind, more particularly of the last, is executed 
with extraordinary beauty and fidelity." — Quarterly Review. 

3 " Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful ; and the end ol 
that mirth is heaviness." — Proverbs, siv. 13. 

> MS. " and give birth 

To jest, to wassail, and to mirrti." 

& MS. — " Would seem lite londest of the loud. 
And gayest of the gay." 

^ MS.—" Since Lorn, the proudest of the proud." 

' MS. — " And since the keen De Argentine." 

s See Appendix, Note L. 

9 Ibid. Note M. 



CANTO 11. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 423 


And every gem of v.aried yliiiio 


vn. 


Glow doubly bright in rosy wine ! 


Then lords and ladies spiike aside. 


To you, brave lord, and brother mine. 


And angry looks the error chide,* 


Of Lorn, this pledge I drink — 


That g.ave to gtiests uimamed, unknown. 


The union of Our House with thine, 


A place so near their prince's throne ; 


By this fair bridal-Uuk !"— 


But Owen Erraught said. 




" For forty years a seneschal, 


V. 


To marshal guests in bower a*d hall 


" Let it pass round !" quoth He of Lorn, 


Has been my houor'd trade. 


" And in good time — that winded horn 


Worsliip and buth to me are known. 


Must of the Abbot teU ; 


By look, by bearing, and by tone. 


The laggai'd monk is come at last." 


Not by furr'd robe or broider'd zone ; 


Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast, 


And 'gainst an oaken bough 


And on the floor at random cast, 


I'll gage my silver wand of state. 


The imtasted goblet fell. 


That these three strangers oft have sate 


But when the warder in his ear 


In higher place than now." — ° 


Tells other news, liis blither cheer 




Retm-ns like sun of May, 


VHL 


When through a thunder-cloud it beams 1 — 


" I, too," the aged Ferrand said. 


Lord of two hundred isles, he seems 


"Am qualified by minstrel trade^ 


As glad of brief delay, 


Of rank and place to tell ;— 


As some poor criminal might feel, 


Mark'd ye the younger stranger's eye, 


When, from the gibbet or the wheel. 


My mates, how quick, how keen, how high. 


Respited for a day. 


How fierce its flashes fell. 




Glancing among the noble rout' 


VL 


As if to seek the noblest out. 


" Brother of Lorn," with hurried voice 


Because the owner might not brook 


He said, " and you, fair lords, rejoice ! 


On any save his peers to look ? 


Here, to augment our glee. 


And yet it moves me more. 


Come wandering knights from travel far 


That steady, calm, majestic brow. 


Well proved, they say, in strife of war, 


With wliich the elder chief even now 


And tempest on the sea. — 


Scanu'd the gay presence o'er, 


Ho ! give them at your board such place 


Like being of superior kind. 


As best their presences may grace,' 


In whose high-toned impartial mind 


And bid them welcome free !" 


Degrees of mortal rank and state 


With solemn step, and silver wand. 


Seem objects of indifferent weight. 


The Seneschal the presence scann'd 


The lady too — though ch>sely tied 


Of these strange guests ;' and well he 


The m.antle veil both face and eye, 


knew 


Her motions' grace it cordd not hide. 


How to assign their rank its due ;' 


Nor could' her form's fail' sj-mmetry.' 


For though the costly furs 




That erst had deck'd theii- caps were torn. 


IX. 


And their gay robes were over-worn. 


Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 


And soil'd their gilded spurs, 


Lour'd on the haughty front of Lorn. 


Yet such a high commanding grace 


From tmderneath his brows of pride, 


Was in their mien and in their face, 


The str.anger guests he sternly eyed. 


As suited best the princely dais,* 


And wliisper'd closely what the ear 


And royal canopy ; 


Of Argentine alone might hear ; 


And there he marshall'd them their place, 


Then question'd, high and brief, 


First of that company. 


If, in their voyage, aught they knew 


» MS. — " As may their presence fittest grace." 


And tishers censored the mistake.' 


3 MS.—" With solemn pace, and silver roti, 


a " The first entry of the illostrions strangers into the castle 


The Seneschal the entrance show'd 


dfthe Celtic chief, is in the accustomed and pecoliar style oi 


To these strange guest5.*' 


the poet of chiealry."—3i£FFREY. 


» See Appencli.\, Note N. 


' MS. — " * I, too,' old Ferrand said, and langh'd, 


* 2>a(s— the great hall table — elevated a step or two above 


' Am qualified by minstrel craft.' " 


the rest of the room. 


» MS. " the festal root." 


6 MS. — " Aside then lords and ladies spake, 


• MS.—" Nor hide," &c. 



434 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii. 


Of the rebellious Scottish crew, 


Did the faiiy of the fountain. 


Wlio to Rath- Erin's shelter drew, 


Or the mermaid of the wave. 


With Carriek's outlaw'd cliief ?' 


Frame thee in some coral cave ? 


And if, their winter's exile o'er, 


Did, in Iceland's darksome mine, 


They harbor'd still by Ulster's shore. 


Dwarf's swart hands thy metal twine ? 


Or launch'd then- galleys on the main, 


Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here. 


To vex their native land agam ? 


From Euglitnd's love, or France's fear i 


X. 


XII. 


That younger stranger, fierce and high. 


SoitQ contfnurt). 


At once confronts the Chieftain's eye' 


" No ! — thy splendors nothing tell 


With look of equal scorn ;■ — ■ 


Foreign art or faery speU. 


■ Of rebels have we naught to show ; 


Moulded thou for monarch's use. 


But if of Royal Bruce thou'dst know. 


By the overweening Bruce, 


I warn thee he has sworn,^ 


When the royal robe he tied 


Ere thrice three days shall come and go. 


O'er a heart of wrath and pride ; 


His banner Scottish winds shall blow, 


Thence m triumph wert thou torn, 


Despite each mean or mighty foe, 


By the victor hand of Lorn ! 


From England's every bill and bow, 




To Allaster of Lom." 


" When the gem was won and lost. 


Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire. 


Widely was the war-cry toss'd ! 


But Romild quench'd the rising fire ; 


Rung aloud Bendourish fell, 


"Brother, it better suits the tune 


Answer'd Douchart's sormtling dell. 


To chase the night with Ferrand's rhyme, 


Fled the deer from wild Teyndnun, 


Than wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jars 


When the homicide, o'ercome. 


That flow from these unhappy wars." — * 


Hardly 'scaped, with scathe and scorn. 


" Content," said Lorn ; and spoke apart 


Left the pledge with conquermg Lom 1 


With Ferrand, master of his art, 




Then whisper'd Argentine, — 


xin. 


" The lay I named will carry smart 


Soitji conclulicli. 


To these bold strangers' haughty heart, 


" Vain was then the Douglas brand,^ 


If right this guess of mine." 


"Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand, 


He ceased, and it was silence all, 


Vahi Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk, 


tTntil the minstrel waked the hall.* 


Making sm-e of murder's work ■," 




Bareudown fled fast away. 


XI. 


Fled the liury De la Haye," 


C!)C aSroodj of aovn." 


Wlieu this brooch, triumphant borne, 


" Whence the brooch of burning gold, 


Beam'd upon the breast of Lorn. 


That clasps the Chieftain's mantle-fold, 




Wrought and chased with rare device. 


" Farthest fled its former Lord, 


Studded fail- with gems of price,'' 


Left his men to brand and cord," 


On the varied tartans beaming, 


Bloody brand of Highland steel. 


As, through night's pale rainbow gleammg, 


EugUsh gibbet, axe, and wheel 


Fainter now, now seen afar. 


Let him fly from coast to coast, 


Fitful shines the northern star ? 


Dogg'd by Comyn's vengeful ghost, 




"VMule his spoils, in triumph worn, 


" Gem ! ne'er wrought on Higlilaud mountain. 


Long shall grace victorious Lorn !" 


1 See Appendux, Note 0. 


chief over Robert Bruce, in one of their rencontres. Cruce, 


2 MS.—" Tliat rounger stranger, naught ont-dared. 


in trutli, had been set on by some of that clan, and had extri- 


Was prompt tlie haughty Chief to beard." 


cated himself from a fearful overmatch by stependons exertions. 


3 MS. — •' Men say that he has sworn." 


In the struggle, however, the brooch which fastened his royal 


* " The description of the bridal feast, in the second Canto, 


mantle had been torn off by the assailants ; and it is en the 


has several animated lines ; hut the re.ll power and poetry of 


subject of this trophy that the Celtic poet pours forth this wila 


the author do not appear to us to he called out until the occa- 


rapid, and spirited strain." — Jeffrev. 


sion of the Highland quarrel which follows tiie feast." — 


e See Appendi.\, Note P. ' Ibid. Note Q.. 


Monthly Review, March, 1815. 


e See Appendix, Note R. 


6 '* In a very dilTcrent style of excellence (from that of the 


8 See Appendix, Note S. 


first three stanzas) is the triumphant and insulting song of the 


10 See Appendix, Note T. 


bard of Lorn, commemorating the pretended victory of his 


11 MS. — "Left his followers to the sword." 



uxMoii. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. .J -25 


XIV. 


XVI. 


A? glares the tiger on bis foes, 


Then up sprang many a maiuland Lord, 


llcimn'tl in by hunters, spe:ir.<, anil bows, 


Obedient to their Chieft;iin's word. 


Anil, ere he bounds upon the ring. 


BurcaUline's arm is liigh in air. 


Selects the object of his spring, — 


And Kiuloch-AUiue's blaile is bare. 


Now on the barrl, now on his Lord, 


Black JIurthok's dirk has left its sheath. 


So Edward glared and grasp'd his sword — 


And clench'd is Dermid's hand of deatli. 


But stern his brother spoke, — " Be still. 


Their mutter'd threats of vengeance swell 


What ! art thou yet so wild of will, 


Into a wild and warlike yell ; 


After liigh deeds and sufferings long, 


Onward they press with weapons high. 


To chafe thee for a menial's song ? — 


The affrighted females shriek and fly. 


■\Vell hast thou framed. Old JIan, thy strain.s, 


And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray 


To praise the hand that pays thy piiins 1' 


Had darken'd ere its noon of day,— 


Yet sonietliing might thy song have told 


But every cliief of birth and fame, 


Of Lorn's tluee vassals, true and bold. 


That from the Isles of Ocean came. 


Who rent tlieir lord from Bruce's hold. 


At Konald's side that liour withstoc- ( 


As uuderneath his knee he lay. 


Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for b! jod.' 


And died to save him m the fray. 




I've heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp 


XVIL 


\\'as clench'd within their dying gra.sp, 


Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high. 


What time a hundred foemen more 


Lord of the misty hills of Skye, 


Kush'd in, and back the victor bore,' 


Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane, 


Long after Lorn had left the strife,' 


Duart, of bold Clan-Gillian's strain. 


Full glad to 'scape with limb :uid life.- - 


Fergus, of Canna's castled bay. 


Enough of this — And, Minstrel, hold, 


JVlac-Duffith, Lord of Colousay, 


As minstrel-hire, tliis chain of gold. 


Soon as they saw the broadswords gkmce, 


For future lays a fan- excuse, 


With ready weapons rose at once. 


To speak more nobly of the Bruce." — 


More prompt, that many an ancieut feud. 




Full oft suppress'd, full oft renew'd, 


XV. 


Glow'd 'twixt the chieftains of Argylc, 


" Kow, by Columba's shrine, I sirear, 


And many a lord of ocean's isle. 


And everj' saint that's buried there, 


Wdd was the scene — each sword was bare, 


'Tis he liimself !" Lorn sternly cries, 


Back stream'd each chieftain's shaggy hair 


" And for my kinsman's death he dies." 


In gloomy opposition set. 


As loudly Ronald calls, — " Forbear 1 


Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met ; 


Not in my sight while brand I wear. 


Blue gleaming o'er the social board. 


O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall. 


Flash'd to the torches many a sword ; 


Or blond of stranger stain my hall I 


And soon those bridal lights may shine 


This ancient fortress of my race 


On purple blood for rosy wine. 


Shall be misfortune's resting-place, 




Shelter and shield of the distress'd. 


XVIIL 


No slaughter-house for shipwreck'd guest." — 


While thus for blows and death prepared. 


" Talk not to me," fierce Lorn replied. 


Each heart was up,' each weapon bared. 


" Of odds, or match ! — when Comyn died. 


Each foot advanced, — a surly pause 


Tiiree daggers clash'd within his side ! 


Still reverenced hospitable laws. 


Talk not to me of sheltering hall. 


All menaced violence, but alike 


The Clmrch of Gon saw Comyn fall I 


Reluctant each the first to strike 


On God's own altar stresmi'd his blood. 


(For aye accursed in minstrel line 


Wliile o'er my prostrate kinsman stood 


Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine). 


The ruthless murderer — e'en as now — 


And, match'd in numbers and in might, 


With armed hand and scornful brow ! — 


Doubtful and desperate scem'd the tight. 


Up, all who love me ! blow on blow 1 


Tims threat and murmur died away. 


And lay the outlaw'd felons low !" 


Till on the crowded hall there lay 


1 See Appendix, Note V. 


" But stem the Island Lord withstood 


J The M.-=. has not this couplet. 


The vengeful Chieftain's thirst of blood." 


8 MS.—*' When breathless Lorn had left the strife.** 


6 MS.—" While lluis for blood and blows prepared. 


* For tliei; four lines tlie MS. has— 


Raised was each hand,*' &c. 



426 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Such silence, as the deadly still, 

Ere bursts the thunder on the hill 

Witli blade advanced, each Chieft:un bold 

Show'd like the Sworder's form of old,' 

As wanting still the torch of life. 

To wake the marble into strife.^ 

XIX. 

Tliat awful pause the stranger maid. 
And Edith, seized to pray for aid. 
As to De Argentine she clung. 
Away her veil the stranger flung. 
And, lovely 'mid her wild despah, 
Fast stream'd her eyes, wide flow'd her hair. 
" thou, of kniglithood once the flower, 
Sure refuge in distressful hour. 
Thou, who in Judah well hast fought 
For our dear fiiith, and oft hast sought 
Renown in kuightlj' e.\ercise, 
When this poor h;md has dealt the prize. 
Say, aui thy soul of ht)nor brook 
On the imequal strife to look. 
When, butcher'd thus in peaceful hall. 
Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall 1" 
To Argentine sho turn'd her word. 
But her eye sought the Island Lord." 
A flush like evening's setting flame 
Glow'd on his cheek ; his hardy frame, 
As with a brief convulsion, shook: 
With hurried voice and eager look, — 
" Fear not," he said, " my Isabel 1 
What said I— Edith !— all is well- 
Nay, fear not — I will well provide 
The safety of my lovely bride — ■ 
My bride ?" — but there the accents climg 
In tremor to his faltering tongue. 

XX. 

' Now rose De Argentine, to claim 

The prisoners in liis sovereign's name, 
To England's crown, who, vassals sworn, 
'Gainst their liege lord h.ad weapon borne — 
(Such speech, I ween, was but to hide 
His care their safety to provide ; 
For knight more true in thouglit and deed 
Than Argentine ne'er spurrVI a steed)^ 
Anfl Ronald, who his meaning guess'd, 
Seem'd half tc sanction the request. 
This purpose fiery Torquil broke : — 
"Somewhat we've heard of England's yoke," 
He said, " and, in our isLand.s, Fame 



. MS.- 



' each Chieftain ruile, 



Ijilie tliat famed Swonlsman*s statue stood.' 
s R'S. — " Tu wrilien liiiii to deailly strife." 
= Tlie iWS. a.l.is :— 

*' Willi sueli a frantic fonil appeal, 
As only lover* make and feel." 
* My. — " Wiiat time at every cross of old.'* 



Hath whisper'd of a lawful claim, 
That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's Lord, 
Though dispossess'd by foreign sword. 
This craves reflection — but though right 
And just the charge of England's Knight, 
Let England's crown her rebels seize 
Where she has power; — in towers like 

these, 
'Midst Scottish Chieftains simimon'd here 
To bridal mirth and bridal cheer, 
Be sure, with no consent of mine, 
Shall either Lorn or Argentine 
With chains or violence, in our sight. 
Oppress a brave and banish'd Knight." 

XXL 

Tlien waked the wild debate again, 
With brawlitig threat and clamor vain 
Vassals antl menials, thronging in. 
Lent their brute rage to swell the din; 
\Vlien, far and wide, a bugle-clang 
From the dark ocean upward rang. 
" The Abbot comes !" tliey cry at once, 
" The holy man, whose favor'd glance 

Hath sainted visions known ; 
Angels have met hitn on the way, 
Beside the blesseil martyrs' bay, 

And by Columba's stcine. 
His monks have lieard their hymuings high 
Soimd from the summit of Dun-Y, 

To cheer his penance lone. 
When at each cross, on girth and wold* 
(Their number thrice a hundred fold). 
His prayer he made, liis beads he told, 

With Aves many a one — 
He comes our feuds to reconcile, 
A sainted man from sainted isle ; 
We will his holy doom abide, 
The Abbot shall our strife decide."* 

XXIL 
Scarcely this fair accord was o'er," 
When through the wide revolving door 

Tlie black-stoled bretlu'en wind; 
Twelve sandall'd monks, who rehcs bore, 
AVith many a torch-bearer before, 

And many a cross behind.' 
Tlien sunk each fierce uplifted hand. 
And diigger bright and flashing brand 

Dropp'd swiftly at the sight; 
They vatiish'd from the Chiu-climau's eye, 

li MS. — " We will Ills holy rede obey, 

The Abbot's voice shall end the fray." 

8 MS. — " Scarce WES this peaceful jiaction o'er." 

' MS. — " Did slow proces.'ion wind ; 

Twelve moults, who stole and mantle wore. 
And chalice, pyx, and ic'ics bore, 
With many," Stc. 



CANTO 11. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 427 


As sliooting stars, that glance and die, 


XXV. 


Dart from the vault of night. 


Tlien Ronald pled the stranger's cause. 




And knighthood's oath and honor's laws ;' 


XXIII. 


And Isabel, on bended knee. 


The Abbot on 1he threshold stood, 


Brought pray'rs and tears to back the plea : 


And in his hand tlie holy rood ; 


And Editli lent her generous aid. 


Back on iiis shoulders flow'd his hood. 


And wept, and Lorn for mercy pray'd.' 


The torcJi'a glaring ray 


" Hence," he exclaim'd, degenerate maid 1 


Show'd, in its red and flashing light, 


Wa.s't not enough to Roland's bower 


His withcr'd cheek and amice white, 


I brought thee, like a paramour,' 


His blue eye gUstening cold and bright, 


Or boml-maid at her ma.ster's gate, 


His tresses scant and gray. 


His careless cold approach to wait? — 


" Fair Lords," he said, " Our Lady's love. 


But the bold Lord of Cumberland, 


And peace be "with you from above. 


The gallant Clifford, seeks thy hand ; 


And Benedicife ! — 


His it shall be — Nay, no reply ! 


—But what means this ? no peace is here ! — 


Hence ! till those rebel eyes be dry." 


Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer ? 


With grief the Abbot heard and saw, 


Or are these naked brands 


Yet naught relax'd his brow of awe.' 


A seemly show for Churchman's sight. 




When he conies summon'd to unite 


XXVI. 


Betrothed hearts and hands ?" 


Then Argentine, in England's name. 




So highly urged his sovereign's claun,' 


XXIV. 


He waked a spark, that long suppress'd. 


Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal. 


Had smoulder'd in Lord Ronald's breast ; 


Proud Lorn first answer'd the appeal ; — 


And now, as from the flint the fire. 


" Thou comest, holy Man, 


Flash'd forth at once his generous ire. 


True sons of blessed church to greet,' 


" Enough of noble blood," he said. 


But little deeming here to meet 


" By English Eilward had been shed. 


A wretch, beneath the ban 


Since matchless Wallace first had been 


Of Pope and Church, for murder done 


In mock'ry crown'd with wreaths of green," 


Even on the sacred altar-stone ! — ^ 


And done to death by felon hand. 


Well mayst thou wonder we should know 


For guarding well his father's land. 


Such miscreant here, nor lay him low,' 


Where's Nigel Bruce ? And De la Haye, 


Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, 


And valiant Seton — where are they ? 


"With excommunicated Bruce 1 


Where Somerville, the kind and free? 


Yet will I grant, to end debate. 


And Eraser, flower of chivalry ?" 


Thy sainted voice decide his fate.'" 


Have they not been on gibbet bound. 


> The MS. here adds :— 


Still to prevent uneqaal fight ; 


" Men bound in her commnnion svireet. 


And Isabel," &c. 


And duteous lo the Papal seat." 


6 MS. — " And wept alike and knelt and prayM" — The nine 


IR^..^ 4i>l..,l,1...^ ,.1.«.Ta .>»--._ f? 


lines which intervene betwixt this and the concluding conple* 
of the stanza an; not in the MS. 




• In place of the couplet wliich follows, llie MS. has — 


' See Appendix, Note V. 


" But promptly had my dagger's edge 


« The MS. adils— 


Avenged rhe guilt of sacrilege, 




Save for my new and kind ally. 


" He raised the suppliants from the floor. 


And Torquil. chief of stormy Skye 


Ami bade their sorrowing be o'er, ) 
And bade them give their weeping o'er, 1 


(In \vlio«o wild land there rests the seed, 


Men say. of ancient heatlien creed), 


But in a tone that well e.xplain'd 


Who would enforce me to a truce 


How little <»race their prayers had gain'd ; 


With excommunicated Bruce." 


For though he purposed tme and well. 




Still stubborn and inflexible 


< The MS. adr?3 : 


In what he deem'd his doty high. 


" Secure such foul ofrender9 find 


Was Abbot Ademar of Y." 


No favor in a holy mind." 


fl MS.—" For Bruce's custody made claim."— In place o* 


» The MS. has : 


the two couplets which follow, the MS. has^ 


*' Alleged the he^t of honor's laws, 


" And Torquil, stout Dunvegan's Knight, 


tmm ^ f 1 11 P t O i 


As well defended Scotland's right. 


The saecor ) ^^^-^.^^ ^^ J stormH,laid gae,t. 


Enough of," &c. 


The refuse due to the diatresa'd. 


>o See Appendix. Note W. 


The oath that binds each generous ktiight 


n See Appendix, Note X. 

_ 



428 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ii. 


Tlieir quarters flung to hawk and hound, 


Arms every hand against thy life. 


And hold we here a cold debate, 


Bans all who aid thee in the strife. 


To yield more victims to their fate ? 


Nay, each whose succor, cold and scant,' 


What ! can the English Leopard's mood 


With meanest alms reheves thy want ; 


Never be gorged with northern blood ? 


Haunts thee wliile living, — and, when dead, 


Was not the Ufe of Athole shed, 


Dwells on thy yet devoted head. 


To soothe the tyrant's sicken'd bed?' 


Rends Honor's scutcheon fi*om thy hearse. 


And must his word, tdl dying day. 


Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, 


Be naught but quarter, hang, and slay ! — ^ 


And spurns thy corpse from hallow'd ground. 


Thou fi"own'st, De Argentine, — My gage 


Flung hke vile carrion to the hound ; 


Is jjrompt to prove the strife I wage." — 


Such is the dire and desperate doom 




For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 


xxvir. 


And such the well-deserved meed 


" Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's knight,^ 


Of thine unliallow'd, ruthless deed." 


" That thou shalt brave alone the fight ! 




By saints of isle and mainland both. 


XXIX. 


J3y Woden wild (my grandsire's oath),* 


" Abbot !" the Bruce replied, " thy charge 


Let Rome and England do then' worst, 


It boots not to dispute at large. 


Howe'er attainted or accursed. 


This nrach, howe'er, I bid thee know, 


If Bruce shall e'er find friends again. 


No selfish vengeance dealt the blow, 


Once more to brave a battle-plain, 


For Comyn died his country's foe. 


If Douglas couch again his lance. 


Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed 


Or Randolph dare another chance. 


Fidfill'd my soon-repented deed. 


Old Torquil will not be to lack 


Nor censure those from whose stern tongi'je 


With twice a thousand at his back. — 


The dire anathema has rung. 


Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold. 


I only Wame mine own wild ire. 


Good Abbot ! for thou know'st of old. 


By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 


Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will 


Heaven knows my pm-pose to atone. 


Smack of the wild Norwegian still ; 


Far as I may, the evil done, 


Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 


And hears a penitent's appeal 


For England's wealth, or Rome's applause.** 


From papal cm-se and prelate's zeal. 




My first and dearest task acliieved, 


XXVIII. 


Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, 


The Abbot seem'd with eye severe 


Shall many a priest in cope and stole 


The hardy Chieftain's speech to bear ; 


Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul, 


Then on King Robert turn'd the Monk,* 


Wliile I the blessed cross advance. 


But twice hi£ courage came and simk. 


And expiate this unliappy chance 


Confronted with the hero's look ; 


In Palestine, with sword and lance.*^ 


Twice fell his eye, his accents shook ; 


But, while content the Church should know 


At length, resolved m tone and brow. 


My conscience owns the debt I owe,' 


Sternly he question'd him — " And thou. 


Unto De Argentine and Lorn 


Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead, 


The name of traitor I return, 


Why I denounce not on thy deed 


Bid them defiance stern and high," 


That awful doom which canons tell 


And give them m their tlu-oats the lie ! 


Sluits paradise, and opens hell ; 


These brief words spoke, I speak no more. 


Anathema of power so dread. 


Do what thou -wilt ; my shrift is o'er." 


It blends the living with the dead. 




T ills each frood angel soar away. 


XXX. 


And every ill one claun liis prey ; 


Like man by prodigy amazed, 


Expels thee from the churcli's care. 


Upon the King the Abbot gazed ; 


And deafens Heaven against thy prayer ; 


Then o'er his pallid features glance. 


• Sec Appentlii, Note Y. 


or imperfect converts to Chnsttanity. The family names of 


ilSee Appenilix, Note Z. 


Toniuil, Thonnod, &c. are all Norwegian. 


- Ill the MS. this cou]>1et is w;mting, anil, without breaking 


■' MS.—" Then tiirn'd him on the Bruce the Monk." 


tl;eslanza, Lol-il Rol.Tnd colitinaee. 


MS. — *' Nay, curses each whose succor scant.'* 


" By saints of isle,*' &c. 


' Peti Appendix, Note 2 A. 


t Tlie MacLeods, and most otlicr distin^oished Hebrideaa 


8 The MS. adds :— •' For this ill-timed and locklesa blow * 


r.,inilie3, were of Scandinavian e>;traction, and some were tate 


•■ MS. •' bold and high." 



CANTO II. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



429 



Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
His brcatliing came more tbick and fast, 
And from his pale blue eyes were cast 
Strange rays of wild and wandering light ; 
Uprise liis locks of silver white, 
Flush'd is liis brow, through every vein 
In azure tide the currents strain, 
And undistinguish'd accents broke 
The awful silence ere be spoke.' 

XXXI. 
" De Bruce ! I rose with purpose dread 
To speak my curse upon thy head," 
And give thee as an outcast o'er 
To him who burns to shed thy gore ; — 
But, like the Midianite of old. 
Who stood on Zophim, heaven-controll'd,' 
I feel within mine aged breast 
A power that wUl not be repress'd.' 
It prompts my voice, it swells my veins. 
It biu'ns, it maddens, it constrains ! — 
De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 
Hath at God's alt.'ir slain thy foe : 
O'ermaster'd yet by high behest, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd !" 
He spoke, and o'er the astonish'd throng 
Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 

XXXII. 
Again that light has fired his eye, 
Again his form swells bold and high, 
Tlie broken voice of age is gone, 
'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone : — 

1 MS. — " ?well on his wither'd brow the veins, 
Each in its azure cnrrent strains. 
And interrupted tears e.tpress'd 
Tlie tumult of liis laboring breast." 

5 See Appendix, Note 2 B. 

3 See tlie Boole of Numbers, chap, xxiii. and ixiv. 

• See Appendix, Note 2 C. 

» Ibid. Note 2 D. 

" " On this transcendent passage we shall only remark, that 
of the gloomy part of the prophecy we hear nothing more 
liiroush the whole of the poem, and though the Abbot informs 
the King that he shall be 'On foreign shores a man exiled,' 
the poet never speaks of him but as resident in Scotland, up 
to the period of the battle of Bannockburn." — Critical Re- 
view. 

' The MS. has not this couplet. 

s " The conception and execution of these stanzas constitute 
excellence which it would be difficnit to match from any other 
(tart of the poem. The surprise is grand and perfect. The 
monk, struck with the heroism of Robert, foregoes the intended 
anathema, and breaks out into a prophetic annunciation of his 
final triumph over all his enemies, and the veneration in which 
his name will be held by posterity. These stanzas, which con- 
clude the second Canto, derive their chief title to encomium 
from the emphatic felicity of their burden, 

' I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd ;' 

in which few and simple words, following, as they do, a series 



" Tlirice vanquish'd on the battle-plain. 

Thy followers slaughter'd, fled, or ta'on, 

A hunted wanderer on the wild. 

On foreign shores a man exiled,' 

Disown'd, deserted, and distress'd,' 

I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd ! 

Bless'd in the hall and in the field. 

Under the mantle as the shield. 

Avenger of thy country's shame. 

Restorer of her injured fame, 

Bless'd in thy sceptre and thy sword, 

Do Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful Lord, 

Bless'd in thy deeds and in thy fame. 

What lengthen'd honors wait thy name ! 

In distant tiges, sire to son 

Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, 

And teach his infants, in the use 

Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. 

Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along 

Thy course, the theme of many a song ! 

The Power, whose dictates swell my breast, 

Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be bless'd !- 

Enough — my short-Uved strength decays. 

And sinks the momentary blaze. — • 

Heaven hath our destined purpose broke, 

Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ;' 

Brethren, our errand here is o'er, 

Om" task discharged. — Unmoor, unmoor !' — 

His priests received the exhausted Monk, 

As breathless in theu' arras he sunk. 

Ptinctual his orders to obey, 

The train refused all longer stay, 

Embark'd, raised sail, and bore away.' 



of predicated ills, there is an energy that instantaneously aji- 
peals to the heart, and surpasses, all to nothing, the results ot 
pas-iages less happy in their application, though more labored 
and tortuous in their construction." — •Critical Review. 

" The story of the second Canto exhibits fewer of Mr. Scott's 
characteristical beauties than of his characteristical faults. 
The scene itself is not of a very edifying description; nor is 
the want of agreeableness in the subject compensated by any 
detached merit in the details. Of the language and versifica- 
tion in many parts, it is hardly possible to speak favorably. 
The same must be said of the sj)eeches which the difiereiit 
characters .address to each other. The rude vehemence which 
they dis])lay seems to consist much more in the loudness and 
gesticulation with which the speakers express themselves, than 
in the force and energy of their sentiments, which, for the most 
part, are such as the barbarous chiefs, to wliom they .ire al 
Iriliutcd, might, without any great premcdilation, eitlier as Ik 
the thought or language, have actually uttered. To fird '.lu. 
gnage and sentiments proportioned to characters of sucA ex- 
traonlinary dimensions as the agents in the poems of Hjit.ar 
and Milton, is indeed an admirable effort of genius ; but ;o 
make such as we meet with in the epic poetry of the present 
day, persons often below the middle size, and never very much 
above it, merely speak in character, is not likely to occasion 
either much difficulty to the poet, or much pleasure to the 
reader. As an example, we might adduce the speech of stout 
Dunvegan's kni^'ht, stanza xxvii.. which is not the less wanting 
in f.Tflte, because it is natural and cliaracteristic." — Quarter 
Review. 



430 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Qll)e £orb of tl)c JsUs. 



CANTO THIED. 



I. 

Hast thou not mark' J, when o'er thy startled 

head 
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roll'd, 
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead 
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, antl the wcild ? 
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fuUl, 
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still,' 
The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd hold, 
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and 

shrill, [groaning hill. 

The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the 

II. 
Artornish ! such a silence sunk 
Upon thy haUs, when that gray Monk 

His prophet-speech had spoke ; 
And his obedient bretliren's sail 
Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale 

Before a wliisper woke. 
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear. 
Close pour'd in many an anxious car, 

The solemn stiUiiess broke ; 
And stiU they gazed with eager guess, 
Where, in an oriel's deep recess. 
The Island Prince seem'd bent to press 
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer. 
And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to heai-. 

III. 
Starting at length, with frowning look. 
His hand he clench'd, liis head he shook, 

And sternly flung apart ; — 
" And deem'st thou me so mean of mood. 
As to forget the mortal feud, 
And clasp the hand witli blood imbrued' 

From my dear Kinsman's heart ? 
Is this thy rede ?■ — a due return 
For ancient league and friend.'ihip sworn ! 
3ut well our mountain proverb shows 
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flowi*. 
Be it even so — believe, ere long. 
He that now bear's shall wreak the wi'ong. — 
Call Edith— caU the Maid of Lorn ! 
My sister, slaves ! — for further scorn, 
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 
Away, De Argentine, away I — 

1 MS. — " The rustling aspen bids his leaf be still." 
5 MS, — " Anfl clasp the bloody hand imbrued." 
3 MS. — " Nor brother we, nor ally know." 
< The MS. has,— 

" Such was fierce Lorn's cry," — 



We nor ally nor brother know,' 
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe." 

IV. 

But who the Chieftain's rage can tell. 
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell 
To highest tower the castle round, 
No Lady Edith was there found ! 
He shouted, " Falsehood ! — treachery I — 
Revenge and blood ! — a lordly meed 
To him that will avenge the deed ! 
A Barou's lands !" — His frantic mood 
Was scarcely by the news withstood. 
That Morag shared his sister's flight, 
And that, in hm'ry of the night, 
'Scaped noteless, and without remark. 
Two strangers sought the Abbot's bark. — 
" Man every galley ! — fly — pursue ! 
The priest !iis treachery shall rue ! 
Ay, and the time shall quickly come, 
When we shall hear the thanks that Rome 
Will pay his feigned prophecy !" 
Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry I* 
And Cormac Doil in haste obey'd. 
Hoisted his sail, his ;mchor weigh'd 
(For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 
A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil).' 
But others, luigering, spoke apart, — 
" The Maid has given her maiden heart 

To Ronald of the Isles, 
And, fearful lest her brother's word 
Bestow her on that Eughsh Lord, 

She seeks loua's piles, 
And wisely deems it best to dwell 
A votaress in the holy cell, 
Until these feuds so fierce and fell 

The Abbot reconciles.'" 

V. 
As, unpotent of ire, the hall 
Echo'd to Lorn's impatient call, 
" My horse, my mantle, and my train ! 
Let none who honors Lorn remain 1" — 
Courteous, but stern, a bold request 
To Bruce De Argeutine express'd. 
" Lord E.arl," he said, — " I cannot cliuse 
But yield such title to the Bruce, 
Though name and earldom both are gone. 
Since he braced rebel's armor on — 
But, Earl or Serf — rude phrase was thine 
Of late, and launch'd at Argentine ; 
Such as compels me to demand 
Redress of honor at thy hand. 

See a note on a line in the Lay of the Z.ast Minstrel, anu 
p. 21. 
6 gee Appendix, Note 2 E. 
MS. — " While friends shall labor fair and well 
These feuds to recotiuUe." 



CANTO III. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 431 


We need not to each other tell, 


Even now there jarr'd a secret door — 


That both can wieUl their weapons well ; 


A taper light gleams on the floor — 


Then do me but tlie soldier grace, 


Up, Edward, up, I say ! 


This glove upon thy helm to place 


Some one glidea in hke midnight ghost — 


Where we may meet in fight ; 


Nay, strike not ! 'tis our noble Host." 


^Vnd I will say, as still I've said, 


Advancing then liis taper's flame. 


Though by ambition far misled. 


Ronald slept forth, and with him came 


Thou art a noble knight." — 


Duuvegan's chief — each bent the knee 




To Bruce in sign of fealty. 


VI. 


And proft'er'd him his .sword, 


" And I," the princely Bruce repUed, 


And hail'd liim, in a monarch's style, 


" Might term it stiuu on knighthood's pride, 


As king of mainland and of isle, 


That tlie bright sword of Argentine 


And Scotland's rightful lord. 


Should ui a tyrant '.s q\iarrel shine ; 


" And 0," Siud Ronald, " Own'd of Heaven I 


But, for your brave request, 


Say, is my erring youth forgiven. 


Be sure the honor'd pledge you gave 


By falsehood's arts from duty chiveu, 


In every battle-field shall wave 


Who rebel falchion drew, 


Upon my helmet-crest ; 


Yet ever to thy deeds of fame. 


Believe, that if my hasty tongue 


Even while I strove against thy claim, 


Hath done thuie honor causeless wrong. 


Paid homage just and true ?" — ■ 


It shall be well redi-ess'd. 


" Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time," 


Not dearer to my soul was glove, 


Answer'd the Bruce, " must bear the crime, 


Bestow'd in youth by lady's love, 


Since, gudtier far than you. 


Than this which thou hast given '. 


Even P'^he paused ; for Falku'k's woes 


Thus, then, my noble foe I greet ; 


Upon his conscious soul arose. ^ 


Health and high fortune tUl we meet. 


The Chieftain to liis breast he press' d, 


And then — what pleases Heaven." 


And in a sigh conceal'd the rest. 


VI [. 


IX. 


Thus parted they — for now, with sound 


They proffer'd aid, by arras and might, 


Like waves roU'd back from rocky ground, 


To repossess him in his right ; 


The friends of Lorn retire ; 


But well their counsels must be weigh'd. 


Each mainland chieftain, with his train, 


Ere banners raised and musters made. 


Draws to his mouutain towers again, 


For EngUsh hu-e and Lorn's mtrigues 


Pondermg how mortal schemes prove vain 


Bound many chiefs in southern leagues. 


And mortal hopes expire. 


In answer, Bruce liis purpose bold 


But through the ca,stle double guard. 


To his new vassals' frankly told. 


By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward. 


" llie winter worn in exde o'er. 


Wicket and gate were trebly barr'd, 


I long'd for Carrick's kindred shore. 


By beam and bolt and chain ; 


I thought upon my native Ayr, 


Then of the guests, in courteous sort. 


And long'd to see the burly fare 


He pray'd e.xcuse for mirth broke short. 


That Clifford makes, whose lordly call 


And bade them in Artornish fort 


Now echoes through my father's hall. 


In confidence remain. 


But first my course to Arran led, 


Now torch and menial tendance led 


Where valiant Lennox gathers head, 


Chieftain and knight to bower and bed. 


And on the sea, by tempest toss'd, 


And Deads were told, and Aves said, 


Our barks dispersed, our purpose cross'd, 


And soon they sunk away 


Mine own, a hostile sail to sliun. 


late such sleep, as wont to shed 


Far from her destined course had run, 


Oblivion on the weary head, 


When that wise will, wliich masters ours, 


After a toilsome day. 


Compell'd us to your friendly towers." 


VIII. 


X. 


But soon uproused, the Monarch cried 


Then Torquil spoke : — " The time craves speed 1 


To Edward slumbering by his side. 


We must not linger in our deed. 


" Awake, or sleep for aye 1 


But instant pray our Sovereign Liege, 


» See Appendii, Note 2 F. 


» MS.—" AlUes." 



432 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III. 



To shiin the perils of a siege. 

The vengeful Lorn, with all his powers, 

Lies but too near Artornish towers, 

And England's light-arm'd vessels ride, 

Not distant far, the waves of Clyde, 

Prompt at these tidings to unmoor, 

And sweep each strait, and guard each shore. 

Then, till this fresh alarm pass by, 

Secret and safe my Liege must Ue 

In the far bounds of friendly Skye, 

Torquil thy pilot and thy guide." — 

" Not so, brave Chieftain," Ronald cried ; 

" Myself win on my Sovereign wait,' 

And raise in arms the men of Sleate, 

Whilst thou, renown'd where cliiefs debate, 

Shalt sway their souls by council sage, 

And awe them by thy locks of age." 

— " And if my words in weight sliall fail,'' 

Tills ponderous sword shall turn the scale." 

XL 

— " Tlie scheme," said Bruce, " contents me 

well; 
Meantime, 'twere best that Isabel, 
For safety, with my b.ark and crew, 
Again to friendly Erin drew. 
There Edward, too, shall with her wend. 
In need to cheer her and defend. 
And muster up each scatter'd friend." — ' 
Here seem'd it as Lord Ronald's ear 
"Would other counsel gladHer hear ; 
But, all achieved as soon as plann'd. 
Both bai'ks, in secret arni'd and mann'd, 

From out the haven bore ; 
On different voyage forth they ply, 
Thii for the coast of winged Skye, 

And that for Erin's shore. 

XIL 
With Bruce and Ronald bides the t.ale. 
To favoring winds they gave the sad, 
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew. 
And Ardnamm'chan's hills were blue.** 
But then the squalls blew close and hard. 
And, faui to strike the galley's yard, 

And take them to the oar, 
AVith these rude seas, in weary plight, 
They strove the livelong day and night. 
Nor till the dawning had a siglit 

Of Skye's romantic shore. 

' MS.—" ' Jlyself thy pilot and tlly guide.' 

' Not so, kind Torqnil,' RoiLild cried ; 
* 'Tis I will on my sovereign wait.' " 
Tlic- MS. has, 

" ' Aye,' said the Chief, ' or if they fail, 
This broadsword's weight shall turn the scale.' " 
In altering tliis passage, the poet ai)pear3 to have lost a link. 
-Ed. 



Where Coolin stoops liim to the west, 
They saw upon his shiver'd crest 

The Sim's arising gleam ; 
But such the labor and delay, 
Ere they were moor'd in Scavigli bay 
(For calmer heaven compell'd to stay),' 

He shot a western beam. 
Then Ronald said, " If true mine eye. 
These are the savage wilds that lie 
North of Strathnai-dill and Duuskye ;" 

No human foot conies here, 
And, since these adverse breezes blow. 
If my good Liege love himter's bow, 
What hinders that on land we go. 

And strike a mountain-deer ? 
Allan, my page, shall with us wend ; 
A bow full deftly can he bend, 
And, if wo meet a herd, may send 

A shaft shall mend our cheer." 
Then each took bow and bolts in hand. 
Their row-boat launch'd and leapt to laud. 

And left their skiff and train. 
Where a wild stream, with headlong shock, 
Came brawling down its bed of rock, 

To mingle with the main. 

XIIL 
A while then- route they silent made. 

As men who stalk for mountain-deer. 
Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, 

" St. Mary ! what a scene is here ! 
I've traversed many a mountain-strand, 
Abroad and in my native lanu, 
And it has been my lot to tread . 
Where safety more than pleasure led ; 
Tlius, many a waste I've wunder'd o'er, 
Clombe many a crag, cross'd many a moor, 

But, by my hahdoine, 
A scene so rude, so wild as this. 
Yet so sublime in barrenness, J 
Ne'er did my wandering footst^s press, 

Where'er I happ'd to roa^." 



XIV. 

No marvel thus the Monarch spake ; 

For rarely human eye has known 
A scene so stern as that dread lake. 

With its dai-k ledge' of barren stone. 
Seems that prmieval earthquake's sway 
Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way 



3 The MS. adds: 

" Our bark's departure, too. will blind 
To our intent the fopinan's mind." 
•> .MS. — " Till Mull's dark isle no more they knew. 
Nor .\rdnamurchan's mountains bine." 
^ MS. — " For favoring gales compell'd to stay." 
6 See Appendix, Note 2 G. 
' MS.— "Dark banks." 



OASTO III. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



433 



Tlir()u;;li the rude bosom of the hill, 
And that each naked precipice, 
Sable ravine, and dark abyss, 

TelU of the outrage still. 
Tlie wildest glen, but this, c;m show 
Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; 
On high Benniore green mosses grow, 
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe," 

And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; 
But here, — above, around, below, 

On mountain or in glen. 
Nor tree, nor shiub, nor plant, nor flower. 
Nor aught of vegetative power. 

The weary eye may ken. 
For all is rocks at random tlirown. 
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone. 

As if were here denied 
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew. 
That cliithe with many a varied hue 

The bleakest" mountain-side.^ 

XV. 

And wilder, forward, as they wound. 
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound. 
Huge terraces of granite black' 
Afforded rude and cumber'd track ; 

For from the movmtain hoar,^ 
Hurl'd headlong in some niglit of fear. 
When 3'eird the wolf and fied the deer. 

Loose crags had toppled o'er;** 
And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay, 
So that a stripling arm might sway 

A mass no host could raise. 
In Nature's rage at random thrown. 
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone 

On its precarious base. 
The cTpiiin;; mists, with ceaseless change. 
Now clnthicl the mountains' lofty range, 

Now left their foreheads bare. 
And round the skirts their mantle furl'd, 
Or on the sable waters curl'd. 
Or on the eddying breezes wliirl'd. 

Dispersed in middle air. 
And oft, C'lEiilensed, at once they lower,' 
When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower 

Pours like a tiipent down,' 

TITO II A 1 ( deers have buds ? - . «, ,, 

'.ISIS. — "And 1 J in deep Gleocoe." 

' nealher-bells J 

.MS.-" (Wildest!,, 
' R.lresl. ) 

3 The tAuarterly Reviewer pays, "This picture of barren 
]o8olation is admirably toached ;" and if the opinion of Mr. 
rnnier be worth any thing, " No words conld have given a 
truer picture of tliis, oi-.e of the wildest of Nature's land- 
icapes." Mr. Turner adds, however, that he dissents in one 
Darticniar ; but for one or two tufta of grass he most have 
■jroken his neck, having slipped when trying to attain the best 
•o^ilion for taking the view which embellishes volume tenth, 
•li'ion 1333. 

S3 



And when return the sun's glad bv ams, 
Whiten'd with foam a thousand streams 
Leap from the moimtaiu's cro\vn.' 

XVL 
" This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers 

drear 
Are precipices sharp and sheer. 
Yielding no track for goat or deer. 

Save the black shelves we tread. 
How term you its dark waves ? and how 
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow. 

And yonder peak of dread. 
That to the evening sun uplifts 
The grisly gulfs and slaty rifts. 

Which seam its shiver'd head ?" — • 
" Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim. 
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame. 
But bards, familiar in our isles 
Rather with Natm-e's frowns than smile" 
Full oft their careless humors please 
By sportive names from scenes like theno 
I would old Torqiiil were to show 
His maidens with their breasts of snow. 
Or that my noble Liege were nigh 
To hear liis Nm-se sing lullaby ! 
(The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers white, 
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might), 
Or that your eye could see the mood 
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude, 
Wlien dons the Hag her whiten'd hood — 
'Tis thus our islesmen's fancy frames. 
For scenes so stern, fantastic names." 

xvn. 

Answer'd the Bruce, " And musing mind 
Might here a graver moral find. 
These mighty cliffs, that heave on high 
Their naked brows to middle sky, ■ 
Indifferent to the sun or snow, 
Wliere naught can fade, and naught can blow, 
May they not mark a Monarch's fate, — 
Raised liigh mid stonns of strife and state. 
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed, 
His soul a rock, his heart a waste ?'° 



i MS. — " And wilder, at each step they take. 

Turn the proud cVtTs and y.iwning lake ; 
Huge naked sheets of granite black,'* &c. 

6 MS. — " For from thc.monntain's crown," 

6 .MS. — " Huge crags had toppled down." 

7 MS. — " Oft closing too, at once they lower." 
& MS. — " Pour'd like a torrent dread." 

^ MS. — " Leap from the mountain's head." 
'(• " He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find 

The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 

He who surpasses or sobdues mankind. 

Must look down on tlie hate of those below. 

Thoagh high above the sun of glory glow, 



434 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ni. 


O'er hope and love and fear aloft 


XX. 


High rears his crowned head — But soft ! 


Onward, still mute, they kept the track ; — 


Look, underneath yon juttin,;^ crag 


*' Tell who ye be, or else stand back," 


Are huntera and a slaughter'd stag. 


Said Bruce : "in deserts when they meet. 


Who may they be ? But late you said 


Men pass not as in peaceful street." 


Ko steps these desert i-egions tread ?" — 


Still, at bis stern command, they stood. 




And proffer'd greetitig brief and rude, 


XVIII. 


But acted courtesy so ill, 


" So said I — and believed in sooth," 


As seem'd of fear, and not of will. 


lloiiald replied, " I spoke the truth. 


" Wanderers we tu'e, as you may be; 


Yet now I spy, by yonder stone, 


Men hither driven by wind and sea. 


Five men — they mark us, and come on ; 


Who, if you list to taste our cheer. 


And by their badge on bonnet borne, 


WiU share with you this ftiJlow deer." — 


I guess them of the land of Lorn, 


" If from the sett, where lies your bark !" — 


Foes to my Liege." — " So let it be ; 


" Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 


I've faced worse odds than five to three — 


Wreck'd yesternight : but we are men, 


— But the poor page can little aid ; 


Who Uttle sense of peril ken. 


Then be our battle thus arra}''d, 


The shades come down — the day is shut — 


If our free passage they contest ; 


Will you go with us to our hut ?*' — 


Cope thou with two, I'll match the rest." — 


" Our vessel waits us m the bay ;" 


" Not so, my Liege — for by my life. 


Thanks for yoiu- proffer — have good-day.". — 


Tliis sword shall meet the treble strife ; 


" Was that your galley, then, which rode 


My strength, my skill in arms, more small, 


Not iar from shore when evening glow'd ?" — ' 


And less the loss should Ronald fall. 


" It was." — " Then spare your needless pain, 


But islesmen soon to soldiers grow, 


There will she now be sought iii vtiin. 


Allan has sword as well as bow, 


We saw her from the mountain head. 


And were my Monarch's order given. 


When, with St. George's blazon red, 


TVo shafts should make our number even." — 


A southern vessel bore in sight. 


" No ! not to save my life !" he said ; 


And yours raised sail, and took to flight." — 


" Enough of blood rests on mv head. 




Too rashly spill'd — we soon shall know, 


XXL 


Whether they come as friend or foe." 


"Now, by the rood, unwelcome news !" 




Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce ; 


XIX. 


*' Nor rests there Ught enough to show 


Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh ; — 


If tltis their tale be true or no. 


Still less they pleased the Monarch's eye 


The men seem bred of churlish kind. 


Men were they all of evil mien, 


Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind ; 


Dowiidook'd, unwilling to be seen ;' 


We will go with them — food and fire* 


They moved with half-resolved pace. 


And sheltering roof our wants require. 


And bent on earth each gloomy face. 


Sm-e guard 'gainst treachery -yill we keep. 


The foremost two were fair array'd, 


And watch by turns our comrades' sleep. — 


With brogue and bounet, trews and plaid, 


Good fellows, thanks ; your guests we'll be, 


And bore the arms of mountaineers, 


And "well will pay the courtesy. 


Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears. 


Come, lead us where your lodging lies, — 


The thi-ee that Irgg'd small space behmd. 


— Nay, soft ! we mi.x not companies. — 


Seem'd serfs 0/ more degrailed kind ; 


Show ua the path o'er crag and stone,' 


Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them cast, 


And we will follow you ; — lead on." 


Made a rude fence against the blast ; 




Theu- arms and feet and heads were bare. 


XXIL 


Matted their beards, unshorn their hair ; 


They reach'd the dreary cabin, made 


For arm.3, the caitiffs bore in hand, 


Of sails against a rock display'd. 


A cluo, an axe, a rusty brand. 


And there, on entering," found 


And far beneath the earth and oeeau spread. 


3 ]\IS.— " Our boat and vessel cannot stay.** 


Ruund him are icy i-oclis, and loudly blow 


8 !\1S, — " Deep in the hay when evening glow'd.'* 


Contending tempests on his nalted head. 


< MS. — " Vet rugged brows liave bosoms kind ; 


And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. ' 


Wend we with them — lor food and fire." 


CkiUe Harold, Canto iii. 


6 MS. — " Wend you the first o'er stock and stone." 


t See Appendix, Note 2 H. 


MS. — "Entrance." 



C- NTO III. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



435 



A sloniler boy, whose form and mien 
111 suited with such savage scene, 
In cap and cloak of velvet greeu, 

Low seated on the gi-ound. 
His garb was such as minstrels wear, 
Dark wa.s his hue, and dark his hair, 
His youthful cheek was marr'd by care, 

His eyes in sorrow drown'd. 
" ^Mience this poor boy ?" — As Ronald spoke. 
The voice his trance of anguish broke ; 
As if awaked from ghastly dream. 
He raised liis head with start and scream. 

And wildlj- gazed around ; 
Then to the wall his face he turn'd, 
And his dark neck with blushes burn'd. 

xxiir. 

" Wbose is this boy ?" again he said. 

" By chance of war our captive made ; 

He may be yours, if you should hold 

That music has more charms than gold ; 

For, though from earliest chiklhood mute, 

The lad can deftly touch the lute. 
And on the rote and viol play. 
And well can drive the time away 
For those who love such glee ; 
For me, the favoring breeze, when loud 
It pipes upon the galley's shroud. 
Makes blither melody."—' 

" Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound ?" — 
■ " Aye ; so liis mother bade us know, 

A crone in cm- late shipwreck drown'd. 
And hence the silly striphng's woe. 

More of the youth I cannot say. 

Our captive but since yesterday ; 

'WTien wind and weather wax'd so grim. 

We little listed tlilnk of him. — 

But why waste time in idle words ? 

Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swords." 

Sudden the captive turn'd his head. 

And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 

It was a keen and warning look. 

And well the Chief the signal took. 

XXIV. 
" Kind host," he said, " our needs require 
A separate board and separate fire ; 
For know, that on a pilgrimage 
Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
And, sworn to vigil and to fast. 
Long as this hallow'd task shall last, 



* MS. — " Bot on the clairshoch he can play, 
And help a weary night away, 

With those who love Bach glee. 
To me, the favoring breeze, when load 
It pipes Ihroagh on ray galley's sbrond, 

Makes better melody." 



Wc never doff the plaid or sword, 
Or fe.ist us at a stranjfer's board ' 
And never share one common sleep, 
But one must still liis vigil keep. 
Thus, for our separate use, good friend. 
We'll hold this hut's remoter end." — 
" A churlish vow," the eldest said, 
" And hard, methinks, to be obey'd. 
How say you, if, to wreak the scorn 
That pays our kindness harsh return. 
We should refuse to share our meal ?" — 
" Then say we, that our swords are steel ! 
And our vow binds us not to fast. 
Where gold or force may buy repast." — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell, 
His teeth are clench'd, his featm'es swell ; 
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire 
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire. 
Nor could his craven courage brook 
The Monarch's calm and dauntless look. 
With laugh constrain'd, — " Let every man 
Follow the fashion of his clan ! 
Each to his separate quarters keep. 
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep." 

XXV. 

Tlieir fire at separate distance burns. 

By tunis they eat, keep guard by turns ; 

For evil seem'd that old man's eye, 

Dtirk and designing, fierce yet shy. 

Still he avoided forward look. 

But slow and circumspectly took 

A circling, never-ceasing glance, 

By doubt and cunning mark'd at once. 

Which shot a miscliief-boding ray,' 

From under eyebrows shagg'd and gray. 

The younger, too, who seem'd his son, 

Had that dark look the timid shim ; 

The half-clad serfs behind them sate. 

And scowl'd a glare 'twixt fear and hate — 

Till all, as darkness onward crept, 

Couch'd down, and seem'd to sleep, or slept. 

Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tonguQ 

Must trust liis eyes to wail his wi'ong, 

A longer watch of sorrow made. 

But stretch'd his limbs to slumber laid.' 

XXVL 

Not in his dangerous host confides 
The King, but wary watch provides. 
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past, 



. »«a .(«!»- . ( sainted } 

SMS. — *' And we have swom to J J power 

While lasts this hallow'd task of ours. 
Never to dolTthe plaid or sword. 
Nor feast us at a stranger's board." 

3 MS. " an ill foreboding ray.** 

* MS. — " But seems in senseless slnmber laid." 



436 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto hi. 


Then wakes tlie King, young Allan last ; 


Then gazed awliile, where silent laid 


Thus ranlc'd, to give the youthful page, 


Their hosts were .shrouded by the plaid. 


Tlie rest required by tender age. 


But httle fear waked in his mind. 


Wh.it is Lord Ronald's wakefid thought. 


For he was bicd of martial kind. 


To chase the languor toil had brought ?- 


And, if to manhood he arrive, 


(For deem not that he deign'd to thi'ow 


May match the boldest knight alive. 


Much care upon such coward foe,)— 


Then thought he of his mother's tower, 


He thinks of lovely Isabel, 


His little sisters' greenwood bower. 


When at her foeman's feet she fell, 


How there the Easter-gambols pass. 


Nor less when, placed in princely selle, 


And of Dan Joseph's lengthen'd mass. 


She glanced on him with favoring eyes, 


But still before his weary eye 


At Woodstocke when he won the prize. 


In rays prolong'd the blazes die — 


Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fan-, 


Again he roused him — on the lake 


In pride of place as 'mid despau-, 


Look'd forth, whore now the twiliglit-floke 


Mu.st she alone engross his ca're. 


Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 


His thoughts to his betrothed bride,' 


On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furl'd. 


To Edith, turn — how decide, 


The morning breeze the lake had curl'd. 


Wlicn here his love and heart are given. 


The short dark waves, heaved to the huid. 


And there liis faith stands plight to Heaven ! 


With ceaseless plash kiss'd clifl' or sand ; — 


No drowsy ward 'tis his to keep. 


It was a slumbrous sound — he tum'd 


For seldom lovers long for sleep. 


To tales at which his youth had burn'd, 


Till sung Ills midnight hymn the owl, 


Of pUgrini's path by demon cross' d, 


Answer'd the dog-fox with his howl. 


Of sprightly tdf or yelling ghost, 


Then waked the King — at liis request, 


Of the wild witch's baneful cot. 


Lord Ronald streteh'd himself to rest. 


And mermaid's alabaster grot. 




Who bathes her Umbs in sunless well. 


XXVIL 


Deep in Strathaird's enchanted ceU.' 


Wliat spell was good King Robert's, say, 


Thither in fancy rapt he flies, 


To drive the weary night away ? 


And on his sight the vaults ari.se ; 


His was the patriot's burning thought, 


That hut's dark walls lie sees no more. 


Of Freedom's battle bravely fought, 


His foot is on the marble floor. 


Of castles storm'd, of cities freed, 


And o'er his head the dazzling spars 


Of deep design and daring deed, 


Gleam hke a firmament of stars ! 


Of England's roses reft and torn, 


— Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph speak 


And Scotland's cross in triumph worn, 


Her auger in that thrilUng shriek ! — 


Of rout and rally, war and truce, — 


No ! all too late, with AUim's dream 


As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. 


Mmgled the captive's warnuig scream.* 


No marvel, 'mid such musmgs liigh. 


As from the ground he strives to start, 


Sleep shurm'd the Monarch's thoughtful eye. 


A ruffian's dagger finds hi.s heart ! 


Now over Coolin's eastern head 


Upward he casts his dizzy eyes, . . . 


Tlio grayish lighf^ begins to spread, 


Murmm-s his master's name, . . . and dies ! 


The otter to liis cavern drew. 




And clamor'd shrill the wakening mew ; 


XXIX. 


Then watch'd the page — to needful rest 


Not 60 awoke the King ! his hand 


Tlie King resign'd his anxious breast. 


Snatch'd from the flame a knotted brand. 




The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 


XXVIIL 


With this he cross'd the murderer's path. 


To Allan's eyes was harder task. 


And venged young Allan well ! 


The weary watch their safeties ask. 


The spatter'd brain and bubbling blood 


He trunm'd the fire, and gave to shine 


Hiss'd on the half-extmguish'd wood. 


With bickering light the splmter'd jiine ; 


Tlie miscreant gasp'd and fell !* 


1 MS.—" Must she alone his makings share. 


the poet the opportunity of marking, in the most natural and 


They turn to his betrothed bride." 


happy manner, that insensible transition from the realiry of 


s MS.—" The uold blue light." 


waking thoughts, to the fanciful visions of slumber, and that 


3 See Appendix, Note 2 I. 


delusive power of the imagination which so blends the confines of 


• MS. " with empty dream, 


these separate states, as to deceive and sport with the efforts even 


Mingled the captive's real scream." 


of determined vigilance." — British Critic, February, 1815 


' Yonng Allan's turn (to watcli) comes la^t, which gives 


s MS. — " What time the miscreant fell." 



CANTO IV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



437 



Nor rose in peace the Island Lord ! 
One caitiflf died upon his sword, 
And one beneath his grasp lies prone, 
In mortal grapple ovortln-own. 
But wliile Lord llonald's d;igger drank 
The life-blood from his panting flauik, 
The Father-ruffian of the baud 
Behind liiui rears a coward hand ! 

— O for a moment's aid, 
Till Bruce, who de:ik no double blow ' 
Dash to tlie eartli another foe. 

Above his conu'ade laid ! — 
And it is gain'd — the captive sprung 
On the raised arm, and closely clung, 

And, ere he shook him loose. 
The mastev'd felon press'd the ground. 
And gasp'd beneath a mortal wound. 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 

XXX. 

" Miscreant ! while lasts thy flitting spark, 

Give me to know the purpose dark. 

That arm'd thy hand with mui'derous knife. 

Against offenceless stranger's hfe ?" — 

" No stranger thou !" with accent fell, 

Murmur'd the wretch ; " I know thee well ; 

And know thee for the foeman sworn 

Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn." — 

" Speak yet again, and speak the truth 

For thy soul's sake ! — from whence this vouth ? 

His country, birtli, and name declai'e. 

And thus one evil deed repair." — 

— " Vex me no more ! . . . my blood runs cold . . . 

No more I know tlian I have told. 

We found him iu a bark we souglit 

With different purpose . . . and I thought" .... 

Fate cut him short ; in blood and broil, 

As he had lived, died Cormac Doil. 

XXXL 
Then resting on his bloody blade, 
The vaUant Bruce to Ronald said, 
" Now shame upon us both ! — that boy 

Lifts his mute face to heaven,^ 
And clasps his hands, to testify 
His gratitude to God on high. 

For strange deUverance given. 
His speechless gesture thanks liath paid. 
Which our free tongues have left unsaid !" 
He raised tlie youth with kindly word. 
But maik'd him shudder at the sword : 

• "On witnessing the disinterment of Brace's remains at 
Dunfermline, in 1822,'* says .Sir Walter, " many people shed 
lears ; for tliere was the wasted skull, which ouce was the 
head that thought so wisely and boldly for his country's de- 
Jtveraiice ; and there was the dry bone, which had once been 
the sturdy arm that killed Sir Henry de Bohun, between the 
two armies, at a single blow, on the evening before the battle 
of Bannockborn." — Tales of a Orandfatker. 



He cleansed it from its hue of death, 
And plunged the weapon in its .sheath. 
" Alas, poor child ! uniittiug part 
Fate doom'd, when with so soft a heart. 

And form so slight as thine, 
Site made thee first a pirate's slave. 
Then, hi Iiis stead, a patron gave, 

Of wayward lot Uke mme ; 
A landless prince, whose wandering life 
Is but one scene of blood and strife — 
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shaU be, 
But he'll fintl resting-place for thee, — 
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er tlie dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid. 
And well has Allan's fate been wroke ! 
Come, wend we hence— the day has broke. 
Seek we our bark — I trust the tale 
Was false, that she had hoisted saiL" 

xxxn. 

Yet, ere they left that cliarnel-ceU, 
The Island Lord bade sad farewell 
To Allan :— " WIio shall tell tliis tale," 
He said, " in halls of Donagaile ! 
Oh, who his widow'd niotlier teU, 
That, ere his bloom, lier fairest fell ! — 
Rest thee, poor youtli ! and trust my care 
For mass and knell and funeral prayer ; 
While o'er those caitiffs, where they he, 
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry !" 
And now the eastern mountain's head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak 
Ravine and precipice and peak — 
(So earthly power at distance shows ; 
Reveals his splendor, hides liis woes). 
O'er sheets of granite, dark, and broad,^ 
Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
In sad discourse the warriors wind, 
And the mute captive moves behind.' 



^\)t Corb of tl)£ %5\ts. 



CiNTO FOURTH. 



Steanger ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced 
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, 

- MS. — " Holds ap his speechless face to heaven.*' 

3 MS. — '' Along the lake's rude margin slow, 

O'er terraces of granite black they go." 

* MS, — *' And the mute page moves slow behind." 

"This canto is full of beauties ; the first part of it, contain- 
ing the conference of the chiefs in Bruce'a chamber, migllt 
perhaps have been abridged, becaose the discussion of a mer»» 



438 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Wlicre the proud Queen of Wilderness hath 

placed, 
By hike and cataract, her lonely throne ; 
Sublime but sad deMght thy soul hath known, 
Gazing on pathless glen and mountains high, 
Listing -n-here from the cliffs the torrents thrown 
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry, [sky. 
And with the sounding hike, and with the moaning 

Tes ! 'twas sublime, but .sad. — The lonehness 
Loaded thy heart, the desert tned thine eye ; 
And strange and awful fears began to press 
Tliy bo.som with a stern solemnity. [nigh, 

Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage 
Sometliing that show'd of life, though low and 

mean ; 
Glad sight, its curling wi'eath of smoke to spy, 
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have 

been, [green. 

Or children whooping wild beneath the willows 

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur 

wakes 
An awful thriU that softens into sighs ; 
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's 

lakes. 
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise : 
Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies, 
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar — • 
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize 
Of desert dignity to that dread shore. 
That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar.' 

U. 

Tlirough such wild scenes the champion pass'd, 
Wlien bold halloo and bugle-blast 
Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 
" Tlicre," Siiid the Bruce, " rung Edward's horn ! 
What can have caused such brief return ? 
And see, brave Ronald, — see him dart 
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart. 
Precipitate, as is the use, 

matter of bnsiness is unstiitpil for poetry ; but the remainder 
of tile canto is unobjectional)le ; the scenery in wliicli it is laid 
e-xcites the iniai;ination ; and tlie cave scene al^brds many op- 
portuiiitic-s for the jwet, of which Mr. Scott lias very success- 
fully availed himself. The description of Allan's watch is 
particularly pleasing ; indeed, the manner in which he is made 
to fall asleep, mingling the scenes of which he was thinking, 
with the scene aroond him, and then mingling with his dreams 
the captive's sudden scream, is, we think, among the most 
happy p;issages of the whole poem." — Quarterly Rcvicvj. 

" VVe scaicely know whether Nve could have selected a pas- 
fage from the poem that will more fairly illostnite its general 
merits .'uui pervading blemishes than the one which we have 
just (looted (stanzas x.\xi. and xxxii.) The same happy inix- 
•nre of moral remark and vivid painting of dramatic situations, 
frequently occurs, and is as frequently debased by prosaic ex- 
pressions and couplets, and by every variety of ungrammatical 
Euense, or even barharism. Our readers, in short, will imme- 



In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 
— He marks us, and his eager cry 
Will tell his news ere he be nigh." 

m. 

Loud Edward shouts, " Wliat make ye l.vre 
Warriug upon the mountain-deer. 

When Scotland wants her King ? 
A bark from Leiuiox cross'd om" track, 
With her in speed I hurried back, 

These joyful news to bring — 
The Stuart stirs m Teviotdale, 
And Douglas wakes his native vale ; 
Thy storm-toss'd fleet hath won its way 
With httle loss to Brodick-Bay, 
And Lennox, with a gallant band. 
Waits but thy coming and command 
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand. 
There Are bUtlie news ! — but mark the close ! 
Edward, the deadliest of our foes. 
As with liis host he northward pass'd. 
Hath on the Borders breathed his last." 

IV. 

Still stood the Bruce — his steady cheek 
Was httle wont liis joy to speak, 

But then his color rose ; 
" Now, Scotland ! shortly shalt thou see, 
With God's high will, thy chUdreu free, 

And vengeance on thy foes ! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, 
Bear witness with me. Heaven, belongs 

My joy o'er Edward's bier ;' 
I took my knighthood at his hand. 
And lordship held of liim, and land, 

And well may vouch it here, 
That, blot the story from his page, 
Of Scotland ruin'd in his rage. 
You read a monarch brave and sage, 

And to his people dear." — ■ 
" Let London's burghers mourn her lord, 
And Croydon monks hia praise record," 

diately here discover the powerful hand that ha-s so often pre- 
sented them with descriptions calculated at once to exalt and 
animate their thoughts, and to lower and deaden the language 
which is their vehicle ; but, as we have before ohseived again 
and again, we believe Mr. Scott is inaccessible e\'en to the 
mildest and the most just reproof on this subject. We really 
believe that he cannot write correct English , Mod we therefore 
dismiss him as an iiltlirtibte, with unfeigned compassion for 
this one fault, and with the highest admiration of his many 
redeeming virtues."— J»/oH(A/y Review. 

1 " That Mr. Seotl can oecasianalty clothe the grandeur of 
his thought in the majesty of expression, unobscured with the 
jargon of antiquated billads, and unenenmbered by the awk- 
wardness of rugged ex[iression, or haish involution, we cap 
with pleasure acknowledge ; a finer specimen cannot perluijM 
be exhibited than in this passage." — British Critic. 

3 See Appendix, Note 2 K 



CAN 10 IV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4VJ 



The eager Edward said ; 
" Eternal a-s liis own, my hate 
SurmounU the bounds of mortal fate, 

And dies not with the deail ! 
Such hate was his on Solway's strand, 
AVhon vengeance clench'd his palsied hand, 
That pointed yet to Scotlani.rs land,^ 

As his last accents pray'd 
Disgrace and curse upon liis heir, 
If he one Scottish head should spare. 
Till stretch'd upon the bloody laii* 

Each rebel corpse was laid I 
Such hate was liis, when his last breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of death. 
And bade liis bones to Scothuid's coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host. 
As if his dead and stony eye 
Could still enjo_y lier misery 1 
Such hate was his — dark, de.adly, long; 
Mine, — as enduring, deep, and strong I" — 

V. 
" Let women, Edward, war with words, 
With curses monks, but men with swords: 
Nor doubt of livmg foes, to sate 
Deepest revenge imd deadliest hate* 
Now, to the sea ! behold the beach. 
And see the galleys' pendants stretch 
Their fiutteruig length down favoring gale ! 
Abo.Ti'd, aboai'd ! imd hoist the saiL 
Hold we our way for Arran first, 
Where meet in arms our friends dispersed ; 
Lennox the loyal, De la H,aye, 
And Boyd the bold in battle fray. 
I long the hardy band to head. 
And see once more my standard spread. — ■ 
Does noble Ronald share our course, 
Or stay to nuse his island force ?" — 
" Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side," 
Replied the Chief, " will Ronald bide. 
And since two galleys yonder ride, 
Be mine, so please my liege, dismisa'd 
To wake to arms the clans of Uist, 
And ail who hear the Minche's roar. 
On the Long Island's lonely shore. 
The nearer Isles, with sUght del.ay. 
Ourselves may summon in our way ; 
And soon on Arran's shore shall meet. 



1 Pee Appendix, Note 2 L. 

3 '* The Bruce was, unquestionably, of a temper never bop* 
passed for its humanity, muniliceiiee, and nobleness ; yet to 
represent hira sorrowing over tlle de.^lh of tlie fir^t Plantage- 
nel, after tile repeated and tremendous ills intlirted by tliat 
man on Scotland — the patriot Wallace murdered by his order, 
as well as the royal race of Wales, and the very brothers of 
The Bruce, slaughtered by his commanil — to represent the 
just and generous Robert, we repeat, feeling an instant's com- 
passion for the sudden fate of a miscreant like this, is, we are 



With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet. 
If aught avails their Chieftain's best 
Among the islesmen of the west." 

VL 

Thus was their venturous council saicL 
But, ere their sads tlie galleys spread, 
Coriskiu dark and Coolin high 
Echoed tile dirge's tloleful ciy. 
Along that sable hJic pass'd slow, — 
Fit scene for such a sight of woe, — 
The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore 
The murder'd Allan to the shore. 
At every pause, witli dismal shout, 
Their coronach of grief rung out, 
And ever, when they moved again. 
The pipes resumed their clamorous strai:;^ 
And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail, 
Mourn'd the yoimg heir of Donagaile. 
Round and around, from clitf and cave, 
His answer stern old Coolm gave. 
Till high upon his misty side 
Languish'd the mournful notes, and died. 
For never sounds, by mortal made, 
Attam'd his high and haggard head. 
That echoes but tlie tempest's moan. 
Or the deep thunder's reuding groan. 

VIL 
MerrUy, merrily bounds the bark. 

She bounds beftire the gale. 
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch 

Is joyous in her stiil ! 
With fluttering sound hke laughter hoarse. 

The cords and canvas strtiin. 
The waves, divideil by her force. 
In rippling eddies chased her course. 

As if they laugh'd again. 
Not down the breeze more blithely flew. 
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, 

Tlum the gay galley bore 
Her course upon that favoring wind. 
And Coolin's crest litis sunk beliind. 

And Slapin's cavern'd shore.^ 
'Twas then that warlike signals wake 
Dimscaitli's dark towers and Eisord's lake, 
And soon, from Cavilgarrigh's head. 
Tliick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread ; 



compelled to say it, so monstrous, and in a Sfiittish poet, so 
nnnatural a violation of truth uriti decency, not 10 ^ay jiatriot- 
ism, that we are really xsto:iished that the author could have 
conceived the idea, much mure that he could sutfcr his pen to 
record it. This wrctcheil ahasein-nl on the p.irt of The 
Bruce, is farther heightened by ihe King's hall-reprehension of 
Prince Edward's noble and stern expre-s-sion of undying hatred 
against his country's spoiler, and his family's assassin — Crit^ 
cil Review 

3 MS. " mountain-shore." 



•140 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I\ 



A summons these of wiu- and "wratU 
To the brave elans of Sleat and Strath, 

And, ready at the sight. 
Each warrior to his weapons sprung. 
And targe upon his slionlder flung, 

Trnpatient for the fight. 
Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare gray, 
Had charge to muster their array. 
And guide their barlfs to Brodick-Bay. 

VIII. 
Signal of Ronald's high command, 
A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land, 
From Camia's tower, that, steep and gray, 
Lil^e falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.' 
Seek not the giddy crag to climb, 
To view the turret scathed by time ; 
It is a task of doubt and fear 
To aught but goat or mountain-deer. 
But rest thee on the silver beach. 
And let the aged herdsman teach 

His tale of former day ; 
His cur's wUd clamor he shall chide. 
And for thy seat by ocean's side, 

His varied plaid display ; 
Tcen tell, how with their Cliieftain came. 
In ancient times, a foreign dame 
To yonder" turret gray.^ 
Stern was her Lord's suspicious mind, 
Who in so rude a jad confined 
So soft and f:ur a thraU ! 
And oft, when moon on ocean slept, 
Tliat lovely lady sate and wept 

Upon the castle-wall. 
And turn'd her eye to southern climes, 
And thought perchance of happier times. 
And touch'd her lute by fits, and sung 
Wild ditties in her native tongue. 
And still, when on the cliff and bay 
Placid and pale tlie moonbeams play, 

And every breeze is mute. 
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear 
Steals a strange pleasure mix'd with fear. 
While from that cliff he seems to hear 

The murmur of a lute. 
And sounds, as of a cajitive lone, 

3 poe Appendix, Note 2 M. 

2 MS — ■' To Carina s turret gray." 

5 " Tlie suiizas wliieh follow are, we think, touchingly 
ueautiful, and breathe a sweet and melancholy tenderness, 
perfectly suitable to the sad tale which they record." — Criti- 
r.al Review. 

^ MS. — *' That crag with crest of ruins gray." 

a See Appeudi.x, Note 2 N. c Ibid. Note 2 O. 

" MS.—" Till in their smoke," &c. 

8 " And so also 'merrily, merrily, goes the bark,' in a suc- 
cession of mcrrimcntf which, like Dogberry's tediousness, he 
Cndi it in his heart to bestow wholly and entirely on ua, 
through page after page, or wave after wave of his voyage. 



That mourns her woes in tongue imknown.- 
Strange is the tale — but all too long 
Already hath it staid tlie song — 

Yet who may pass them by. 
That crag and tower in ruins gray,* 
Nor to tlieir hapless tenant pay 

Tlie tribute of a sigh ! 

IX. 

Merrily, merrily botmds the bark 

O'er the broad ocean driven. 
Her path by Renin's mountains dark 

The steersman's hand hath given. 
And Renin's mountains dark have sent 

Tlieir htmters to the shore,' 
And each his ashen bow unbent, 

And gave his pastime o'er. 
And at the Island Lord's command. 
For hunting spear took warrior's brand. 
On Scooreigg next a warning light 
Summoii'd her warriors to tlie fight ; 
A numerous race, ere stern MacLeod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,* 
When all in vain the ocean-cave 
Its refuge to his victims gave. 
The Chief, relentless m his wrath. 
With blazing heath blockades the path ; 
In dense and stifling volumes roll'd, 
The vapor flU'd the cavern'd hold ! 
Tlie warrior-threat, the infant's plain, 
The mother's screams, were heard in rain ; 
Tlie vengeful Chief maintains his fires, 
TiU in the vault'^ a tribe expires 1 
The bones wliicli strew that cavern's gloom. 
Too well attest their dismal doom. 

X. 

MerrUy, merrily goes the bark' 

On a breeze from the northward free. 

So shoots through the morning sky the lark. 
Or the swan through the summer sea. 

The shores of Mull on the eastward lay. 

And Ulva dark and Colonsay, 

And all the group of islets gay 

That guard famed Staffa round." 

Then all tmknown its colmnns rose. 

We could almost be tempted to believe that he was on his re- 
turn from Skye when tie wrote this portion of his poem : — from 
Pkye, the depository of the ' mighty cup of royal Somcrled,' 
as well as of ' Rorie More's' comparatively modern ' horn'— 
and that, as he says himself of a minstrel who celebrated tho 
hospitalities of Dunvegan-caslle in that island, *it is pretty 
plain, that when this tribute of poetical praise was bestowed, 
the born of Rorie More had not been inactive.*" — Jilonihty 
Review. See Appendix, Note M. 

» " Of the prominent beauties which abound in the poem, 
the most ma^niticent we consider to be the description of the 
celebrated Cave of Fingal, which is conceived in a mighty 
mind, and is exjiressed in a strain of poetry, clear, Bimple, 
and sublime." — British Critic. 



CANTO IV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



141 



WLerc dark nnd umlistiirbcil repose' 

Tlie Cdrinuriint had ffnind, 
And flic .-hy seal liad quiet home, 
And welter'd in that wondronf> dome, 
Where, afl to shame tlie temples deck'd 
By skill of earthly arcliitect. 
Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise 
A Minster to her Maker's praise !' 
Not for a meaner use ascend 
Her columns, or her arches bend ; 
Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
That mighty surge that ebbs an<l swells, 
And still, between each awful pause, 
From the high vault an answer draws, 
In varied tone prolong'd and high. 
That mocks the organ's melody. 
Nor dfith its entrance front in vain 
To old lona's holy fane, 
Tliat Nature's voice might seem to say, 
•' Well ha.st thou done, fr.iil Child of cl.ay ! 
Thy humble powers that stately shrine 
T .isk'd high and hard — but witness mine !"* 

xr. 

Merrilj", merrily goes the bark, 

Before the gale she bounds ; 
So darts the dolphin from the shark. 

Or the deer before the hounds 
They left Locli-Tua on their lee. 
And they waken'd the men of the wild Tiree, 

And the Cliief of the sandy Coll ; 
Tliey paused not at Colnmba's isle, 
Tliough peal'd the bells from the holy pile 

With long and measur'd toll ■* 
No time for matin or for mtiss. 
And the sounds of the holy summons pass 

A\way in the billows' roll. 
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike Lord 
Their signal saw, and gi'asp'd liis sword. 
And verdant Hay call'd her host. 
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 

Lord Ronald's call obey, 
And Scarb.a's isle, whose tortured shore 
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, 

And lonely Colonsay ; 
— Scenes sung by him who sings no more !' 

* MS. — " Where niched, hU nmlistarb'il repoee." 
> See Appendix. Note 2 P. 

3 The MS. adds, 

" Which, when the roinsofthy pil« 
Cumher the desolated i^le, 
Firm and immutable shall stand, 
'Gainst winds, and waves, and spoiler's hand." 

* " We were now treading that illustrions island, which was 
snce the Inminary of the Ualeiloninn regions, whence savage 
clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge, 
and the b'es-Jn;-« of religion. To abstract the mind from all 
local emotion would be impossible, if it were endeavored, nnd 

SO 



His bright and brief cjireer is o'er. 
And mute his tuneful strains; 

Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, 

That loved the light of song to pour ; 

A distant and a deadly shore 
Has IjEvde.n's cold remains I 

XII. 
Ever the breeze blows merrily, 
But the galley ploughs no more the sea. 
Lest, rounding wild C.antyre, they meet 
The southern foenian's watchful fleet, 

They held unwonted w.iy : — 
Up Tarbat's western lake they bore, 
Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er,' 
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore. 

Upon the eastern bay. 
It was a wondrous sight to see 
Topmast and pennon glitter free, 
High raised above the greenwood tree, 
As on dry land the galley moves, 
By cliff and copse jind alder groves. 
Deep import from that selcouth sign, 
Did many a mountain Seer divine. 
For ancient legends told the Gael, 
That when a royal bark should sail 

O'er Kilmaconnol moss. 
Old Albyn should in fight prevail, 
And every foe should faint and quail 

Before her silver Cross. 

xin. 

Now launch'd once more, the inland sea 
They furrow with fair augury. 

And steer for Arran's isle ; 
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Ben-Ghoil, " the Mountain of the Wind," 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind, 

And bade Loch R:mza smile." 
Tliither their destined course they drew; 
It seem'd the isle her monarch knew, 
So brilliant was the landward view. 

The ocean so serene ; 
Each puny wave in diamonds roll'd 
O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold 

With azure strove and green. 



would be foolish, if it were possible. Whatever withdraws na 
from the power of oiir senses ; whatever makes the past, llie 
distant, or the fnture predoiniiiale over the present, arlvancea 
us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from mo nnd from 
my friends be .such frigid pIiilOHophy. as may conduct us indif 
ferent and onmoved over any ground which has been dignifieiL 
by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is iittle to be en- 
vied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of 
Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among tho 
ruins of lona." — Johnson. 

f' See Appendix, Note 2 CI. 

• MS. — ' His short hut bright," Stc. 

' See Appendii, Note 2 R. « Ibid. Note 2 S 



442 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv. 


The liill, tlie vale, tlie tree, the tower, 


Our ruin'd house and hapless state. 


Glow'd with the tints of evening's hour, 


From worldly joy and hope estranged. 


The beacli was silver sheen, 


Much is the hapless mourner changed. 


Tlie wind breathed soft as lover's sigh, 


Perchance," here smiled the noble King, 


And, oft renew'd, seem'd oft to die, 


" Tliis tale may other musings bring. 


With breathless pause betwcea 


Soon shall we know — yon mountains hide 


who, with speech of war and woes, 


The little convent of Saint Bride ; 


Would wish to break the soft repose 


There, sent by Edward, she must stay. 


Of such enchanting scene \ 


Till fate shall give more prosperous day* 




And thither will I bear thy suit, 


XIV. 


Nor will thine advocate be mute." 


Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks ? 




The blush that dyes his manly cheeks. 


XVL 


The timid look and downcast eye, 


As thus they talk'd in earnest mor.d, 


And faltering voice the theme deny. 


That speechless boy beside them stood 


And good King Robert's brow express'd. 


He stoop'd his head against the mast. 


He ponder'd o'er some liigh request, 


And bitter sobs came thick and fast. 


As doubtful to approve ; 


A grief that would not be repress'd. 


Yet in his eye and lip the while, 


But seem'd to burst his youthful h-east. 


Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile. 


His hands, against liis forehead he'd. 


Which manhood's graver mood beguile. 


As if by force his fears repeU'd, 


When lovers talk of love. 


But through his fingers, long and slight. 


Anxious his suit Lord Ron.ald pled ; 


Fast triU'd the drops of crystal bright. 


. — " And for my bride betrothed," lie said, 


Edwiird, who walk'd the deck apart. 


" My liege has heard the rumor spread 


First s]iied this conflict of the heart. 


Of Edith from Artornish fled. 


Thoughtless as brave, with bluntnesa kind 


Too hard her fate — I claim no right' 


He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind ; 


To blame her for her hasty flight ; 


By force tJie slender hand he drew 


Be joy and happiness her lot ! — 


From those poor eyes that sfream'd with deW 


But she hath fled the bridal-knot. 


As in his hold the stripling strove, — 


And Lorn recall'd his promised plight, 


('Twas a rough grasp, though meant ui love). 


In the assembled chieftains' sight. — 


Away bis tears the warrior swept. 


When, to fulfil our fathers' band. 


And bade shame on him that lie wept.* 


I proffer'd all I could — my hand — 


" I would to heaven, thy helpless tongue 


I was repulsed with scorn ; 


Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong 


Mine honor I shouhl ill assert. 


For, were he of our crew the best. 


And worse the feelings of my heart. 


Tlie insult went not unredress'd. 


If I should play a suitor's part 


Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of age 


Again, to pleasure Lorn." — 


To be a warrior's gallant jiage ; 




Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfrey fair 


XV. 


O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear. 


" Young Lord," the Royal Bruce' replied. 


To hold my bow in hunting grove, 


"That question must the Church decide; 


Or speed on errand to my love 


Yet seems it hard, since rumors state 


For well I wot thou wilt not tell 


Edith takes Clifford for her mate. 


The temple where my wishes dweU." 


Tlie very tie, which she hath broke, 




To thee should still be binding yoke. 


XVIL 


But, for my sister Isabel — ■ 


Bruce interposed,—" Gay Edward, no. 


The mood of woman who can tell ? 


Tliis is no youth to hold thy bow. 


I guess the Champion of the Rock, 


To till thy goblet, or to bear 


Victorious in the tourney shock. 


Thy message light to lighter fair. 


Tliat knight unknown, to whom the prize 


Thou art a patron all too wild 


She dealt, — had favor in her eyes ; 


And thoughtless, for this orphan child. . 


But since our brother Nigel's fate, 


See'st thou not how apart he steals, 




• MS.—" Thither, by EdwanJ sent, she stays 

Till fate shal! lend more prosperous davs ** 


To blame her," &c. 




« MS. — " And as away the tears he swept. 


»MS.— "The princely Bruce." 


He hade shame on him that iie wept 



CANTO IV. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 443 


Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals ! 


The heavy sword or bossy shield. 


Fitter by for in yon Ciilm cell 


Men too were there, that bore the scars 


To tend our sister Isabel, 


Iniprcss'd in Albyn's woeful wars, 


Witli fatlier Augustin to share 


At Falkirk's fierce imd fatal fight. 


The peaceful change of convent prayer, 


Teyndrum's dread rout, and Methven's 


Than wander wild adventures through. 


flight ; 


With such a reckless guide as you." — 


Tlie might of Douglas there was seen. 


■ . " ThiUiks, brother !" Edward answer'd gay. 


There Lennox with his graceful mien ; 


" For the high laud thy words convey 1 


Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded Knight ; 


But we may learn some future day, 


The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light; 


If thou or I can this poor boy 


Tlie Heir of murder'd De la Haye, 


Protect the best, or best employ. 


And Boyd the grave, and Seton gay. 


Meanwliile, our vessel nears the strand ; 


Around their King regain'd they press'd, 


Launch we the boat, and seek the land." 


Wept, shouted, clasp'd him to their breast, 




And young and old, and serf and lord. 


XVIII. 


And he who ne'er unsheathed a sword. 


To land King Robert lightly sprung, 


And he in many a peril tried. 


And tln'ice aloud lus bugle rung 


Alike resolved the brunt to bide, 


With note prolong'd and varied strain. 


And live or die by Bruce's side ! 


Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again. 




Good Douglas then, and De la Haye, 


XX. 


Had in a glen a hart at bay. 


Oh, War ! thou ha.st thy fierce delight, 


And Lennox checr'd the laggard hounds. 


Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright ! 


When waked that horn the greenwood 


Such gleams, as from thy poUsh'd shield 


bounds. 


Fly dazzUng o'er the battle-field ! 


" It is the foe !" cried Boyd, who came 


Such transports wake, severe and high, 


In breathless haste with eye of flame, — 


Amid the pealing conquest cry ; 


" It is the foe ! — Each valiant lord 


Scai-ce less, when, after battle lost. 


FUng by liis bow, and gra.sp liis sword '.'* — 


Muster the remnants of a host. 


" Not so," replied the good Lord James, 


And as each comrade's name they tell 


" Tliat blast no English bugle claims. 


Who in the weUfought conflict fell, 


Oft liave I heard it fire the fight. 


Knitting stern brow o'er flasliing eye. 


Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. 


Vow to avenge them or to die ! — 


Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear. 


Warriors ! — a:id where are warriors found, 


If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear 1 


If not on martial Britain's ground '!' 


Each to Loch Ranza's margin spring ; 


And who, when waked with note of fire. 


That blast wa^ winded by the King!"* 


Love more than they the British lyre ? 




Know ye not, — hearts to honor dear ! 


XIX. 


That joy, deep-thrilUng, stern, severe. 


Fast to then- mates the tidings spread, 


At which the heart-strings vibrate high. 


And fast to sliore the warriors sped. 


And wake the fountains of the eye ?* 


Bursting from glen and greenwood tree. 


And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if traee 


High waked their loyal jubilee ! 


Of tear is on his manly face, 


Around the royal Bruce they crowd. 


When, scanty relics of the train 


And claspM liis li.ands, and wept aloud. 


That hail'd at Scone liis early reign. 


Veterans of early fields wore there. 


Tills patriot bimd around him hung, 


Whose helmets press'd their hoary hair. 


And to his knees and bosom clung ? — 


Whose swords and axes bore a stain 


Blame ye the Bruce ? — liis brother blamed, 


From life-blood of the redhair'd Dane ;' 


But shared the weakness, while ashamed, 


And boys, whose hands scarce brook'd to 


With haughty laugh his head he turn'd. 


wield 


And dash'd away the tear he scorn'd.' 


> See Appendix, Note 2 T. 


In the red cop that crowns our memory ; 


1 MS.—" Impresa'il by life-blood of the Dane." 


And the brief epitaph in danger's day. 




When those who win at length divide the prey, 


• SIS.—" If not on BriUin's warlike groand." 


And cry. Remembrance saddening o'er each brow. 


* " Ours are the tears, thongl) few, sincerely shed, 


How had tlie brave who felt exalted now /*' 


When Ocean slirouds and sepulchres our dead. 


Byron's Corsah 


For us, even banquets fond regret supply 


' See Appendix, Note 2 U. 



444 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv 


XXI. 


Bestow'd thy high designs to aid. 


'Tis morning, and the Convent bell 


How long, Heaven ! how long delay'd ! — • 


Long time lirid ce.%se(l its matin knell, 


Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce 


Within thy walls, Saint Bride 1 


My darling brotlier, royal Bruce !" 


An aged Sister sought tlie cell 




A.ssign'd to Lady Isabel, 


XXIIL 


And hurriedly slie cried, 


They met like friends who part in pain. 


'' Haste, gentle Lady, haste — there waits 


And meet m doubtful hope again. 


A noble stranger at the gates ; 


But when subdued' that fitful swell. 


Saint Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has seen 


Tlie Bruce survey'd the humble cell ; — 


A Knight of sucli a princely mien ; 


" And this is tliine, poor Isabel ! — 


His errand, as he bade rae tell. 


Tiiat pallet-coudi, and naketl wall. 


Is with the Lady Isabel." 


For room of state, and bed of paU ; 


The prmcess rose, — for on her knee 


For costly robes and jewels rare. 


Low bent she told her rosary, — ' 


A string of beads and zone of hair ; 


" Let him by thee his purpose teach : 


And for the trumpet's spriglitly call 


I may not give a stranger speech." — 


To sport or banquet, gi-ove or hall. 


" Saint Bride forefend, thou royal Maid !' 


Tlie bell's grim voice divides thy care, 


The portress cross'd lierself, and said, — 


'Twi.\t hours of penitence and prayer ! — 


" Not to be prioress might I 


ill for thee, my royal clami 


Debate liis wiU, liis suit deny."— 


From the First David's sainted name ! 


' Has eartlily sliow tlien, simple fool. 


woe for thee, that while lie sought 


Power o'er a sister of thy rule. 


Hia right, thy brother feebly fought !" — 


And art thou, like tlie worldly train. 




Subdued by splendors liglit and vain ?" — 


XXIV. 




" Now lay these vain regrets aside. 


XXH. 


And be the unshaken Bruce !" she cried. 


" No, Lady ! in old eyes like mine, 


" For more I glory to have shared 


Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine ; 


The woes thy venturous spirit dared, 


Nor grace his rank attendants vain. 


When raising first thy vahant baud 


One youthful page is all his train. 


In rescue of thy native land. 


It is the form, the eye, the word. 


Than had fair Fortune set me down 


Tile bearing of that stranger Lord ; 


The partner of an empire's crown. 


His stature manly, Ijold, and tall. 


And grieve not that on Pleasure's stream 


Built like a castle's battled wall. 


No more I drive in giddy dream. 


Vet moulded in such just degrees, 


For Heaven tlie erruig pilot knew, 


His giant strength seems lightsome ease. 


And from the gulf the vessel drew. 


Close as the tendrils of tlie vine 


Tried me with judgments stern and great, 


His locks upon his foreliead twine. 


My house's ruin, thy defeat, 


.let -black, save where some touch of gray 


Poor Nigel's death, till, tamed, I own. 


Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 


My ho]ies are fix'd on Heaven alone ; 


Weather and war tlieir rougher trace 


Nor e'er shall earthly jirospects win 


Have left on that majestic face; — 


My heart to this vain world of sm." — 


Uut 'tis his dignity of eye ! 




Tliere, if a suppliant, would I fly, 


XXV. 


Secure, *mid danger, wi'ongs, and grief. 


"Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice. 


Of sympatliy, redress, relief — 


First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice ; 


That glance, if guilty, would I dread 


Then ponder if in convent scene 


More than the doom that spoke me dead." — 


No softer tlnniglits might intervene — 


'• Enough, enough," the prmcess cried. 


Say they were of that uuknown luiight, 


'■ 'Tis Scotland's hope, )ier joy, her pride 1 


Victor in Woodstock's tourney -fight — 


To meaner front was ne'er assign'd 


Nay, if his name such blush you owe, 


■'^uch mastery o'er tlie common mind — 


Victorious o'er a fairer foe I" 


' " Mr. Scott, we have said, contradicts iiimsflf. How will 


we discover the princess counting her he.ads anil reading homi- 


ne explain tlie following tacts to liis reader's satisfaction? 


lies in the cloister of St. Briile. in tlie Island of Arraii ! We 


The (/(iVrf canto informs us that Isabel accompanies Edward 


hnmbty beseech the ' Migiity Mijistrcl' to clear u > this mat- 


to Ireland, there to remain till the termination of the war; 


ter." — Criticnl Review. 


wd in the fourth canto, the second day after her departure, 


a MS.—" But when subsides," &c. 



CANTO IV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



445 



Tnilv his penetrating eye 

Hath eaught that bUish's passing dye,— 

Like the hist beam of evening tlirown 

On a wliite cloud, — ^jnst seen and gone.' 

Soon with cahu cheek and steady eye, 

The princess made composed reply :— 

" I guess my brother's meaning well ; 

For not so silent is the cell, 

But we hare heard the islesmen all 

Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call, 

And mine eye proves that Knight unknown" 

And the brave Island Lord are one. — 

Had then liis suit been earUer made, 

In his own name, with thee to aid 

(But that his plighted faith forbade),' 

I know not But thy page so near ? — 

This ia no tale for menial's ear." 

XXVL 

Still stood that page, as far apart 

As the small cell would space afford ; 

With dizzy eye and bursting heart. 
He leant liis weight on Brace's sword. 

The monarcli's mantle too be bore,' 

And drew the fold his visage o'er. 

" Fear not for liim — in murderous strife," 

Said Bruce, " his warning saved ray life ;• 

Full seldom parts he from my side, 

And in his silence I confide, 

Since he can tell no tale again. 

He is a boy of gentle strain. 

And I have purposed he shall dwell 

In Augustin the chaplain's cell. 

And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 

Mind not his tears ; I've seen them flow, 

As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 

'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful. 

Unfit against the tide to pull. 

And those that with the Brace would sail. 

Must learn to strive with stream and gale. — 

But forward, gentle Isabel — 

My answer for Lord Ronald tell." — 

XXVIL 
" This answer be to Ronald given — 
The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven." 

1 .. y^g woold bow with veneration to the powerful and 
rngged genius of Scott. We would style him above all others, 
IldinLT and Shakspeare excepted, the Poet of Nature — of 
Nature in all her varied beauties, in all her wildest haunts. 
No appearance, however minute, in the scenes around him, 
escapes his penetrating eye ; they are all marked with the 
nicest discrimination ; are introduced with the happiest effect. 
Hence, in his similes, both the genius and the judgment of 
the poet are peculiarly conspicuous ; his accurate observation 
of the appearances of nature, which others have neglected, 
imparts an originality to those allusions, of which the fender 
immediately recognizes the aptness ami propriety ; and only 
wonders that what must have been so often witnessed should 
have been so nnit'ormly passed unregarded bv. Such is the 



My love was like a summer flower, 

That wither'd in the wiutry hour. 

Born but of vanity and pride. 

And with these sunny visions died. 

If further press his suit — then say, 

He should his plighted troth obey. 

Troth plighted both with ring and word, 

And .sworn on crucifix and sword. — 

Oh, shame thee, Robert ! I have seen 

Tliou hast a woman's guardian been ! 

Even in extremity's dread hour, 

■WTien press'd on thee the Southern jiower. 

And safety, to all human sight, 

'Was only found in rapid flight. 

Thou heard'st a wretched female plain 

In agony of travail-p.ain. 

And thou didst bid thy little band 

Upon the instant turn and stand, 

And dare the worst the foe might do, 

Rather than, like a knight untrue, 

Leave to pursuers merciless 

A woman in her last distress.'' 

And wUt thou now deny thine aid 

To an oppress'd and injured maid. 

Even plead for Ronald's perfiily. 

And press his fickle faith on me ? — 

So witness Heaven, as true I vow. 

Had I those earthly feelings now. 

Which could ray former bosom raove 

Ere taught to set its hopes above, 

I'd spurn each proffer he could bring, 

TiU at my feet he laid the ring. 

The ruig and spousal contract both. 

And fair acquittal of his oath. 

By her who brooks his perjured scorn, 

The ill-requited Maid of Lorn !" 

XXVIIL 

With sudden impulse forward sprtuig 
The page, and on her neck he hung ; 
Then, recollected instantly, 
His head he stoop'd, and bent his knee, 
Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel, 
Arose, and sudden left the cell. — 
The priuM ss, loosen'd from his hold, 
Blush'd angiy at his bearing bold ; 

simile applied to the transient blush observed by biuCH os 
the countenance of Isabel upon his mention of Ronald.'*— 
British Crilic, 
2 MS. — " And well I judge that Knight unknown " 

J MS.—" But that his ! f '""■ 5 plight forbade." 
' former i 

* MS. — " The Monarch's brand and cloak he bore." 

* MS. — " .^nswer'd the Bruce, ' he saved my life.* *• 
" The MS. has,— 

" Isabel's thoughts are fix'd on heaven ;*' 
.and the two couplets which follow are interpolated on tna 
blank page. 

' See Ap[iendix, Note 2 V. 



•140 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



But good King Robert cried, 
" Chafe not — by signs be speaks liis miud, 
He heard the phxn my care design'd, 

Nor could his transports liide. — 
But, sister, now betliink thee well ; 
No easy choice the convent cell ; 
Tri.st, I shall play no tyrant part, 
Either to force thy hand or heart, 
Oj- suffer that Lord Ronald scorn, 
Or wrong for thee, the Maid of Lorn. 
But flunk, — not long tlie time has been, 
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen. 
Anil wouldst the ditties best approve, 
That told some lay of hapless love. 
Now are thy wishes in thy power. 
And thou art bent on cloister bower ! 
O ! if our Edward knew the change. 
How would his busy satire range. 
With many a sarcasm varied still 
On woman's wish, and woman's will !"■ — 

XXIX. 

" Brother, I well believe," she said, 

" Even so would Edward's part be jjlay'd. 

Ivindly in heart, in word severe, 

A foe to thought, and grief, and fear. 

He holds liis humor uncontroU'd ; 

But thou art of another mould. 

Say then to Ronald, as I say, 

IFnless before my feet he lay 

The ring which bound the faith he swore, 

By Edith freely yielded o'er. 

He moves his suit to nie no more. 

Nor do I promise, even if now 

He stood absolved of spousal vow. 

That I would change my purpose made, 

To .shelter me in holy shade. — • 

Brother, for httle space, farewell ! 

To other duties warns the bell." — 

XXX. 

" Lost to the world," King Robert said, 
"When he had left the royal maid, 
" Lost to the world by lot severe, 
what a gem lies buried liere, 
Nipp'd by misftirtune's cruel frost. 
The buds of fair affection lost ! — ' 



" The MS. here adds : — 

" She yields one shade of empty hope ; 
But well I guess her wMy sfope 
Is to elude Lord Ronald's plea. 
And still my importunity." 
- This and the twa ^<it icceeding lines are interpolated on the 
b ank page of the MS. 

3 " The fourth canto cannot be very greatly praised. It 
contains, indeed, many pleasing passages ; but the merit whicli 
they possess is too much detached from the general interest 
of the poem. The only business is Bruce's arrival at the isle 
•/ Arran. The voyage is certainly described with spirit ; but 



But what have I with love to do ? 
Far sterner cares my lot pmsue. 
— Pent in this isle we may not lie,''' 
Nor would it long our wants supply. 
Right opposite, the mainland towers 
Of my own Turnberry court our powers — • 
— Might not my father's beadsman boar, 
Cuthbert, who dwells uptjn the shore. 
Kindle a signal-flame, to show 
The time propitious for the blow ? 
It shall be so — some friend shall bear 
Oiu' mandate with despatch and care ; 
— Edward shall find the messenger. 
That fortress ours, the island fleet 
May on the coast of Oarrick meet — 
Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine 
To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line. 
To raise my victor-head, and see 
Thy hills, thy dales, thy peojile free, — 
That glance of bUss is all I crave, 
Betwbit my labors and my grave !" 
Then down the liill he slowly went. 
Oft pausing on tlie steep descent. 
And reach'd the spot where his bold train 
Held rustic camp upon the plain.' 



®l)e itort of tijc Isles. 



CANTO FIJTH. 



On fair Loch-Ranza stream'd the early day. 
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd 
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay 
And circling mountains sever from the world. 
And there the fisherman his sail unfurl'd. 
The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil, 
Before the hut the dame her spindle twii'l'd, 
Courtmg the sunbeam as she plied her toil, — 
For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care 
and toil. 

But other duties call'd each convent maid. 
Roused by the summons of the moss-gro^Ti bell ; 

tlie remainder of llie canto is ratlicr tedious, and might, with- 
out any considerable inconvenience, liave beeti left a good 
deal to the reader's imagination. Mr. Scott ought to reserve, 
as much as possible, the interlocutory part of his narrative, 
for occasions which admit of high and animated sentiment, or 
the display of powerful emotions, because this is almost the 
only poetical beauty of which speeches are susceptible. But 
to fill up three-fourths of a canto with a lover's asking a 
brother in a quiet and friendly manner for permission to addi^ss 
his sister in marriage, ami a brother's asking liis sister whetlief 
she has any objections, is, we think, somewhat injudicious ' 
— Quarterly Review. 



PANTO V. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



447 



Sung -were the matins, and the mass was said, 
Aud cvfi-y sister sought her separate cell, 
Such was the rule, her rosary to tell. 
And Isabel has kuelt m lonely prayer 
Tlie sunbeam, tlu-ough the narrow lattice, fell 
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair, 
As stoop'd her gentle head in meek devotion there. 

II. 

She raised her eyes, that duty done. 
When gUauccd upon the pavement-stone, 
Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring. 
Bound to a scroll with silken string,' 
With few brief words inscribed to teU, 
"This for the Lady Isabel." 
Witliin, the \vi-iting farther bore, — 
" 'Twas with this ring his plight he swore. 
With this his promise I restore ; 
To her who can the heart command. 
Well may I yield the plighted hand. 
And ! for better fortune born, 
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn 
Her who was Edith once of Lorn !" 
One single flash of glad surprise 
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes. 
But vanish'd m the blush of shame, 
That, as its penance, instant came. 
" thought unworthy of my race I 
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, 
A moment's throb of joy to own," 
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown ! — 
Thou pledge of vows too well believed, 
Of man iiigrate and maid deceived, 
ThiiJc not thy lustre here shall gain 
Another heart to hope in vain ! 
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud, 
■WHiere worldly thoughts are overawed, 
And worldly splendors sink debased." 
Then by the cross the ring she placed. 

Ill 

Next rose the thought, — its owner far, 

How came it here tlirough bolt and bar ?— 

But the dim lattice is ajar. — 

She looks abroad, the morning dew 

A hght short step had brush'd anew, 

And there were foot-prints seen 
On the carved buttress rising stiU, 
Till on the mossy window-sill 

Their track efiiiced the green. 
Tlie ivy twigs were torn and fray'd. 
As if some climber's steps to aid. — 
But who the hardy messenger, 
■WTiose venturous path these signs infer ? — 



' a ring of gold, 



MS. 



A scroll around ihe jewel roll'd. 
Had few brief words." &c. 
-" A fiii'ijle Uirob of joy to own." 



" Strange doubts are mine ! — Mijnn, draw nigh ; 

— Naught 'scapes old Mona's curious eye — 

What strangers, gentle mother, say. 

Have sought these holy walls to-day i" — 

" None, Lady, none of note or name ; 

Only your brother's foot-page came, 

At peep of dawn — I pray'd liim pass 

To chapel where they said the mass ; 

But like an aiTow he shot by. 

And tears seem'd burstmg from his eye." 

IV. 
The truth at once on Isabel, 
As darted by a sunbeam, fell. — 
"'Tis Edith's self!' — her speechless woe. 
Her form, her looks, the secret show ! 
— Instant, good Mona, to the bay, 
And to my royal brother say, 
I do conjure him seek my cell. 
With that mute page he loves so well." — 
" What ! know'st thou not his warlike host 
At break of day has left our coa.st ?* 
My old eyes saw them from the tower. 
At eve they couch'd in greenwood bower. 
At dawn a bugle signal, made 
By their bold Lord, their ranks array'd; 
Up sprung the spears thj-ough bush and 

tree. 
No time for benedicite ! 
Like deer, that, rousing from their lair. 
Just shake the dew-drops from their hair. 
And toss theu- armed crests aloft, 
Such matins theirs !" — " Good mother, soft — 
Where does my brother bend his way !" — ^^ 
" As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay, 
Across the isle — of barks a score 
Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them o'er. 
On sudden news, to Carrick-shore." — 
" If such their purpose, deep the need," 
Said anxious Isabel, " of speed ! 
Call Father Augustme, good dame." 
The nun obey'd, the Father came. 



" Kind Father, hie without delay, 

Across the hills to Brodick-Bay. 

Tliis message to the Bruce be given ; 

I pray liim, by Ms hopes of Heaven, 

That, tiU he speak with me, he stay ! 

Or, if his haste brook no delay. 

That he deliver, on my suit. 

Into thy charge that stripling mute. 

Thus prays liis sifter Isabel, 

For causes more than she may teU — 

s MS.—" 'Tis she herself." 

* MS. — *' Whal ! know'st thou not in sadaen haste 

The warriors from our woods have passM V 

* M3. — " Canst tell where they have bent their way ' * 



448 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Away, good father ! and take heed, 


But as, on Carrick-shore, 


That life and death are on thy speed." 


Dim seen in outline faintly blue. 


His cowl the good old priest did on, 


The shades of evening closer drew,' 


Took his piked staff and sandaU'd shoon, 


It kindled more and more. 


And, hke a palmer bent by eld. 


The monk's slow steps now press the sands 


O'er moss and moor his journey held.' 


And now amid a scene he stands, 




Full strange to churchman's eye ; 


VI. 


Warriors, who, arming for the fight. 


Heavy and dull the foot of age, 


Rivet and clasp their harness hght. 


And rugged was the pilgrimage ; 


And twinkling spears, and axes bright, 


But none was there beside, wliose care 


And helmets flasliing high. 


Might such important message bear. 


Oft, too, with unaccustom'd ears. 


Through birchen copse he wander'd slow, 


A languitge much unmeet he hears,' 


Stunted and sapless, thin and low. 


While, hastening all ou board, 


By many a mountain streimi he pass'd. 


As stormy as the swelling surge 


From the tall cliffs in tumult cast, 


Tliat mbc'd its roar, the leaders urge 


Basiling to foam their waters dun, 


Their followers to the ocean verge. 


And sp.arkling in the summer sun. 


With many a haughty word. 


Round his gray head the wild curlew 




111 many a fearless circle flew. 


VIII. 


O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures wide 


Through that wild tlu'ong the Father pass'd, 


Craved wary eye and ample stride ;' 


And reach'd the Royal Bruce at last. 


He cross'd his brow beside the stone 


He leant agamst a stranded boat. 


Wliere Druids erst heard victims groan,' 


Tliat the approacliing tide must float, 


And at the cairns upon the wild. 


And coimted every rippling wave. 


O'er many a heathen hero piled,* 


As higher yet her sides they lave, 


He breathed a timid prayer for those 


And oft the distant fire he eyed. 


Who died ere Sliiloh's sun arose. 


And closer yet his hauberk tied. 


Beside Macfarlane's Cross he staid. 


And loosen'd in its sheath his brand. 


There told his hours within the shade. 


Edward and Lennox were at hand, 


And at the stream his thirst aUay'd. 


Douglas and Ronald had the care 


Tlieuce onward journeying slowly still, 


The soldiers to the barks to share. — 


As evening closed he reach'd the hill. 


The Monk approach'd and homage paid ; 


Where, rising through the woodland green. 


"And art thou come," King Robert said, 


Old Brodick's gothic towers were seen. 


" So far to bless us ere we part l"^ 


From Hastings, late their English lord. 


— " My Liege, and with a loyal heart ! — 


Douglas had won them bv the sword.* 


But other charge I have to tell," — 


The sun that sunk beliiud the isle. 


And spoke the best of Isabel 


N^ow tmged them with a parting smile. 


— " Now by Saint Giles," the monarch cried. 




" Tliis moves me mucli ! — tliis morning title. 


VII. 


I sent the striphng to Saint Bride, 


But though the beams of light decay, 


With my commandment there to bide." — 


'Twas bustle all in Brodick-Bay. 


— '' Tliither he came the portress show'd, 


Tlie Brace's followers crowd the shore. 


But there, my Liege, made brief abode." — 


And boats and barges some unmoor. 




Some raise the sail, some seize the oar * 


IX. 


Their eyes oft turn'd where glinimor'd far 


" 'Twas I," said Edward, " found employ 


What might have seeni'd an early star 


Of nobler import for the boy. 


On heaven's blue arch, save that its light 


Deep pondering in my anxious mind. 


Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright. 


A fitting messenger to find, 


Far distant in the south, the ray 


To bear my written mandate o'er 


Shone pale amid retiring day. 


To Cuthbert on the Carrick-shore, 


'■ MS. — '* Aiifl cross the island took his w.-iy. 


»SeeAppendii. NoteSY. 


O'er liill ami holt, to Brodick-Bay." 


6 MS.—" Tlie sliades oreven more closely drew. 


> See Appendix, Note 2 W. 


It brifrhten'd more am! more. 


* M3. — '* He cross'd him by the Draids' stone. 


Now print his sandall'd feet the sands, 


That heard of yoM the victim's groan." 


And now amid," 5:c. 


< See ApoendLx, Note 2 X. 


' See Appcmlix, Note 2 Z, 



CANTO V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 449 


I cliancoJ, at early dawn, to pass 


That when by Bruce's side I fight. 


Tlie chaiiel gate to snatch a mass. 


For Scotland's crown and Freedom's right 


I foiinil tlie stripliiiij on a tonib 


The princess grace her knight to bear 


Low-scateil, weeping for the doom 


Some token of her favoring care ; 


That gave his youth to convent gloom. 


It shall be shown where England's best 


I told my purpose, and his eyes 


May shrink to see it on my crest. 


Flash'd joyful at the glad surprise. 


And for the boy — since weightier care 


He bounded to the skiff, the sail 


For royal Bruce the times prepare. 


Was spread before a prosjierous gale, 


The helpless youth is Ronald's cliargc. 


And well my charge he hath obey'd ; 


His couch my plaid, his fence my targe." 


For, see ! the ruddy signal made. 


He ceased ; for many an e.ager hand 


That Clifford, with his merry-men all. 


Had urged the barges from the stnmd. 


Guards carelessly cm' father's hall." — ' 


Their number was a score and ten, 




Tliey bore thrice threescore chosen men. 


X. 


With such small force did Bruce at last 


" wild of thought, and hard of heart !" 


The die fur death or empu-e cast ! 


Answer'd the Monarch, " on a part 




Of such deep danger to employ 


XIL 


A mute, an orphan, and a boy !' 


Now on the darkeumg main afloat, 


Unfit for flight, unfit for strife, 


Ready and mann'd rocks every boat ; 


Without a tongue to plead for life ! 


Beneath their oars the ocean's might 


Now, were my right restored by Heaven, 


Was dash'd to sparks of ghmmering light. 


Edward, my crown I would hjive given. 


Faint and more faint, as off they bore. 


Ere, thrust on such adventure wild. 


Their armor glanced against the shore. 


I peril'd thus the helpless child." — 


And, mingled with the dasliing tide. 


— Offended half, and half submiss, 


Their murmm"iug voices distant died. — 


" Brother and Liege, of blame like this," 


" God speed them !" said the Priest, .as dai'k 


Edwai-d replied, " I little dream'd. 


On distant bUlows glides each bark ; 


A stranger messenger, I deem'd, 


'* Heaven ! when swords for freedom shine, 


Might safest seek the beadsman's cell, 


And monarch's right, the cause is thine 1 


Where all thy squires are known so weU. , 


Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 


Noteless his presence, sharp his sense. 


Beat down the banners of the foe 1 


His imperfection his defence. 


And be it to tlie nations known, 


If seen, none can his err.and guess ; 


That Victory is from God alone !"' 


If ta'en, his words no tale express — 


As up the hiU liis path he di'ew. 


Me thinks, too, yonder beacon's shine 


He turn'd his blessings to renew. 


Might expiate greater fault than mine." — 


Oft turn'd, till on the darken'd coast 


" Rash," said King Robert, " was the deed — 


AU traces of their course were lost ; 


But it is done. — Embark with speed ! — 


Then slowly bent to Brodick tower. 


Good Father, say to Isabel 


To shelter for the evening hour. 


How this unhappy chance befeU ; 




If well we thrive on yonder shore. 


XIIL 


Soon shall my care her page restore. 


In night the fairy prospects sink, 


Om' greeting to our sister bear, 


■ffliere Cumray's isles with verdant link 


And think of us in mass and prayer." — 


Close the fair entrance of the Clyde ; 




The woods of Bute, no more descried. 


XI. 


Are gone* — and on the placid sea 


"Aye!" said the Priest, "while this poor hand 


The rowers ply theu- task with glee. 


Can chalice raise or cross command, 


■WTiile hands that knightly lances bore 


Wliile my old voice has accents' use, 


Impatient aid the laboring oar. 


Can Augustine forget the Bruce !" 


The half-faced moon shone dim and pale, 


Then to his side Lord Ronald press'd. 


And glanced against the whiteu'd sail; 


And whisper'd, " Bear thou this request. 


But on that ruddy be.acon-light 


1 The MS. reads :— 


Of such deep peril, to employ 


" Keeps careless guard in Turnberry halt,** 


A mute, a stranger, and a bov •' " 


See Appendix, Note 3 A, 


> MS. " is thine aloni- '" 


3 MS. — " Said Robert, ' to assign a part 
57 


t MS.—" Have sunk " 



450 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Each steersman kept the lielm aright, 
And oft, for such tlie lung's command, 
That all at once might reach tlie strand, 
From boat to boat loud shout and hail 
"W'arn'd them to crowd or slacken sail. 
Siiuth and by west the armada bore. 
And near at length the Carrick-shore. 
And less and less the distance grows. 
High and more high the beacon rose ; 
Tlic light, that seem'd a twinkhng star. 
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far. 
Dark-red the heaven above it glow'd, 
Dark-red the sea beneath it flow'd, 
Red rose the rocks on ocean's brbn. 
In blood-red light her islets swkn ; 
Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave, 
Dropp'd from their crags on plasliing wave.^ 
The deer to distant covert drew, 
Tlie black-cock deem'd it day, and crew. 
Like some tall castle given to flame. 
O'er half the land the lustre came. 
" Now, good my Liege, and brother sage, 
Wliat tliink ye of mine elfin page ?" — 
" Row on !" the noble King replied, 
" We'll learn the truth whate'er betide ; 
Yet sure the beadsman and the child 
Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild." 

XIV. 

With that the boats approach'd the land," , 
But Edward's grounded on the sand ; 
Tlie eager Knight leap'd in the sea 
Waist-deep, and first on shore was he, 
Though every barge's hardy band 
Contended which should gain the land. 
When that strange light, which, seen afar, 
Seem'd steady as the polar star, 
Now, hke a prophet's' fiery chair, 
Seem'd travelling the reahns of an*. 
Wide o'er the sky the splendor glows. 
As that portentous meteor rose ; 
Helm, axe, and falchion glitter'd bright, 
And in the red and dusky light 
His comrade's face each warrior saw. 
Nor marvell'd it was pale with awe. 
Then high in air the beams were lost. 
And darkness sunk upon tlie coast. — 
Ronald to Heaven a jirayer address'd, 
And Douglas cross'd his dauntless bre:ust ; 
" Saint James protect us !" Lennox cried. 
But reckless Edward spoke aside, 
" Dcem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame 
Red Comyn's angry spirit came. 



I MS. — *' And from their crags plash'd in the wave." 
■'■ M-. — " With that the barges near'd tlie land." 
» MS.—" A wizard's." 
i MS — " * fiallants be luish'd ; we soon shall know,' 



Or would thy dauntless heart endure 

Once more to make assurance sure ?" — 

" Hush !" said the Bruce, " we soon shall know 

If this be sorcerer's empty show,* 

Or stratagem of southern foe. 

The moon shines out — upon the sand 

Let every leader rank Im band." 

XV. 

Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 

That ruddy fight's unnatural dye ; 

The dubious cold reflection lay 

On the wet sands and quiet bay. 

Beneath the rocks King Robert drew 

His scatter'd files to order due. 

Till shield compact and serried spear 

In the cool light shone blue and clear. 

Then down a path that sought the tide, 

That speechless page was seen to glide ; 

He knelt him lowly' on the sand, 

And gave a scroll to Robert's hand. 

" A torch," the Monarch cried, " What, ho ! 

Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings know." 

But evil news the letters bare. 

The Clifford's force was strong and ware,' 

Augmented, too, that very morn. 

By mountaineers who came with Lorn. 

Long harrow'd by oppressor's hand, 

Com'age and faith had fled the land, 

And over Carrick, dark and deep. 

Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. — 

Cuthbert had seen that beacon-flame. 

Unwitting fi'om what source it came. 

Doubtful of perilous event, 

Edward's mute messenger he sent. 

If Bruce deceived should venture o'er, 

To warn him from the fatal shore. 

XVL 

As rotmd the torch the leaders crowd, 
Bruce read these cliilling news aloud. 
" What coimcil, nobles, have we now I — 
To ambush us hi greenwood bough. 
And take the chance which fate may send 
To bring oiu- enterprise to end. 
Or shall we turn us to the main 
As exdes, and embark agaki ?" — 
Answer'd fierce Edward, " Hap what may. 
In Carrick, Carrick's Lord must stay. 
I would not minstrels told the tale. 
Wildfire or meteor' made us quail." — 
Answer'd the Douglas, " If my Liege 
May win yon walls by storm or siege, 



Said Bruce, ' if this be sorcerer's show.* " 

6 MS. " on the moisten'd sand." 

6 MS. — '■ That Clifford's force in watch were ware.' 
' MS. — " A wildBre meteor," &c. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



451 



llipn were each bravo and patriot heart 


" Dost thou not rest thee on my arm f 


Kindled of new for loyal part." — ' 


Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm ! 


Answer'd Lord Ronald, " Not for shame 


Hath not the wild-bull's treble hide 


Would I that aged Torquil came, 


This targe for thee and me supplied ! 


And found, for all our empty boast, 


Is not Clan-CoUa's sword of steel ? 


Witliout a blow we fled the coast. 


And, trembler, canst thou terror feel ? 


I will not credit that this land. 


Cheer thee, and still that throbbing hciut; 


So famed for warlike heart and h.-ind. 


From Ronald's guard tliou shalt not part." 


Tlic nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, 


— 1 many a shaft at random sent. 


Will long with tynmts liold a truce." — 


Finils mark the archer little meant 1 


" Prove we our fate^the brunt we'll bide 1" 


And many a word, at random spoken, 


So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried ; 


May soothe or wound a heart that's broken 1 


So said, so vow'd, the leaders all ; 


Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified. 


So Bruce resolved : " And in my hall 


Close drew the page to Ronald's side ; 


Since the Bold Southern make their home, 


A wild delirious thriU of joy 


Tlie hour of payment soon shall come,' 


Was in that hour of agony, 


Wlien with a rough and rugged host 


As up the steepy pass he strove. 


CUfford may reckon' to liis cost. 


Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love 1 


Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell. 




I'll lead where we may shelter well." 


XIX. 




Tlie barrier of that iron shore. 


XVIL 


The rock's steep ledge, is now climb'd o'er ; 


Now ask you whence that wondrous light, 


And from the castle's distant waU, 


Whose fiiu-y glow beguiled their .sight ? — 


From tower to tower the warders call : 


It ne'er was known' — yet gray-hair'd eld 


The soimd swmgs over land and sea,* 


A superstitious credence held. 


And marks a watchful enemy. — 


That never did a mortal hand 


They gain'd the Chase, a wide domain 


Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ; 


Left for the Castle's silvan reign' 


Nay, and that on the self-same night 


(Seek not the scene — the axe, the plough, 


When Bruce cross'd o'er, still gleams the Ught. 


The boor's dull fence, have marr'd it now). 


i'early it gleams o'er mount and moor. 


But then, soft swept in velvet green 


And gUttering wave and crimson'd shore — 


The plain with many a glade between. 


But whether beam celestial, lent 


Whose tangled alleys far invade 


By Heaven to aid the King's descent, 


The depth of the brown forest shade. 


Or fire hell-kindled from beneath. 


Here the tall fern obscured the lawn. 


To lure him to defeat and death. 


Fan- shelter for the sportive fawn ; 


Or were it but some meteor strange, 


There, tufted close with copsewood green. 


Of such as oft through midnight range, 


Was many a sweUing liillock seen ; 


Startling the traveller late and lone,' 


And all around was verdm-e meet 


I know not — and it ne'er was known. 


For pressure of the fau-ies' feet. 




The glossy holly loved the park, 


xvin. 


The yew-tree lent its shadow dark,' 


Now up the rocky pass they drew. 


And many .an old oak, worn and bare. 


And, Ronald, to lus promise true. 


With all its shiver'd boughs, was there. 


StUl made his arm the stripling's stay. 


Lovely between, the moonbeams fell 


To aid him on the rugged way. 


On lawn and Iiillock, glade and dell. 


" Now cheer thee, simple Amadine I 


The gallant Monarch sigh'd to see 


Wliy throbs that silly heart of thine ?"— 


Tliese glades so loved in childhood free. 


— That name the pirates to their slave 


Bethinking that, as outlaw, now. 


(In Gaelic 'tis the Changeling) gave — 


He ranged beneath the forest bough.' 


1 MS. " to play their part." 


7 See Appendix, Note 3 C. 


s MS.—" Since Clifford needs will make his home. 


e MS.—" The dark-green holly loved the down. 


The hour of reckoning soon shall corae." 


The yew-tree lent its shadow hrown." 


> MS.— "The Knighi shall reckon," &c. 


9 " Their moonlight muster on the beach, after the saddei] 


• See Appendix, Note 3 B. 


extinction of this portentous flame, and their midnight march 


s MS.—" Sach as through midnight ether range, 


through the paternal ticlds of their royal leader, also display 


AftVightening oft the traveller lone." 


much beautiful painting (stanzas 15 and 19). After the caa- 


MS."" Sounds sadly over land and sea." 


tie is won, the same strain is parsued." — Jeffrey 



452 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto r. 


XX. 


XXII. 


Fast o'er the moonlight Ch.ise they sped. 


Tims strangely left, long sobb'd and wept 


Well liuew the band that measured tread, 


The page, till, wearied out, he slept — 


When, in retreat or in advance. 


A rough voice waked his dream — " Nay, here, 


The serried warriors move at once ; 


Here by this tliicket, pass'd the deer — 


And evil were the luck, if dawn 


Beneath that oak old Ryno staid — 


Descried them on the open lawn. 


Wliat have we here ? — a Scottish plaid, 


Copses thcY traverse, brooks they cross, 


And in its folds a stripling laid ? — 


Stiain up the bank and o'er the moss. 


Come forth ! thy name aud business tell ! — 


From the exliausted page's brow' 


What, silent ? — tlien I guess thee well 


Cold drops of toil are streaming now ; 


The spy that sought old-Cuthbert's cell. 


With effort faint" and lengthen'd p.ause. 


Wafted from Arran yester morn — 


His weary step the stripling draws. 


Come, comrades, we will straight return. 


" Nay, di-oop not yet !"^ the wairior said ; 


Our Lord may choose the rack should te.ach 


" Come, let me give thee ease and aid ! 


To this young lurcher use of speech. 


Strong are mine arms, and httle care 


Tliy bow-string, till I bind him fast." — 


A weight so slight as thine to bear. — 


" Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast ; 


■ftliat ! wilt thou not ? — capricious boy ! 


Unbound we'll lead him, fear it not; 


Then tliiue own Umbs and strengtli employ. 


'Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot." 


Pass but this night, and pass thy care. 


The hunters to the castle sped. 


I'll place thee with a lady fair. 


And there the hapless captive led. 


Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell 




How Ronald loves fair Isabel !" 


xxin. 


Worn out, dishearten'd, and dismay 'd, 


stout Clifford in the castle-court 


Here Amadine let go the plaid ; 


Prepared him for the morning sport ; 


His trembling limbs tlieir aid refuse,* 


And now with Lorn held deep discourse. 


He sunk among the midnight dews !" 


Now gave command for liound and horse.^ 




War-steeds and palfreys paw'd the grouud, 


XXI. 


And many a deer-dog liowl'd around. 


What may be done ? — the night is gone — 


To Amadine, Lorit's well-known word 


The Bruce's band moves swiftly on- 


Replying to that Soutliern Lord, 


Eternal shame, if at the brunt 


Mix'd with this clanging din, might seem 


Lord Ronald grace not battle's front ! — 


The pliantasm of a fevcr'd dream. 


" See yonder oak, witliin whn.se trunk 


The tone upon his ringing ears 


Decay a darken'd cell liath sunk ; 


Came like the sounds wliich fancy hears, 


Enter, and rest thee tliere a space. 


Wlien ui rude waves or roaring winds 


Wrap in my plaid thy Umbs, thy fiice.' 


Some words of woe the muser finds, 


I will not be, believe me, far ; 


Until more loudly and more near. 


But nmst not quit the ranks of war. 


Their speech arrests the page's ear.* 


Well will I mark the bosky bourne, 




And soon, to guard thee hence, retiu-n. — 


XXIV. 


N.iy, weej) not so, thou sunple boy ! 


" And was site thus," said Clifford, " lost ? 


But sleep in peace, aud wake in joy." 


The priest .should rue it to his cost ! 


In silvan lodging close bestow'd,'' 


What says the monk !" — " The holy Sire 


He placed tlie page, and onward strode 


Owns, that in masquer's quaint attire 


With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook. 


She sought liis skiff, disguised, imknown 


And soon the marching band o'ertook. 


To all except to hurt alone. 


1 MS. — " From Ainadyne's exhausted brow." 


poem, and contains some touches of great pathos and beauty. 


2 JIS.— " And double toil," &c. 

3 MS.—" Naj/ear not yet," &c. 


— Quarterly Review. 
6 MS. — " And mantle in my plaid thy face." 
' MS. — " In silvan castle warm bestow'd. 


< J:S. — " his weight refuse." 


He left the page." 


6 *' This canto is not distinguished by many passajjes of e.\- 


8 MS. — " And low with Lorn he spoke aside, 


Iraordinary merit ; as it is, however, full of business, and com- 


And now to squire and yeoman cried. 


oaratively free from those long rhyming dialogues whieli are so 


Wai^horse and palfrey." &c. 


frequent in the poem, it is, upon the whole, spirited anfl pleas- 


MS. " or roaring wind, 


.ng. The scene in which Ronald is described siieltefing Edith 


Some words of woe his musings tind, 


under his plaid, for the love which he bears to [sahel, is. we 


Till spoke more loudly and more near 


thinli, more poetically conceived than any other iu the whole 


These words arrest the page's ear." 



PtNTo V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 453 


But, says the prinst, ft bark from Lorn' 


His nerves hath strung — he will not yield I 


l.aiil them ;iboard that very morn, 


Since that poor breath, that little word. 


And [liratos seized Iier for their prey. 


May yield Lord Ronald to the sword. — "" 


lie protfur'd nmsom-goUl to pay, 


Claii-CoUa's dirge is peaUng wide, 


And they agreed — but ere told o'er, 


The griesly headsman's by liis side ; 


Tlie winds blow loud, the billows roar ; 


Along the greenwood Chase they bend, 


Tliey sever'd, and they met no more. 


And now their march has ghastly end ! 


He deems — such tempest vex'd the coast — 


That old and shatter'd oak beneath. 


aliip, crew, and fugitive, were lost. 


They destine for the place of death.' 


So let it be, with the cUsgraee 


— What thoughts ;xre his, while all in vain 


And scandal of her lofty race !' 


His eye for aid explores the plain ? 


Tliricc better she liad ne'er been born. 


What thoughts, wliile, with a dizzy ear. 


Thau brought her infamy on Lorn !" 


He hears the death-prayer rautter'd near ! 




And must he die such death accm-st. 


XXV. 


Or will that bosom-secret burst ! 


Lord Clifford now the captive spied ; — 


Cold on liis brow breaks terror's dew, 


" \\Tiom, Herbert, hast tliou there 2" he cried. 


His trembling li])s are livid blue ; 


'■ A spy we seized within the Chase, 


The agony of parting life 


A liollow oak his lurking place." — ' 


Has naught to match that moment's strife 1 


" What tidings can the youth afford ?" — 




" lie plays the mute." — " Then noose a cord — 


xxvn. 


Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom 


But other witnesses are nigh, 


For his phud's sake." — " Clan-CoUa's loom," 


Who mock at fear, and death defy 1 


Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace 


Soon as the dire lament was play'd. 


lijither the vesture than the face, 


It waked the lurking ambuscade. 


" Chm-CoUa's dames such tartans twine ; 


The Island Lord look'd f<»rth, and spied 


Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. 


The cause, and loud in fury cried,* 


Give him, if my advice you crave, 


" By Heaven, they lead the page to die. 


His own scathed oak ;' and let him wave 


And mock me iu his agony I 


In air, unless, by terror wrung. 


They shall abye it !" — On his ai-m 


A frank confession find his tongue. — * 


Bruce laid strong grasp, " They shall not harm 


Xor shall he die without his rite ! 


A ringlet of the stripling's hair; 


— Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight, 


But, tUl I give the word, forbear. 


And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath. 


— Douglas, lead tifty of our force 


As they convey him to his death." — 


Up yonder hollow water-course, 


" brother ! cruel to the last !" 


And couch thee midway on the wold. 


Through the poor captive's bosom pass'd 


Between the flyers and their hold ; 


The thought, but, to his purpose true, 


A spear above the copse display'd, 


He said not, though he sigh'd, " Adieu 1" 


Be signal of the ambush made. 




— Edward, with forty spearmen, straight 


XXVL 


Tlirough yonder copse approach the gate. 


And will he keep his purpose still, 


And, when thou hear'st the battle-din. 


In sight of that last closing ill," 


Rush forward, and the passage win. 


When one poor breath, one single word. 


Secure the drawbridge — storm the port, 


May fi-eedom, safety, life, afford ? 


And man and guard the castle-court. — 


Can he resist the instinctive call. 


The rest move slowly forth with me, 


For life that bids us barter all ? 


In shelter of the forest-tree. 


Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd. 


Till Douglas at his post I see." 


1 MS.— " To all save to himself alone. 


* MS. — '* Yon scathed oak.'* 


Then, says be, that a bark from Lorn 


* MS. " by terror wrung 


Laid him aboard." &c. 


To speech, confession finds his tongue.'* 


3 In place of the couplet which follows, the MS. has : — 


« " lajit human ill." 


" For, stood she there, and should refuse 


J M3. — " Since that one word, that little breath, 


The choice my better purpose views, 


May speak Lord Ronald's doom of death, * 


I'd spurn her like a bond-maid tame, 


8 MS. — ** Beneath that shatter'd old oak-tree, 


L^j,„j resentment and to Uha^e." 


Design'd the slaughter-place to be 


( each sense of pride and * 


9 MS. — '* Soon as the due lament was play'd 


» MS. — '* A spy, whom, guided by our hound, 


The Island Lord in fury said, 


Larking conceal'd this morn we foand.'* 


' By Heaven they lead,' " &c. 



454 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXVIII. 
Like war-horse eager to rush on, 
Ciimpell'd to wait the signal blown,' 
Hill, and scarce liid, by greenwood bough, 
TrembUng with rage, stands Ronald now. 
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue. 
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue. — 
Meanwliile the Bruce, with steady eye. 
Sees the dark^ death-train moving by, 
And, heedful, measures oft the space 
llie Douglas and his band must trace, 
Ere they can reach their destined ground. 
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound, 
Now cluster round the direful tree 
That slow and solemn company. 
While hymn mistuned and mutter'd prayer 
Tlie victim for his fate prepare. — 
"WHiat glances o'er the greenwood shade ? 
The spear that marks the ambuscade ! — 
" Now, noble Chief ! 1 leave thee loose ; 
Upon them, Ronald !" said the Bruce. 

XXIX. 
" The Bruce, the Bruce !" to well-known cry 
His native rocks and woods reply. 
" The Bruce, the Bruce !" in that dread word 
The kneU of hundred deaths was heard. 
Tlie astonish'd Southern gazed at first, 
"Wlicre the wild tempest was to burst, 
Tliat waked in that presaging name. 
Before, belund, around it came ! 
Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side 
Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died. 
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged. 
And fierce Clan-CoUa's broadsword raged! 
Full soon the few who fought were sped, 
No better was their lot who fled, 
And met, 'mid terror's wild career, 
The Douglas's redoubted spear I 
Two hundred yeomen on that morn 
The castle left, and none return. 

XXX. 
Not on their f!ight press'd Ronald's brand, 
A gentler duty claim'd his hand. 
He raised the page, where on the plain 
His fear had sunk liim witli the slain: 



1 MS. — " Yet waiting for the Immpet tone.** 
a MS. — " See the slow tieath-train.'* 
3 MS. — ." And scarce liis recollection," &c. 
* MS. — " A harder tasit fierce Edward waits, 

Whose ire assaii'd the ca.stle gates.'* 
» MS. — " Where sober thought had fail'd. 

Upon the bridge hiviself lie tbr«w." 
MS.— '* His axe was steel of temper'd edge. 

That truth the wnnler well might pledge, 

lie sank Dpon the threshold ledge I 

The gate," ice. , 



And twice, that morn, surprise well near 
Betray'd the secret kept by fear ; 
Once, when, with hfe returning, came 
To the boy's Up Lord Ronald's name, 
And hardly recollection' drown'd 
The accents in a murmuring sound ; 
And once, when scarce he could resist 
The Chieftain's care to loose the vest. 
Drawn tightly o'er his laboring breast. 
But then the Bruce's bugle blew. 
For martial work was yet to do. 

XXXL 

A harder task fierce Edward waits. 
Ere signal given, the castle gates 

His fury had assaii'd ;'' 
Such was his wonted reckless mood. 
Yet desperate valor oft made good, 
Even by its daring, venture rude. 

Where prudence might htiye fail'd. 
Upon the bridge liis strength he threw,' 
And struck the iron chain in two, 

By which its planks arose ; 
Tlie warder next his axe's edge 
Struck down upon the threshold ledge, 
'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge !' 

The gate they may not close. 
WeU fought the Southern in the fray, 
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day, 
But stubborn Edward forc'd his way' 

Against a hundred foes. 
Loud came the cry, " The Bruce, the Bruc« 1" 
No hope or in defence or truce, 

Fresh combatants pour in ; 
Mad with success, and thunk with gore. 
They drive the struggling foe before, 

And ward on ward they win. 
Unsparing was the vengeful sword. 
And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd. 
The cry of death and conflict roar'd, 

And fearful was the din ! 
The startling horses plunged and flung, 
Clamor'd the dogs till turrets rung, 

Nor sunk the fearful cry. 
Till not a foeman was there found 
Alive, save those who on the ground 

Groan'd in their agony !' 



7 ]y|g — 1< Well fought the English yeomen then. 
And Lorn and Clifford play'd the men. 
But EdwanI mann'd the pass he won 
Against," &c. 
eThe conelnding slanza of " The Siege of Corinth" con- 
tains an obvious, though, no doultt. an uucor-cious iinilnlinn 
of the preceding nine lines, magnificently e.vpanded tiiiougli an 
extent of about thirty couplet-s : — 

" All the living things that heard 

That deadly earth-shock disappear'd ; 
The wild bints flew ; the wild dogs (lea, 



CANTO VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 4j6 


XXXII. 


The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored ! 


TIic Tiiliant Clifford is no more ;' 


And be whose lip shall touch the wine, 


On Ronald's broadsword stream'd hia gore. 


Without a vow as true as mme, 


But better liap bad be of Lorn, 


To bold both lands and life at naught, ' 


Wbo, by tbe focmen backward borne, 


Until her freedom shall be bought, — 


Yi't jjiuu'd witb slenilcr train the port. 


Be brand of a disloyal Scot, 


Where lay his bark beneath the fort, 


And lasting infamy his lot !'' 


And cut the cable loose.'' 


Sit, gentle friends ! our hour of glee 


Short were bis shrift in tliat debate, 


Is brief, we'll spend it joyously 1 


That hour of fury and of late, 


Blithest of all the sun's bright beams. 


If Lorn encounter'd Bruce !' 


When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. 


Then long ;uul loud the victor shout 


"Well is our coimtry's work begun. 


From turret :uid from tower rung out. 


But more, far more, nnist yet be done. 


Tbe rugged vaults replied ; 


Speed messengers the country through 


And from the donjon tower on high, 


Arouse old friends, and gather new ;" 


The men of Carrick may descry 


Warn Lanark's knights to gu'd their mail. 


Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry 


Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, 


Of silver, -B-aving wide ! 


Let Ettrich's archers sharp their darts, 




Tlie fiiirest forms, the truest hearts ! 


XXXIIL 


Call all, call all ! from Reedswair-Path, 


The Bi-uce bath won liis father's hall !' 


To the wild confines of Cape- Wrath ; 


— " 'Welcome, brave 'friends and comrades all. 


Wide let the news through Scotland ring, 


Welcome to mirth and joy ! 


The Northern Eagle claps his wing !" 


Tlie first, tbe last, is welcome here, 




From lord and cliieftain, prince and peer. 






To this poor speechless boy. 




Great God ! once more my sire's abode 


®l)c Cort of tl)c islca. 


Is mine — behold the floor I trode 


In tottering mfancy ! 






And there" the vaulted arcb, whose sound 


CANTO SIXTH. 


Echoed my joyous shout and bound 




In boyhood, and that rung around 


I. 


■To youth's untliinking glee ! 


WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget' 


first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven, 


Tbe emotions of the spirit-rousing tune. 


Then to my friends, my thanks be given !" — 


When breathless in the mart the couriers mat. 


He paused a space, liis brow he crosa'd — 


Early and late, at evening and at prime , 


Then on the board liis sword be toss'd, 


When the loud cannon and the merry chime 


Yet steaming hot ; witb Southern gore 


Hail'd news on news, as field on field -was 


From bilt to point 'twas crimson'd o'er. 


won,^" 




'When Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length 


iJJXXIV. 


subUine, 


" Bring here," be said, " the mazers four. 


And our glad eyes, awake as day begun. 


My noble fathers loved of yore." 


Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the ris- 


Thrice let them circle romid the board, 


ing sun !" 


And howling left the anburietl dead : 


e See Appendix. Note 3 P. 


Tile camels I'rora llieir keepers hroke ; 




The ili^tanl steer forsook the yoke — 


» MS.—" Hast thou forgot?— No! who can e'er forget." 


The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain, 


10 " Who can avoid conjuring ujithe idea of men with Hoao 


And burst his girtli, antl tore liis rein," &c. 


sheets of foolscap scored with victories rolled round their hats 


1 In point of ('act, Clifford fell at Bannockbum. 


and horns hlovving loud deliance in each other's mouth, from 


3 MS.—" .\nd swil'lly lioLsted sail." 


the top to the hollom of Pall-.Mall, or the llaymarket, when 


• MS. — " Short were his shrift, if in that hour 


he reads such a p;Ls.s;ige ? We actually hear the Park and 


or f.ite, of fury, and of power. 


Tower guns, ami the clattering or ten lliousand bells, as we 


He 'counter'd Edward Bruce!" 


read, and stop our ears from the close and sudden intrnsion ot 


< See Appendix, Note 3 D. 


the clamors of sotne hot and horiijintril patriot, blowing our- 


^ MS. — " And see the vaulted arch," &c. 


selves, as well as Itonaparte. to the devil I And what has all 


• See Appendi.\, Note 3 E. 


this to do with Bannockbum ?" — Monthhj lieoicw. 


' M.^.— *' Be lasting infamy his lot. 


n MS.—" Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, watch'*! 


And brand of * disloyal Scot !" 


Triumph's flashing gull." 



456 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid 
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and 

fi-!ir5 ! 
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd, 
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the 

tears 
That traek'd with terror twenty rolling years, 
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee ! 
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears, 
To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee. 
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and 

liberty ! 

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode, 
■When 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's 

scale, 
When Brace's banner had victorious flow'd 
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale ;' 
When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,^ 
And iiery Edward routed stout St. Jolm,^ 
When Randolph's wai'-cry swell'd the southern 

gale," 
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was 

won, 
And Fame stiU sounded forth fresh deeds of 

glory done. 

II. 
Blithe tidings ilew from baron's tower, 
To peasant's cot, fo forest-bower, 
And waked the soUtary cell. 
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwelL 
Princess no more, fair Isabel, 

A vot'ress of the order now. 
Say did the rule that bid thee wear 
Dim veil and woollen scapulaire. 
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair, 

That stern and rigid vow. 
Did it conilemn the transport high. 
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye, 
Wlien minstrel or when palmer told 
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold ? — 
And whose the lovely form, that shares 
Tliy anxious hope.s, thy fears, thy prayers ? 
No sister she of convent shade ; 
So say these locks in lengthen'd braid. 
So say the blushes and the sighs. 
The tremors that unbidden rise. 
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame. 
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came. 

IIL 

Believe, his father's castle won, 
And his bold enterprise begun, 



i See Appendix, Note 3 G. 
> Ibid. Note 3 I. 
' Ibiil. Note 3 L. 



a Ibid. Note 3 H. 
< Ibiil. Note 3 K. 
• Ibid. Note 3 M. 



That Bruce's eai'Uest cares restore 
The speechless page to Arran's shore : 
Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes ; 
And sister-like in love they dwell 
In that lone convent's silent cell. 
There Bruce's slow assent allows 
Fair Isabel the veil and vows ; 
And there, her sex's dress regain'd, 
The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd, 
Unnamed, unknown, wliile Scotland for 
Resounded with the dm of war ; 
And many a month, and many a day. 
In calm seclusion wore away. 

IV. 
These days, these months, to years had worn, 
When tiduigs of liigh weight were borne 

To that lone island's shore ; 
Of all the Scottish conquests made 
By the First Edward's ruthless blade, 

His son retam'd no more. 
Northward of Tweed, but Stu-ling's towers, 
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers ; 

And they took term of truce,'* 
If England's ICing should not relieve 
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve. 

To yield them to the Bruce. 
England was roused — on every side 
Courier and post and herald hied. 

To summon prince and peer. 
At Berwick-bounds to meet then' Liege,' 
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege. 

With buckler, brand, and spear. 
The term was nigh — they muster'd fast, 
By beacon and by bugle-blast 

Forth marshall'd for the field ; 
Tliere rode each knight of noble name, 
There England's hardy archers came, 
The land they trode seem'd all on flame, 

With banner, blade, and shield ! 
And not fame<l England's powers alone, 
Renown'd in arms, the summons own ; 

For Neustria's knights obey'd, 
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good,' 
And Cambria, but of late subdued. 
Sent forth her mountain-multitude,' 
And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 

Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.' 



Right to devoted Caledon 

The storm of war rolls slow'v on," 

^ The MS. has not this line. 

8 See Appendix, Note 3 N. » Ibid. Note 3 O. 

10 MS — " The gathering storm of war rolls on.' 



;...,xxo VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 457 


■With menace deep and dread ; 


And oft his breach of faith he blames- 


So the dark clouds, with gathering power, 


Forgive him for tliine own !" — 


Suspend awhile the tlu'eaten'd shower. 




Till uvi-rv peak and siunmit lower 
Hound the pale pilgrim's hi'ad. 


VU. 


" No ! never to Lord Ronald's bower 


Not with such pilgrim's startled eye 
King Kobert m:u'k'd the tempest nigh ! 


■Wm I again as pai-amour" 


" Nay, hush thee, too knpatient maid, 


Resolved the brunt to bide. 


Until my final tale be said !— 


His royal summons warn'd the land, 


The good King Robert would engage 


That all who own'd their King's command 


Edith once more his elfin page, 


Should instant take the spear and brand,' 


By her own heart, and her own eye, 


To combat at his side. 


Her lover's penitence to try — ' 


who may tell the sons of fame. 


Safe in his royal charge and free, 


That at King Robert's bidding came, 


Should such thy final pm-pose be, 


To battle for the right ! 


Again unknown to seek the cell, 


From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, 


And live and die with Isabel." 


From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss,* 


Thus spoke the maid — King Robert's eye 


All bound them for the tight. 


Might have some glance of policy ; 


Such news the royal com-ier tells. 


Dunstaffuage had the monarch ta'en. 


Who came to rouse dark AiTan's dells; 


And Lorn had own'd Kiug Robert's reign ;* 


But farther tidmgs must the ear 


Her brother had to England fled. 


Of Isabel iu secret hear. 


And there in bani.shment was dead ; 


These in her cloister walk, ne.^ morn. 


Ample, through exile, death, and flight. 


Thus shai-ed she with the Jhiid of Lorn. 


O'er tower and hmd was Edith's right ; 




Tills ample right o'er tower and land 


VI. 


■Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand. 


■'lly Editli, can I tell how dear 


VIIL 


@ur intercourse of hearts smcere 


Embarrass'd eye and blushing cheek 
Pleasure and shame, and fear bespeak I 


Hath been to Isabel ? — 


Judge then the sorrow of my heart, 


Yet much the reasoning Edith made : 


■When I must say the words, 'We part 1 


" Her sister's faith she must upbraid. 


The cheerless convent-cell 


■Who gave such secret, dark and dear. 
In council to another's ear. 


■W'as not, sweet maiden, made for thee ; 


flo thou where thy vocation free 


Why should she leave the peaceful cell ? — 


On happier fortunes fell. 


How should she part with Isabel ? — 
How wear that strange attu-e agen? 


Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray'd. 


Though Robert knows that Lorn's high Maid 


How risk herself 'midst martial men! — 


And Ivis poor silent page were one. 


And how be guarded on the way ? — 


Versed in the fickle heart of m.an,' 


At least she might entreat delay." 
Kind Isabel, with secret smile, 


Eai-nest and anxious hath he look'd 


How Ronald's heart the message brook'd 


Saw and forgave the maiden's wile, 


That gave him, with her last farewell. 


Reluctant to be thought to move 


The charge of Sister Isabel, 


At the first call of tru.ant love.' 


To think upon thy better right. 




And keep the faith his promise pUght. 


IX. 


Forgive him for thy sister's sake, 


Oh, blame her not ! — when zephyrs wake. 


At iirst if vain repuiings wake — * 


The aspen's trembling leaves must shake : 


Long since that mood is gone : 


■When beams the sim through April's shower. 


Now dwells he on thy juster claims, 


It needs must bloom, the violet flower ; 


1 MS. — " Should instant belt them with the brand." 


From Arran's mountains left the land : 


a MS.— ■■ From Solway's sands to wild Cape-Wrath, 


Their chief, MacLouis. had the care 


Front Tlay's Rinns to Colbrand's Path." 


The fpeecliless Amadine to bear 


a MS. — '■ And his mute page were one. 


To Bruce, with \ ''°''°' { as behooved 


For, versant in the heart of man." 


' i re%'erence \ 


4 MS.— '"If brief and vain repinings walte." 


To page the monarch dearly loved." 


6 MS. — '■ Her lover's aller'd mood to trj'." 


With one verbal alteration these lines occur hereafter — the 


« MS. — •' Her aged sire had own'd his reigtk*' 


poet having post[ioned them, in order to apologize more »t 


* The MS. here presents, erased — 


length for Kdith's acquiescence in an arrangement not, cei 


" But all was overruled — a band 
1 .W 


tainly, at fit^t sight, over delicate. 



45S 



SCOTT^S POETICAL WORKS. 



And Love, howe'er the maiden strive, 
Must with reviving hope revive ! 
A thousand soft excuses came, 
To plead liis cause 'gainst virgin sliame. 
Pledged by theu" sires in earliest youth, 
lie Iiad her plighted faith and truth — 
Then, 'twas her Liege's strict command, 
And she, beneath his roval hand, 
A ward in person and in land : — ■ 
And, last, she was resolved to stay 
Only brief space — one little day — 
Close hidden in her safe disguise 
From all, but most from Ronald's eyes — 
But once to see him more ! — nor blame 
Her wish — to bear him name her name !— 
Then, to bear back to solitude 
The thought be had his falsehood rued ! 
But Isabel, who long had seen 
Her pallid cheek and pensive mien, 
And well herself the cause might know, 
Though innocent, of Edith's woe, 
Joy'd, generous, that revolving time 
Gave means to expiate the crime. 
Higli glow'd her bosom as she said, 
" Well shaU her sufferings be repaid !" 
Now came the parting hour — a band 
From Arrau s mountains left the land ; 
Their chief, Fitz-Louis,* had the care 
The speechless Amadine to bear 
To Bruce, with honor, as behooved 
To page the monarch dearly loved. 

X. 

The King had deem'd the maiden bright 
Should reach him long before the fight, 
But storms and fate her com'se delay: 
It was on eve of battle-day, 
"When o'er the Gillie's-hill she rode. 
The landscape like a furnace glow'd, 
And far as e'er the eye was borne, 
The lances waved like autumn-cora 



1 gee Appendix, Note 3 P. 

i MS. — " Nearest and plainest to the eye." 

3 See Appendix, Note 3 Q,. 

< MS. — ■■ One close beneatli the hill was laid." 

s See Appendix, Note 3 R. 

6 '■ As -A rt-ward for the loyalty and distingnished bravery of 
Ihe men of Ayr on the occasion referred to in the text. King 
Robert the Bruce granted them upwards of 1300 Scots acres 
of land, part of the baillicry of Kyle Stcicart, his patrimonial 
inheritance, lying in the immediate vicinity of the town of 
Ayr, which grant King James VI. confirmed to their succes- 
fcors by two charters ; one to the freemen of Newton-upon-Ayr, 
the other to the freemen of Preslwick, both boroughs of barony 
in the same parish, with all the peculiarities of the original 
eonstitntion. 

'• Tiie former cliarter contains forty-eight freedoms or baro- 
nies — as these subdivisions are called — and the latter thirty- 
eix. The right of succession to these freeholds is limited. A 
son succeeds his father, nor can his riglit of succession be any- 



In battles four beneath their eye,' 
The forces of King Robert lie.* 
And one below the hill was laid,^ 
Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 
And three, advanced, form'd vaward-line, 
'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine. 
Detach'd was each, yet each so nigh 
As well might mutual aid supply. 
Beyond, the Southern host appears,^ 
A boundless wilderness of spears, 
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye 
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. 
Thick flashing in the evening beam, 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam ; 
And where the heaven join'd with the hill, 
Was distant armor flashing stUl, 
So wide, so far the boundless host 
Seem'd in the blue horizon lost. 

XI. 

Down from the hill the maiden pass'd. 
At tlie wUd show of war aghast ; 
And traversed first the rearward host, 
ReseiTed for aid where needed most. 
The men of Carrack and of Ayr, 
Lennox and Lanark, too, were there," 

And all the western land ; 
With these the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their chieftains rank'd their files,' 

In many a plaided band. 
There, in the centre, proudly raised, 
Tlie Bruce's royal standard blazed. 
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore 
A galley di'iven by sail and oar. 
A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made 
Warriors in mail and plate array'd, 
Witli the plumed bonnet and the plaid 

By these Hebrideans worn ; 
But ! unseen for three long years, 
Dear was the garb of mountaineers 

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 



wise affected by the amount of his father's debts. A widow 
having no son may enjoy her husband's freehold as long as she 
lives, but at her death it reverts to the comraunity, the female 
line being excluded from the right of succession. Nor can any 
freeman dispose of his freehold except to the community, who 
must, within a certain time, dispose of it to a neutral per=on, 
as no freeman or baron can possess more than one allotment, 
whereby the original number of freemen is always kept np. 

" Each freeholder iias a vote in the electron of the bailHes. 
who have a jurisdiction over the freemen for the recovery of 
small debts. But though they have the power of committing 
a freeman to prison, they cannot, in right of tlieir office, lock 
the prison :'.oors on him, but if he leaves the prii^on without 
the proper liberation of the baillies, he thereby forfeits his 
baronsbipor freedom." — Inquisit. Special, pp. 72, 555, 782. — 
Sir John Sinclair's Statistical Jtcconnl of Scotland, vol. ii, 
pp. 203,264, r)8].—Chal7ncrs' Calatovia, vol. iii. pp. 501 
508.— A^ofc/rom Mr. Joseph Train (1840). 

' h:Ve AppL'udix, Note 3 S. 



CANTO VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 450 


For one she look'd — but he wiis far 


Was seen the glove of Argentine ; 


Busied auiid the niuks of war — 


Truncheon or leading staff he lacks, 


Yet with atfeetion's troubled eye 


Bearing, instead, a battle-axe. 


She mark'd his baiuier boldly fly, 


He ranged his soldiers for the fight, 


Gave on the countless foe a glance, 


Accoutred thus, in open sight 


And Ihoiiglit on battle's desperate chance. 


Of either host. — Three bow-shots far, 




Pau.sed the deep front of England's war, 


XII. 


And rested on their arms awhile. 


To centre of tlie vaward-Une 


To close and rank their warlike file, 


Fitz-Louis guided Amadine.' 


And hold high council, if that night 


Arm'd all on foot, that host .appears 


Should view the strife, or dawning light. 


A serried mass of glunnieriog spears. 




There stooil the Marchers' warlike baud. 


XIV. 


The warriors there of Lodous land ; 


gay, yet fcm-fuP to behold, 


Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 


Flashmg with steel and rough with gold. 


A biind of archers tierce, though few ; 


And bristled o'er with bills and spears, 


The men of Nith aud Annan's vale, 


With plumes and pennons waving fair. 


And the bold Spears of Teviotdide ;— 


Was that bright battle-front! for there 


The dauntless Douglas these obey 


Rode England's King and peers: 


And the young Stuart's gentle sway. 


And who, that saw that monarch ride. 


Northeastward by Saint Niniiui's shrine, 


His kingdom battled by his side. 


Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine 


Could then his du'eful doom foretell ! — 


The warriors whom the hardy North 


Fau- was Ids seat in knightly selle. 


From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. 


And in liis sprightly eye was set 


The rest of Scotland's war-array 


Some spark of the Pl.antagenet. 


With EdwiU'd Bruce to westward lay, 


Though light and wandering was his glance, 


Where Bannock, with his broken bank 


It flash'd at sight of shield and lance. 


And deep ravine, protects their flaidi. 


" Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine, 


Beliind them, screen'd by sheltering wood, 


Yon knight who marsh.als thus their hne ?" — 


The galhuit Keith, Lord Mai-shal, stood : 


" The tokens on his helmet tell 


His men-at-arms bear mace and lance. 


The Bruce, my Liege ; I know him welL" — ■ 


And plimies that wave, and helms that glance. 


" And shall the audacious traitor brave 


Thus tiiir divided by the King, 


Tlie presence where our banners ware ?" — 


Centre, and right, and left -ward wing, 


" So please my Liege," said Argentine, 


Composed his front ; nor distant far 


" Were he but horsed on steed Uke mine. 


Was strong reserve to aid the war. 


To give him fiiir and knightly ch.auce. 


And 'twas to front of this array. 


I would adventure forth my lance." — 


Her guide and Edith made their way. 


" In battle-day," the King replied. 




" Nice tourney rules are set aside. 


xm. 


—Still must the rebel dare our wrath ? 


Here must they pause ; for, in advance 


Set on liim — sweep him ii-om our path !" 


As far as one might pitch a Lance, 


And, at King Edward's signal, soon 


The Monarch rode along the vaii,^ 


Dash'd from the ranks Su- Henry Boune. 


The foe's approaching force to scan. 




His Une to marshal and to range. 


XV. 


And ranks to square, and fronts to change. 


Of Hereford's high blood' he came. 


Alone he rode — from head to heel 


A race renown'd for knightly fame. 


Sheathed in his ready arras of steel ; 


He biu-n'd before his Monarch's eye 


Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight. 


To do some deed of chiv.ahy. 


But, till more near the shock of fight. 


He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd his lance, 


Reining a palfrey low and light. 


And darted on the Bruce at once. 


A diadem of gold was set 


— As motionless as rocks, that bide 


Above his bright steel basinet. 


The wrath of the advancing tide. 


And clasp'd witliin its gUttering twine 


The Bruce stood fast. — Each breast beat high. 


1 MS.—" Her guard conducted Amadine." 


3 MS.—" j '^""■•, 1 yet fearfnl," &c. 
1 brifrlit, I 


3 See Appendix, Note 3 T. 


< MS.— " Princely blood," &c 



iGO SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. c-anto vi. 


And dazzled -was each gazing eye — 


' XVII. 


The heart had hardly time to think. 


** Fear not," he said, " yoimg Amadine 1" 


The eyeUd scarce had time to wink," 


Then wliisper'd, " Still that name be tliine. 


Wlule on the Iviiig, like flash of flame, 


Fate plays her wonted fantasy,^ 


Spurr'd to full speed the war-horse came 1 


Knid Amadine, with thee and me, 


The partridge may the falcon mock. 


And sends thee here m doubtful hour. 


If that flight palfrey stand the shock — 


But soon we are beyond her power ; 


But, swerying from the Iviiight's career, 


For on this chosen battle-plain. 


Just as they met, Bruce shunn'd the spear. 


A'ictor or vanquish'd, I remain. 


Onward the baffled wamor bore 


Do thou to yonder lull repair ; 


His course — but soon liis com-se was o'er ! — 


ITie followers of our host are there, 


High in his stu-rups stood the liing, 


And all who niay not weapons bear. — 


And gave his battle-axe the swing. 


Fitz-Louis, have liim in thy care. — 


Right on De Boune, tlie whiles he pass'd. 


Joyful we meet, if all go well; 


Fell that stern dint — the first — the last ! — 


If not, in Arran's holy cell 


Such strength upon the blow was put, 


Thou must take part with Isabel ; 


Tlie helmet crasli'd like hazel-nut ; 


For brave Lord Ronald, too, hath sworn, 


The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, 


Not to regain the Maid of Lorn 


Was shiver'd to the gamitlet grasp. 


(The bliss on earth he covets most), 


Springs from the blow the startled horse, 


Would he forsake his battle-post, 


Drops to the plain the lifeless corse ; 


Or shun the fortune that may fall 


— First of tliat fatal field, how soon. 


To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. — 


How sudden, fell tlie fierce De Boune ! 


But, bark ! some news these trumpets tell ; 




Forgive my haste — farewell ! — fareweU !" — 


XVI. 


And in a lower voice he said, 


One pitying glance the Monarch sped, 


" Be of good cheer — farewell, sweet m.aid 1"— 


Where on the field his foe lay dead ; 




Then gently turn'd his palfrey's head. 


XVIIL 


And, pacing back liis sober way, 


" 'ftTtat train of dust, with trumpet-sound 


Slowly he gain'd liis own array. 


And gUmmering spears, is wheeUng romid 


There round theii- King the leaders crowd 


Our leftward flank f — the Monarch cried, 


And blame liis recklessness aloud, 


To Moray's Earl who rode beside. 


That risk'd 'gainst each adventurous spear 


" Lo ! round thy station pass the foes !* 


A life so valued and so dear. 


Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." 


His broken weapon's shaft sm'yey'd 


The Earl liis visor closed, and said. 


The King, and careless answer made, — 


" My wi'eath shall bloom, or life shall fade. — 


" My loss may pay my folly's tax ; 


Follow, my household !" — And they go 


I've broke my trusty battle-axe." 


Like lightning on the advancing foe. 


Twas then Fitz-Louis, bending low. 


" My Liege," said noble Douglas then, 


Did Isabel's commission show ; 


'' Earl Randolph has but one to ten :* 


Edith, disguised, at distance stands. 


Let me go forth liis band to aid !" — 


And hides her blushes with her hands. 


— " Stu- not. The error he hath made, 


The Monarch's brow has changed its 


Let hini amend it as he may ; 


hue, 


I wiU not weaken urine array." 


Away the gory axe he threw, 


Then loudly rose the conflict-cry. 


While to the seeming page he drew. 


And Douglas's brave heart sweU'd higt,— 


Clearing war's terrors from liis eye. 


" My Liege," he said, " with patient ear 


Her liand with gentle ease he took. 


I must not Moray's death-knell hear !" — . 


With such a kind protecting look. 


" Then go — but speed thee back again." — 


As to a weak and timid boy 


Forth sprimg the Douglas with his train : 


Might speak, that elder brother's care 


But, when they won a rising hill, 


And elder brother's love were there. 


He bade his followers hold them still. — 


' MS.— "Tlie heart took hardly time to think, 


< See Appendix, Note 3 U 


The eyelid scarce liad space to wink." 


' MS.-" Lo ! 5 'I'""' J thy post have pass'd the foes. 


a MS.—" Just as they closed in full career, 


Bruce swerved the palfrey from the spear." 


' inrou^n > 


" MS. ■ — " her wonted pranks, I see." 


6 M . — " Earl Randolpli's strength is one to ten." 



CAXTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4G1 



" See, see ! the routed Southern fly ! 
Tlie E;irl hath won the victory. 
Lo ! vrhere yon steeds run masterless, 
His banner towers above tlie press. 
Heiu up ! our presence would impair 
The fame we corae too late to share." 
Rick to the host the Douglas rode, 
And soon glad tidings are abroad,^ 
That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph slain, 
His followers fled with loosen'd rein. — 
That skii'mish closed the busy day, 
And couch'd in battle's prompt array. 
Each ai'my on their weapons lay. 

XIX. 

It was a night of lovely June, 

High rode in cloudless blue the moon, 

Dem.ayet smiled beneath her ray ; 
Old Sth-ling's towers arose in light. 
And, twined in links of silver bright. 

Her winding river lay.' 
Ah, gentle planet ! other sight 
Shall greet thee next returning night. 
Of broken arms and banners tore. 
And marshes dark with human gore. 
And piles of slaughter'd men and horse. 
And Forth that floats the frequent corse, 
And many a woimded wretch to plain 
Beneath thy silver light in vain I 
But now, from England's host, the cry 
Thou hear'st of wassail revelry, 
^Vliile from the Scottish legions pass 
The murmur'd pr.ayer, the early mass ! — 
Here, numbers had presumption given ; 
There, bands o'er-match'd sought aid from 
Heavea 

XS. 

On GiUie's-hill, whose height commands 
The battle-field, fau- Edith stands, 
AVith serf and page unfit for war, 
To eye the conflict from afar. 
! with what doubtful agony 
She sees the dawning tint the sky ! — 
Now on the Ochils gleams the sim. 
And glistens now Demayet dun ; 
Is it the lark that carols shrill. 
Is it the bittern's early hmn ? 



1 MS.^" Back to his post the Douglas rode, 
And soon the tidings are ahroad." 
3 The MS. here interposes the couplet — 
" Glancing by fits from hostile line, 
Armor and lance return'd the shine." 
3 See Appendix. Note 3 V. 

* " Althongh Mr. Scott retains that necessary and charac- 
teristic portion of his peculiar and well-known manner, he is 
free, we think, from any faulty self-imitation ; and the battle 
of Bannockburn will remain forever as a monument of the 



No ! — distant, but increasing still, 

The trumpet's sound swells up the hill, 

With the deep murmur of the drum. 
Responsive from the Scottish host, 
Pipe-clang and bugle sotmd were toss'd.' 
His breast and brow each soldier cross'd. 

Anil started from the ground ; 
Arm'd and array'd for instant fight, 
Rose archer, spearman, squire and knight, 
And in the pomp of battle bright 

The dread battaUa frown'd.* 

XXI. 

Now onward, and in open view, 

The countless ranks of England drew,^ 

Dark rolling like the ocean-tide. 

When the rough west hath chafed his pride. 

And his deep roar sends cli.allenge wide 

To all that bars his way ! 
In front the gallant archers trode, 
The men-at-arms behind them rode, 
And midmost of the phalanx broad 

The Monarch held his sway. 
Beside him many a war-horse fumes. 
Around him waves a sea of plumes, 
Where many a knight in battle known, 
And some who spurs had first braced on. 
And deem'd that fight should see them won 

King Edward's bests obey. 
De Argenthie attends his side. 
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride, 
Selected champions from the train, 
To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed — 
— At once, before his sight amazed. 

Sunk banner, spear, and slu'eld ; 
Each weapon-point is downward sent, 
Each warrior to the ground is bent. 
" The rebels, Argentine, repent ! 

For pardon they have kneel'd." — " 
" Aye ! — -but they bend to other powers. 
And other pardon rue than otrrs ! 
See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands. 
And blesses them with lifted hands !' 
Upon the spot where they have Imeel'd, 
These men will die, or win the field." — 
— " Then prove we if they die or win ! 
Bid Gloster's Earl the figlit begm." 



fertile poetical powera of a writer, who had before so greatW 
excelled in this species of description." — Monthly Hcvicic. 

"The battle, we think, is not comparable to the haltle in 
Marmion, though nothing can be finer than the scene of con- 
trasted repose and thoughtful anxiety by which it is introdncen 
(stanzas lix. XX. xxi.)" — Jeffrey. 

6 See Appendix. Note 3 \V. 

" MS. — " De Argentine ! the cowards repent I 
For mercy they have kneel'd." 

' See Appendix, Note 3 X. 



462 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXII. 


Awhile, with stubborn hardihood. 


E;u-1 Gilbert waved lib truncheon high, 


Their Engh'sh hearts the strife made good. 


Just as the Northern ranks arose, 


Borne down at length on every side. 


Signal for England's ju'chery 


Compell'd to flight, they scatter wide. — 


To h;ilt and bend their bows. 


Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee, 


Then stepp'd each yeoman forth a pacCj 


And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee ! 


Glauced at tlie intervening space. 


Tlie broken bows of Bannock's shore 


And raised his left hand high ; 


Shall in the greenwood ring no more ! 


To the right ear the cords they bring — ' 


Round Wakefield's merry May-pole n >w, 


— At once ten thousand bow-strings ring, 


The maids may twine the summer bough, 


Ten thousand ai-rows fly ! 


May northward look with longing glance. 


Nor paused on the devoted Scot 


For those that wont to lead the dance, 


The ceaseless fury of their shot ; 


For the blithe archers look in vain ! 


As fiercely and as fast, 


Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en, 


Forth whistling came the gray-goose wing 


Pierced through, trode down, bv thousands sViin, 


As the wild hailstones pelt and rmg 


They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 


Adown December's blast. 




Nor momitain targe of tough bull-liide, 


XXIV. 


Nor lowland mail, that storm m.ay bide ; 


The Kmg with scorn beheld then- flight. 


Woe, woe to Scotland's banner'd pride. 


" Are these," he said, " our yeomen wight 


If the fell sliowor may last ! 


Each braggart chm'l could boast before, 


Upon the right, behind the wood. 


Twelve Scottish lives his baldrick bore !* 


Each by his steed dismounted, stood 


Fitter to plunder chase or park. 


The Scottish chivahy ; — 


Than make a manly foe^ their mark. — 


With foot in stirrup, hand on mane. 


Forward, each gentleman and knight ! 


Fierce Edw.-u-d Bruce can scarce restrain 


Let gentle blood .show generous might, 


His own keen heart, his eager train. 


And chivalry redeem the fight !" 


tTntil the archers gam'd the plain ; 


To rightward of the wild afli'ay 


Then, " Mount, ye gallants free 1" 


The field show'd fan" and level way ; 


He cried ; and, vaidting from the ground. 


But, in mid space, the Bruce's care 


His saddle every horseman found. 


Had bored the groun :1 with many a pit. 


On high theu- gUttering crests' they toss. 


With turf and brushwood hidden yet,' 


As springs the wild-fii-e from the moss ; 


That form'd a ghastly snare. 


The sliield hangs down on every breast. 


Rusliing, ten thousand horsemen came. 


Each ready lance is in the rest. 


With spears ui rest, and he.arts on flame, 


And loud shouts Edward Bruce,— 


That panted for the shock ! 


" Forth, Marshal ! on the peasant foe 1 


With blazing crests .and banners spread, 


We'U tame the terrors of their bow, 


And trumpet-clang and clamor dread, 


And cut the bow-string loose !'" 


The wide plain thunder'd to then- tread. 




As far as Stirling rock. 


XXIII. 


Down ! down hi headlong overthrow. 


Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks. 


Horseman and horse, the foremost go,'' 


They rush'd among the archer ranks. 


Wild floundering on the field I 


No spears were there the shock to let. 


The first are in destruction's gorge. 


No stakes to turn the charge were set, 


Then: followers wUdly o'er them urge ; — 


And how shall yeoman's armor sHght, 


The knightly helm and shield, 


Stand the long lance and mace of might ! 


The mail, the acton, and the spear. 


Or what may then- short swords avail, 


Strong hand, high heart, are useless here ! 


'Gamst b.arbed horse and shht of mail ? 


Loud from the mass confused the cry 


Amid their ranks the chargers sprung. 


Of dying warriors swells on higli. 


High o'er their heads the weapons swung. 


And steeds that shriek in agony !* 


And shriek and groan and vengeful shout 


They came like mountain-torrent red. 


Give note of triumph and of rout ! 


That thtmders o'er its rocky bed ; 


' MS. — " Drew to his ear the silkea string.** 


MS. — " With many a pit the gronnd to bore. 


3 M9. — " Their hi-andish'd spears." 


With turf and brushwood cover'd o'er, 


2 See Appendix, Note 3 Y. 


Had form'il," &c. 


' Ibid. Note 3 Z. 


' See Appendi\, Note 4 A. 


s MS.—" An arra'd foe." 


e Ibid. Note 4 B. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4G3 



Tliey broke like that same torreufs wave' 
■Wlien swallow'd bv a darksome cave. 
Billows on billow.^ bvir.st and boil, 
JIaintauiing still the stern turmoil, 
Ami to their wild and tortured groan 
Each adds new terrors of his own ! 

XXV. 

Too strong in courage and in might 
Was England yet, to yield the fight. 

Her noblest all are here ; 
Names that to fear were never known, 
Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton, 

And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
There Gloster pUed the bloody sword, 
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 

Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came,'' 
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame — 
Names known too well' in Scotland's war, 
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, 
Blazed broader yet in after yeai's. 
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
Pembroke with these, and Argentine, 
Brought up the rearward battle-line. 
With caution o'er tlie ground they tread, 
SUppery with blood and piled with dead, 
TiU hand to hand in battle set, 
The bills with spears and axes met, 
And, closing dark on every side, 
Raged the full contest far and wide. 
Then was the strength of Douglas tried, 
Tlien proved was Randolph's generous pride 
And well did Stewart's actions gi-ace 
The sire of Scotland's royal race ! 

Firmly they kept their gi-ound ; 
As firmly England onward press'd. 
And down went many a noble crest, 

1 The MS. has- 

" When plunging down some darksome cave, 
Billow' on hillow rushing on, 
Follows the path the first had gone." 
It is impossihle not to recollect our author's own lines, — 
" As Bracklinn's chasm, so hlack and steep, 
Iteceives her roaring linn, 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in ; 
So did tJie deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass." 

Lady of the Lake, Canto vi. stanza 18. 

2 MS.—" Ross, Tybtot, Neville, Mauley, came." 

3 MS. — " Names known of yore," &c. 
< MS.— " Unshifting foot," &c. 

6 " All these, life's rambling jonmey done, 

Have found their home, the grave." — -CowpER. 

B '*The dramatic, anrl even Shakspearian spirit of mnch of 
this battle, must, we think, strike and ilelii'ht the reader. We 
pa,s8 over much alternate and much stubborn and ' unflinch- 
ing* contest — 



And rent was many a valiant breast. 
And Slaughter rcvcU'd round. 

XXVI. 

TTnilincliing foot* 'gainst foot was set. 
Unceasing blow by blow was met ; 

The groans of those who fell 
Were drown'd amid the shriller clang 
That from the blades and harness rang. 

And in the battle-ycU. 
Yet ftist they fell, unheard, forgot, 
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot ; 
And ! amid that waste of life, 
What various motives tired tlie strife I 
The aspiring Noble bled for ftmic, 
The Patriot for liis country's cltiim ; 
This knight liis youthful strength to prove, 
And that to win liis lady's love ; 
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood, 
From h.abit some, or hardiliood. 
But niffian stern, and soldier good. 

The noble and the slave. 
From various cause the same wild road. 
On the same bloody morning, trode. 

To that dark inn, the grave !' 

XX vn. 

The tug of strife to flag begins. 
Though neither loses yet nor wins." 
High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust,' 
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
Douglas leans on his war-sword now. 
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow ; 
Nor less had toil'd each Southern knight. 
From mom till mid-day in the fight. 
Strong Egremont for air must ga.sp, 
Beauchamp untloes his visor clasp. 
And Montague must quit liis spear, 

' The Ing of strife to flag begins, 
Though neither loses yet nor wins ;' 

but the description of it, as we have ventured to prophesy, 
will last forever. 

'• It will be as unnecessary for the sake of our readers, as it 
would be useless for the sake of the author, to point out mnvij 
of the obvious defects of these splendid passages, or of others 
in the poem. Such a line as 

* The tag of strife to flag begins,' 

most wound every ear that has the least pretension to judge of 
poetry ; and no one, we should think, can miss the ridiculous 
point of such a couplet as the subjoined, — 

' Each heart had caught the patriot spark. 
Old man and ^.tripling, priest and clcrk,^ " 

Monthly Rcmc-m 

' '* The adventures of the day are versifled rather too literal- 
ly from the contemporary chronicles. The following p-assage, 
however, is emphatic ; anil exemplifies what this anthor has so 
often exemplified, the power of well-chosen and well-aiTanged 
names to e.vcite lofty emotions, with little ai'i either from sen- 
timent or description." — Jeffrey. 



J 64 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. caxto vi, 


And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere ! 


XXX. 


The blows of Berkley fall less fast, 


The multitude that watch'd afar. 


And gaUant Pembroke's bugle-blast 


Rejected from tlie ranks of war. 


Hath lost its Uvely tone ; 


Had not unmoved beheld the fight. 


Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word. 


When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right ; 


And Percy's shout was fjxinter heard, 


Each heart had caught the patriot spark, 


" My merry-men, fight ou !" 


Old man and stripMng, priest and clerk, 




Bondsman and serf; even female hand 


xxvm. 


Stretch'd to the hatchet or the braud ; 


Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye. 


But, when mute Amadine they heard 


The slackening' of the storm could spy. 


Give to their zeal his signal-word. 


" One eifort more, and Scotland's fi-ee ! 


A plircnsy fired the tlu-ong ; 


Lord of the Isles, my trust iu thee 


" Portents and miracles impeach 


Is fii'm as Ailsa Rock ; 


Our sloth — the dumb our duties teach — 


Rush ou with Highland sword and targe. 


And he that gives the mute his speech. 


I, with my Carrick spearmen, cliarge ;* 


Can bid the weak be strong. 


Now, forward to tlie shock !"' 


To us, as to our lord.s, are given 


At once the spears were forward thrown, 


A native earth, a promised heaven ; 


Against the sun the broadswords shone ; 


To us, as to our lords, belongs' 


The pibroch lent its maddening tone. 


The vengeance for our nation's wrongs ; 


And loud King Robert's voice was 


The choice, 'twirt death or freedom, warms 


known — 


Our breasts as theirs — To arms, to arms !" 


" Carrick, press on — they fail, they fail ! 


To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, — 


Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 


And mimic ensigns high they rear,' 


The foe is fainting fast I 


And, Like a banner'd host afar. 


Each strike for parent, child, and wife, 


Bear down on England's wearied war. 


For Scotland, hberty, and Mfe, — 




The battle cannot last !" 


XXXL 




Already scatter'd o'er the plain. 


XXIX. 


Reproof, command, and counsel vain, 


Tlic fresh and desperate onset bore 


The rearward squadrons fled amain. 


The foes three fm-longs back and more, 


Or made but doubtful stay ; — ' 


Leaving their noblest in their gore. 


But when they mark'd the seeming show 


Alone, De Argentine , 


Of fresh and fierce and marshaU'd foe, 


Yet bears on high his red-cross sliield, 


The boldest broke array. 


Gathers the reUcs of the field. 


give tlieir hapless prince liis due !^ 


Renews the ranks where they liave reel'd. 


In vain the royal Edw.i.rd threw 


And still makes good the line. 


His person 'mid tlie spears. 


Brief strife, but fierce, — his efforts raise 


Cried, " Fight !" to terror and despair. 


A bright but momentary blaze. 


Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair," 


Fan- Edith beard the Southi-on shout. 


And cursed their caitifi" fears ; 


Beheld them turning from the rout. 


TUl Pembroke turn'd his bridle rein, 


Hem-d the wild call their trumpets sent, 


And forced him from tlie fatal plaiu. 


In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 


With them rode Argentine, until 


That r.allying force, combined anew, 


They gain'd the summit of the hill. 


Appear'd in her distracted view 


But quitted there the train : — 


To hem the Islesnien round ; 


" In yonder field a gage I left, — 


" God ! the combat they renew, 


I must not live of fame bereft ; 


And is no rescue found ! 


I needs must turn again. 


And ye that look thus tamely on, 


Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace 


And see your native land o'erthrown. 


The fiery Douglas takes the chase. 


'"> ! are your hearts of flesh or stone ?'" 


I know his baimer well. 


1 MS.—" The sinking," &c 


fl See Appendix. Note 4 D. 


'' See Appendix, Note 4 C. 


' MS. — " And rode in bands away." 


3 MS.—" Tlien hurry to the shock !" 




4 M9. " of liM(] or stone." 


8 See Appendix, Note 4 K. 


* MS.—" To us, 35 well as them, belongs." 


" MS. — " And bade them hope amid despair." 



CANTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



46,-, 



God send my Sovereign joy and bliss, 


Yet, as he saw the King advance. 


And miiny a happier field tlian this ! — 


He strove even then to couch liis lance— 


Ouce more, my Liege, ftirewell." 


The effort was in vain 1 




The spur-stroke fail'd to rouse the horse; 


XXXII. 


Woimded and weary, in mifl course 


Aj^ain he faced the battle-iield, — 


He stumbh'd on the plain. 


Wildly they fly, are slain, or yiehl.' 


Then foremost was tlie generous Bruce 


"Now then," he said, and coucli'd his spear. 


To raise his licad, liis helm to loose ; 


•' My course is run, the goal is neai- ; 


" Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 


One effort more, one brave career. 


My Sovereign's cliarge, and adverse fate. 


Must close this race of mine." 


Have made our meeting all too late ; 


Then in his stin-ups rising liigh. 


Yet tills may Argentine, 


He shouted loud his battle-cry, 


As boon from ancient comrade, crave — 


" Saint James for Argentine 1" 


A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave." 


And, of the bold pursuers, four 




Tlie gallant knight from saddle bore ; 


XXXIV. 


But not miharm'd — a lance's point 


Bruce press'd his dying hand — its grasp 


Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint. 


ICindly replied ; but, in his clasp. 


An iixe luis razed his crest ; 


It stiffen'd and grew cold — 


Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord, 


" And, farewell !" the victor cried. 


Who press'd the chase with gory sword, 


*' Of chivalry the flower and pride. 


Ho rode with spear in rest, 


Tlie arm in battle bold, 


And tlu'ougli his bloody tartans bored. 


The courteous mien, tlie noble race. 


And tlu'ough his g.allant breast. 


Tlie stainless faith, the manly face ! — 


NaU'd to the earth, the mountaineer 


Bid Nini.an's convent light their shrine. 


Yet writhed liini up against the spear, 


For late-wake of De Argentine. 


And swung his broadsword round ! 


O'er better knight on deatli-bier laid. 


— Stirrup, steel-boot, and euish gave way, 


Torch never gleam' tl nor mass was said '" 


Beneatli that blow's tremendous sway. 




The blood gush'd from the wound ; 


XXXV. 


And the grim Lord of Colonsay 


Nor for De Ai'gentine alone. 


Hath turn'd him on the ground. 


Through Ninian's church these torches shone, 


And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade 


And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.' 


The mortal thrust so well repaid. 


That yellow lustre gUmmer'd pale. 




On broken plate and bloodied mail. 


XXXIIL 


Rent crest and shattcr'd coronet, 


Xow toil'd the Bruce, the battle done, 


Of Baron, Earl, and B.anneret ; 


To use his conquest boldly won f 


And the best names that England knew. 


And gave command for horse and spear 


Clami'd in the death-prayer dismal duo.* 


To press the Southron's scatter'd rear, 


Yet mourn not. Land of Fame ! 


Xor let bis broken force combine. 


Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield 


— "Wlien the war-cry of Argentine 


Eetreated from so sad a field, 


Fell faintly on his ear ; 


Since Norman WUham came. 


" Save, save his life," he cried, " save 


Oft may thine annals justly boast 


The kind, the noble, and the brave !" 


Of battles stern by Scotland lost ; 


The squadrons round free passage gave, 


Grudge not her victory. 


The wounded knight drew near ; 


When for her freeborn rights she strove ; 


He raised his red-cross sliield no more, 


Rights dear to all who freedom love,' 


Helm, cuish, and breastplate stream'd with gore, 


To none so dear as thee [' 


' The MS. lias not the seven lines which follow. 


interesting— though we think that the author has hazarded 


' MS. — " Now toil'd the Bruce as leailere ought, 


rather too little embellislinient in recording the adventures of 


To use his conquest holdly bought." 


the Bruce. There are many places, at least, in which he has 


3 See Appendix, Note 4 F. 


evidently given an air of heaviness and flatness to his narration. 


* MS.—" And the best names that England owns 


by adhering too closely to the authentic history ; anrl has low- 


Swell the sad death-prayer's dismal tones." 


ered down the tone of his poetry to the tame level of the rude 


8 MS. — " When for her rights her sword wae bare, 


chronicleis by whom the incidents were originally recorded. 


Righu dear to all who freedom share." 


There is a more serious and general fault, however, in the con 


• • The fictitious Dart of the story is. 00 the whole, the least 


duct of all this part of the story,— and that is, that it 19 nol 



466 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXXVI 

Turn -^e to Bruce, whose curious ear 
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear ; 
"With him, a hundred voices tell 
Of jirodigy and niu'acle, 

" For the mute page had spoke." — 
"Page !" said Fitz-Louis, "rather say, 
An angel sent from realms of day, 

To burst the English yoke. 
I saw Ills plume and bonnet drop, 
"Wlien hurrying from the mountain top ; 
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave, 
To liis bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A step as hght upon the green, 
As if his pinions waved unseen !" 
" Spoke he with none ?" — " With none— o le 

word 
Burst wheu he saw the Island Lord,^ 
Returning from the battle-field." — 
" What answer made the Cliief ?" — " He 

kneelVl, 
Durst not look up, but mutter'd low, 
Some mingled soimds that none might know,^ 
And greeted hijn 'twixt joy and feai*, 
As being of superior sphere." 

XXXVII. 

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain, 
Heap'd then with thousands of the slain, 
'Mid victor monarch's musings high, 
Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's eye 
" And bore he such angehc air, 
Such noble front, such waving hair ? 
Hath Ronald laieel'd to Mm ?" he said, 
" Tlien must we call the church to aid — 



■ufficient)y national — and breathes nothing either of that ani- 
mosity towarils England, or that exultation over her defeat, 
which must Iiave animated all Scotland at the period to which 
he refers ; and ought, consequently, to have been the ruhng 
passion of his poem, Mr. Scott, however, not only dwells 
fondly on the valor and generosity of the invaders, but actually 
makes an elaborate aj)ology to the English for having ventured 
to select for liis theme a story which records their disasters. 
We hope this extreme courtesy ig not intended merely to ap- 
pease critics, and attract readers in the southern part of the 
island — and yet it is difficult to see for what other purposes it 
could be assumed. Mr. Scott certainly need not have been 
afraid either of exciting rebellion among Ids countrymen, or of 
bringing his own liberality and loyalty into question, although, 
in speaking of th? events of that remote period, where an over- 
bearing couqueror was overthrown in a lawless attempt to sub- 
due an independent kingdom, he had given full expression to the 
hatred and exultation which must have prevailed among the 
victors, and are indeed the only passions which can be supposed 
to be excited by the story of their exploits. It is not natural, 
and we are sure it ia not poetical, to represent the agents in 
Buch tremendous scenes as calm and indulgent judges of the 
motives or merits of their opponents ; and, by lending such a 
character to the leaders of his host, the autlior has actually 
lessened the interest of the mighty fight of Bannockburn, to 
that which might be supposed to belong to a well-regulated 
toamament among friendly rivals." — Jeffrey. 



Our will be to the Abbot known. 
Ere these strange news are wider blown, 
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass, 
And deck tlie cliurch for solemn mass,' 
To pay for liigli dehverance given, 
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. 
Let him array, besides, such state, 
As should on princes' nuptials wait. 
Oujself the cause, tlirough fortune's spite, 
That once broke short that spousal rite, 
Ourself will grace, with early morn, 
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."* 



C ONCLUSIOK. 

Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way ; 
Go boldly forth ; nor yet thy master blame, 
"WTio chose no patron for his humble lay, 
And graced thy niunbers with no friendly 

name. 
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to 

fame. 
There was — and ! how many sorrows crowd 
Into these two brief words ! — tliere was a claim 
By generous friendship given — had fate aUoAv'd, 
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the 

proud 1 

All angel now— yet little less than all, 
Wliile still a pilgrim in our world below ! 
What 'vails it us that patience to recall, 
Which hid its own to soothe all other woe ; 
What 'vails to tell, how Vu-tue's pui'est glow 

1 MS. — " Excepted to the Island Lord, 
When turning," Sac. 

- MS. — " Some mingled sounds of joy and woe." 
3 The MS. adds:— 

" That priests and choir, with morning beams, 

Prepare, with reverence as beseems, 

To pay," &c. 

< " Bruce issues orders for the celebration of the nuptials ; 
whetlier they were ever solemnized, it is impossible to say. As 
critics, we should certainly have forbidden the banns ; be- 
cause, although it is conceivable that the mere lapse of time 
might not have eradicated the passion of Edkh, yet how such 
a. circumstance alone, without even tlie assistance of an in- 
terview, could have created one in the bosom of Ronald, is 
altogether inconceivable. He must have proposed to marry 
her merely from compassion, or for the sake of her lands ; 
and, upon either supposition, it would have comported with 
the delicacy of Edith to refuse his proffered hand." — Quai- 
tcrly Review. 

*' To Mr. James Ballantync. — Dear Sir, — Yon have now 
the whole affair, excepting two or three concluding stanzas. 
As your taste for bride's-cake may induce you to desire to 
know more of the wedding, I will save you some criticism by 
saying, I have settled to stop short as above. — Witness mj 



hand. 



" W. S.' 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



467 



Shone yet more lovely iu a form so fair :' 
Ant], Iciist of all, "what Vaib the world should 
know, 

1 The reader is referred to Mr. Hogg's " Pilgrira3 of the 
Pun" for some beautiful lines, ami a liiglily interesting note, 
on tilt! death of the Ducliess of Buculeucli. See ante, p. 412. 

^ The hldinburgh Reviewer (Mr. Jeffrey) says, " The story 
of the Lord of the Isles, in so far as it is fictitious, is p!ili)ahly 
defieicnt hoth in interest and probability ; and, in so far as itia 
tounacd on historical truth, seems to us to be objectionable, 
both for want of incident, and want of variety and connection 
iu the incidents that occur. Tiiere is a romantic grandeur, 
however, in tiie scenery, and a sort of savage greatness anil 
rude antiquity in many of the characters and events, which 
relieves the insipidity of the narrative, and atones for many 
defects in the execution," 

After giving copious citations from what he considers as 
'• tlie better parts of the poem," tlie critic says, " to give a 
complete and impartial idea of it, we ought to subjoin some 
from its more faulty passages. But this is but an irksome task 
at all times, and, with such an author as Mr. Scott, is both in- 
vidious and unnecessary. His faults are nearly as notorious as 
his beauties ; and we have announced in the outset, that they 
are equally conspicuous in this as in his other productions. 
There are innumerable harsh lines and uncouth expressions, — 
passages of a coarse and heavy diction, — and details of unin- 
teresting minuteness and oppressive explanation. It is need- 
less, after this, to quote such couplets as 

' A damsel tired of midnight bark, 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark,' — 

' 'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful, 
Unfit against the tide to pull ;' — 

or to recite the many weary pages which contain the collo- 
quies of Isabel and Edith, and set forth the nninlelligible rea- 
sons of their unreasonable conduct. The concerns of these 
two young ladies, indeed, form the heaviest part of the poem. 
The mawkish generosity of the one, and the piteous fidelity 
of the other, are equally oppressive to the reader, and do not 
t€nd at all to put him in good humor with Lord Ronald, — 
who, though the beloved of both, and the nominal hero of the 
work, is certainly as far as possible from an interesting person. 
Tlie lovers of poetry have a particular aversion to the incon- 
stancy of other lovers, — and especially to that sort of incon- 
stancy which is liable to the suspicion of being partly inspired 
by worldly ambition, and partly abjured from considerations 
of a still meaner selfishness. We suspect, therefore, that they 
h'ill have but little indulgence for the fickleness of the Lord of 
(he Isles, who breakc the troth he had pledged to the heiress of 
Lorn, as soon as h? sees a chance of succeeding with the 
King's sister, and comes back to the slighted bride, when his 
royal mistress lakes the vows in a convent, and the heiress 
gets into possession of her lands, by the forfeiture of her bro- 
ther. These characters, and this story, form the great blemish 
of the poem ; but it has rather less fire and flow and facility, 
M'e think, on the whol?, than some of the author's other per- 
fff.-Jiaucefi. ' ' 



The Monthly Reviewer thus assails the title of the poem : — 
" Tlie Lord of the Isles himself, selon les regies of Mr. Scott's 
compositions, being the hero, is not the first person in the 
poem. The attendant here is always in white muslin, and 
Tilburina herself in white linen. Still, among the Deutero- 
protoi (or second best) of the author. Lord Ronald holds a re- 
spectable rank. He is not so mere a magic-lantern figure, 
once seen in bower and once in field, as Lord Cranstoun ; he 
■"ar exceeds that tame rabbit boiled to rags without onion or 



That one poor garland, twined to deck ihy haii 
Is hmij^ upon thy liearse, to di'oop .ind wither 
there !=" 

other sauce, De Wilton ; and although he certainly falls in» 
finitely short of that accomplished swimmer Malcolm Grieme, 
yet he rises proportionably above tiie red-haired Redmond. 
Lord Ronald, indeed, bating his intended raarri:igc ivith one 
woman while he loves another, is a very noble fellow ; and, 
were ho not so totally eclipsed by ' The Bruce,' he would have 
served very well to give a title to any octosyllabic ejiic, were it 
even as vigorous and poetical as the jiresent. Nevertlieless, it 
would Iiave been just as proper to call Virgil's divine poem 
' The ,Snchiscid,^ as it is to call this ' The Lord of the Isles.' 
To all intents and purposes the aforesaid quarto i>, and ought 
to he, ' The Brucc.^ " 

The Jlfonthly Reviewer thus couclades'his article: — "In 
some detached passages, the present poem may challenge any 
of Mr. Scott's compositions ; and perhaps in the Abbot's in- 
voluntary blessing it excels any single part of any one of them. 
The battle, too, and many dispersed lines besides, have trans- 
cendent merit. In jmint of fable, however, it has not the grace 
and elegance of ' The Lady of the Lake,' nor the general clear- 
ness and vivacity of its narrative ; nor the une.\pecled happi- 
ness of its catastrophe ; and still less does it aspire to the praise 
of the complicated, but very proper and well-managed story 
of ' Rokeby.' It has nothing so pathetic as ' The Cypress 
Wreath ;' nothing so sweetly touching as the last evening scene 
at Rokeby, before it is broken by Bertram ; notiiing (with the 
exception of the Abbot) so awfully melancholy as much of 
Mortham's history, or so powerful as Bertram's farewell to 
Edmund. It vies, as we have already said, with ' Marmion,' 
in the generally favorite part of that poem ; but what has it 
(with the exception before stated) equal to the immurement of 
Constauce ? On the whole, however, we prefer it to ' Mar- 
mion;' which, in spite of much merit, always had a sort of 
noisy royal-circus air with it ; a clap-trappcry, it' we may ven 
ture on such a word. ' Marmion,' in short, has become quite 
identified with Mr. Braham in our minds ; and we are there- 
fore not perhaps unbiased judges of its perfections. Finally, 
we do not hesitate to place ' The Lord of the Isles' below both 
of Mr. Scott's remaining longer works ; and as to ' The Lay of 
the Last Minstrel,' for numerous commonplaces and separate 
beauties, that poem, we believe, still constitutes one of the 
highest steps, if not the very highest, in the ladder of the au- 
thor's reputation. The characters of the present tale (with 
the exception of ' The Bruce,' who is vividly painted from 
history — and of some minor sketches) are certainly, in point of 
invention, of the most novel, that is, of the most Minerva-pres* 
description; and, as to the language and versification, th, 
poem is in its general course as inferior to ' Rokeby' (by much 
the most correct and the least justly appreciated of the author'* 
works) as it is in the construction and conduct of its fable. 
It supplies whole pages of the most prosaic narrative ; but, as 
we conclude by recollecting, it displays also whole pages of 
the noblest poetry." 



The British Critic says : " No poem of Mr. Scott has ye. 
appeared with fairer claims to the public attention. If it have 
less pathos than the Lady of the Lake, or less display of char- 
acter than Marmion, it surpasses them both in grandeur of 
conception, and dignity of versification. It is in every respec*. 
decidedly superior to Rokeby ; and tJiongh it may not reach 
the Lay of tlie Last Minstrel in a few splendid passages, it is 
far more perfect as a whole. The fame of Mr. Scott, among 
those who are capable of distinguishing the rich ore of poetry 
from the dross which surrounds it, will receive no small advance- 
ment by this last effort of his genius. We discover in it a 
brilliancy in detached expressions, and a power of language in 



468 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the combination of images, which has never yet appeared in 
any of his previous publications. 

*' We would also believe that as his strength has increased, 
BO Ills glaring errors have been diminished. But so imbedded 
and ingrained are these in the gems of his excellence, that no 
blindness can overlook, no art can divide or destroy their con- 
nection. Tliey must bi> tried together at the ordeal of time, 
^-ful descend unseparatea 'o posterity. Could Mr. Scott but 
endow his purposes with words' — could lie but decorate the 
justice and the s])lendor of his conceptions with more unal- 
loyed aptness of expression, and more uniform strength and 
harmony of numbers, he would claim a place in the highest 
rank among the poets of natural feeling and natural imagery. 
Even as it is, with all his faults, we love him still ; and when 
he shall cease to write, we shall find it difficult to supply his 
place with a better." 



The Quarterly Reviewer, after giving his outline of the story 
of llie Lord of the Isles, thus proceeds : — " Tn whatever point 
of view it be regarded, whether with reference to the incidents 
it contains, or tlie agents by whom it is carried on, we think 
that one less calculated to keep alive the interest and cariosity 
of the reader could not easily have been conceived. Of the 
characters, we cannot say much ; they are not conceived with 
any great degree of originality, nor delineated with any pai^ 
ticular spirit. Neither are we disposed to criticise with mi- 
nuteness the incidents of the story ; but we conceive that tfie 
whole poem, considering it as a narrative poem, is projected 
upon wrong principles. 

"The story is obviously composed of two independent plots, 
connected with each other merely by the accidental circum- 
stances of time and place. The liberation of Scotland by 
Bruce has not naturally any more connection witii the loves of 
Ronald and the JMaid of Lorn, than with those of Dido and 
.^neas ; nor are we able to conceive any possible motive which 
should have induced Mr. Scott to weave them as he has done 
into the same naiTative, except the desire of combining the ad- 
vantages of an heroical, with what we may call, for want of an 
appropriate word, an ethical subject; an attempt which we 
feel assured lie never would have made, had he duly weighed 
the very different principles upon which these dissimilar sorts 
of poetry are founded. Thus, liad Mr. Scott introduced the 
loves of Ronald and the Maid of Lorn as an episode of an 
ejiic poem upon the subject of the battle of Batmockburn, its 
want of connection with the main action mi^'ht have been ex- 
cused, in favor of its intrinsic merit; but, by a great singu- 
larity of judgment, he has introduced the battle of Bannockburn 
as an episode, in the loves of Ronald and the Maid of Lorn. 
To say nothing of the obvious preposterousness of'such a dc- 
eign. abstractedly considered, the effect of it has, we think, 
decidedly been to destroy that interest which either of them 
might separately have created : or, if any interest remain re- 
specting the fate of the ill-requited Edith, it is because at no 
moment of the poem do we feel the slightest degree of it, re- 
spL'cting the enterprise of Bruce. 

' '''he many beautiful passages which we have extracted 



from the poem, combined with *he brief remarks sabjoined to 
each canto, will sufficiently show, that although the Lord of 
the Isles is not likely to add very much to the reputation of 
Mr. Scott, yet this must be imputed ratlier to llie greatness of 
his previous reputation, than to the absolute inferiority of the 
poem itself. Unfortunately, its merits are merely incidental, 
while its defects are mixed up with the very elements of tlie 
poem. But it is not in the power of Mr. Scott to write with 
tameness ; be the subject what it will (and he could not easily 
have chosen one more impracticable), he impresses upon what- 
ever scenes he describes, so much movement and activity, — he 
infuses into his narrative such a flow of life, and, if we may 
so express ourselves, of animal spirits, that without satisfying 
the judgment, or moving the feelings, or elevating the mind, or 
even very greatly interesting the curiosity, he is able to seize 
upon, and, as it were, exhilarate the imagination of his readers, 
in a manner which is often truly unaccountable. Tliis ijuality 
Mr. Scott possesses in an admirable degree ; and suppoHing that 
he had no other object in view than to convince tho world of 
the great poetical powers with which he is gifted, the poem 
before us would be quite sufficient for his purpose. But this 
is of very inferior importance to the public ; what they want 
is a good poem, and as experience has shown, this can only be 
constructed upon a solid foundation of taste and judgment 
and meditation." 

" These passages [referring to the preceding extract from the 
Quarterly, and that from the Edinburgh Review, at the 
commencement of the poem] appear to me to condense the 
result of deliberate and candid reflection, and I have therefore 
quoted them. Tlie most important remarks of either Essayist 
on the details of the plot and e.Tecution are annexed to the last 
edition of the poem ; and show such an exact coincidence of 
judgment in two masters of their calling, as had not hitherto 
been exemplified in the professional criticism of his metrical 
romances. The defects which both point out, are, 1 jiresume, 
but too completely explained by the preceding statement of 
the rapidity with which this, the last of those great perfor- 
mances, had been thrown off; — [see Life, vol. v. pp. 13-15] 
— nor do I see that either Reviewer has failed to do sufficient 
jostice to the beauties which redeem the imperfections of the 
Lord of the Isles — exatpt as regards the whole character of 
Bruce, its real hero, and the picture of the Battle of Bannock- 
burn, which, now that one can compare these works from 
something like the same point of view, does not appear to me 
in the slightest particular inferior to the Flodden of Marmion. 

*' This poem is now, I believe, about as popular as Rokeby ; 
but it has never reached the same station in general favor with 
the Lay, Marmion, or the Lady of the Lake. The first edition 
of 181)0 copies in quarto, was, however, rapidly disposed of, 
and the separate editions in 8vo, which ensued before his po- 
etical works were collected, amounted together to 15.250 copits. 
This, in tiie case of almost any other author, would ha\e bfcn 
splendid success; but, as compared with what he had pre- 
viously experienced, even in his Rokeby, and still more so a» 
compared with the enormous circulation at once attained b; 
Lord Byron's early tales, which were then following each ollici 
in almost breathless succession, the falling off was decided. ' '— 

LOCKHART, vol. V. p. 27. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



469 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

Thij rugged halls, Artornishl rung. — P. 415. 

The ruins of the Castle of Artornish are situated upon a 
pnniioiitory, on the Morven. or mainland side of the Sound of 
Mull, a name given to the deep arm of the sea. which divides 
tliat island from the continent. Tlie situation is wild and ro- 
mantic in the highest degree, having on the one hand a high 
and precipitous chain of rocks overhanging the sea, and on the 
otlur the narrow entrance to the beautiful salt-water lake, 
called Loch Alline, which is in many places finely fringeil with 
copsewood. The ruins of Artornish are not now very consid- 
crahle, and consist chiefly of the remains of an old keep, or 
tower, with fragments of outward defences. But, in former 
dujs, it was a place of great consequence, being one of the 
princijial slrongliolds, which the Lords of the Isles, during tlie 
period of tlieir stormy independence, possessed upon tlie main- 
land of Arj;ylcshire. Here they assembled what popular tra- 
dition calls their parliaments, meaning, I suppose, their cour 
plvniirc, or Hssembly of feudal and patriarchal vassals and de- 
pendents. From this Castle of Artornish, upon the 19lh day 
of October. 14GI, John de Yle, designing himself Earl of Rosa 
anil Lord of the Isles, granted, in the style of an independent 
Fovcnign, a commission to his trusty and well-beloved cousins, 
RunaUi of the Isles, and Duncan, Arcli-Deaii of the Isles, for 
empowering tiiem to enter into a treaty with the most excellent 
Prince Edward, by the grace of God, King of France and 
England, and Lord of Ireland. Edward IV., on his part, 
named Laurence, Bishop of Durham, the Earl of Worcester, 
the Trior of Si. John's, Lord W'eiilock, and i\Ir. Robert Slil- 
liiigton, keeper of the privy seal, his deputies and commission- 
ers, to confer with those named by the Lord of the Isles. The 
conference terminated in a treaty, by which the Lord of the 
Lies agreed to become a vassal to the crown of England, and 
to assist Edward IV. and James, Earl of Douglas, then in ban- 
ishment, in subduing the realm of Scotland. 

The first article provides, that Jolm de Isle, Earl of Ross, 
with his son Donald Balloch, and his grandson John de Isle, 
with all their subjects, men, people, and inhabitants, become 
vassals and liegemen to Edward IV. of England, and assist 
liim in his wars in Scotlanti or Ireland ; and then follow the 
allowances to be made to the Lord of the Isles, in recompense 
of his military service, and the provisions for dividing such 
conquests as their united arms should make upon the main- 
Land of Scotland among the confederates. These appear such 
curious illustrations of the period, that tiiey are here sub- 
joined : 

" Itan, The seid John Erie of Rosse shall, from the seid fest 
of VVhittesocityde next comyng, yerely, duryng Iiis lyf, have 
and take, for fees and wages in tyme of peas, of the seid most 
high and Christien prince c. marc sterlyng of Englysh money ; 
and in tynre of werre, as long as he shall entende with his 
mysht and power in the said werres, in manner and fourme 
abovesaid, he shall have wages of ccc. lb. sterlyng of English 
money yearly ; and after the rate of the tyme that he shall be 
occupied in the seid werres. 

" Item, The seid Donald shall, from the seid feste of Whit- 
Icsotityde, have and take, during hia lyf, yerly, in tyme of 
peas, for his fees and wages, xx I. sterlyng of Englysh money : 
and. when he shall be occupied and intend to the werre, with 

«3 myght and power, and in manner and fourme aboveseid, 



he shall have and take, for his wages yearly, xi I. sterlynge of 
Englvsh money ; or for the rate of the tyme of werre ■ 

'* Itan, The seid John, sonn and heire apparant of the said 
Donald, shall have and take, yerely, from the seid fcst, for his 
fees and wages, in the tyme of peas, x I. sterlynge of Englysh 
money ; and for tyme of werre, and his intendyng thereto, in 
manner and fourme aboveseid, he shall have, for his fees and 
wages, yearly xx I. sterlynge of Englysh money ; or after the 
rate of the tyme that he shall be occupied in the werre: And 
tlie seid John, th' Erie Donald and John, and eche of them, 
shall have good and sntfioiaunt paiment of the seid fees and 
wages, as wel for tyme of peas as of werre, accordyng to theea 
arlicules and appoyntements. Item, It is appointed, accorded, 
concluded, and finally determined, that, if it so he that here- 
after the said reaume of Scotlande, or the more part thereof, 
be conquered, subdued, and brought to the obeissance of the 
seid most high and Ciiristien prince, and his heires, or succes- 
sourcs, of the seid Lionell. in fourme aboveseid descendyng, be 
the as-iistance, heipe, and aide of the said John Erie of Rosse, 
and Donald, and of James Erie of Douglas, then, the said 
fees aud wages for the tyme of peas cessying, the same eries and 
Donald shall have, by the graunte of the same most Ciiristien 
prince, all the possessions of the said reaume beyonde Scottishe 
see, they to he departed equally betwix them : eche of them, 
his heires and successours, to lioUle his parte of the seid most 
Christien prince, his heires and successours, for evermore, in 
right of his croune of England, by homage and feanle to be 
done tlierefore. 

*' Item, If so be that, by th' aide and assistence of the seid 
James Erie of Douglas, the said reaume of Scotlande be con- 
quered and subdued as above, then he shall have, enjoie, and 
inherite all liis own possessions, landes, and inheritaunee, on 
thissyde the Scottishe see; that is to saye, betwixt the seid 
Scottishe see and Englande, such he hath rejoiced and be pos- 
sessed of before this ; there to holde them of the said most high 
and Christien prince, his heires, and successours, as is above- 
said, for evermore, in right of the coroune of Englonde, as weel 
tlie said Erie of Douglas, as his heires and successours, by 
homage and feaute to be done therefore." — Rymer's Fadera 
Convcntiones IJtcr<B et cujuscungue generis Acta Publica, 
fol. vol. v.. 174L 

Such was the treaty of Artornish ; but it does not appear 
that the allies ever made any very active effort to realize their 
ambitious designs. It will serve to show both the power of 
these reguli, and their independence upon the crown of Scot- 
land, 

It is only farther necessary to say of the Castle of Artornish, 
that it is almost opposite to the Bay of Aros, in the Island of 
Mull, where there was another castle, the occasional residecco 
of tlie Lords of the Isles. 



Note B. 



Rude Hciskar's seal through surges dark, 
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark. — P. 416. 

Tine sea. displays a taste for music, which could scarcely b« 
exiwcted from his habits and local predilections. They will 
long follow a boat in which any musical instrument is played, 
and even a tune simply whistled has attractions for them. 



470 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Dean of the Isles say? of Heiskar, a small uninhabited 
rock, about twelve (Scottish) miles from the isle of Uist, that 
an infinite slaughter of seals takes place there. 



Note C. 

a turret's a.rij head 

Slender and steep, and battled round, 

O^erlook^d, dark .Mull ! thy mighty Sound. — P. 417. 

The Sound of Mull, wliicl divides that island from flie con- 
tinent of Scotland, is one of tho mo^t striking scenes wliiuh the 
Hebrides aflbrd to the traveller. Sailing from Oban to Aros, 
or Tobermory, through a narrow cbannel, yet deep enough to 
bear vessels of the largest burden, he has on his left the bold 
and mountainous shores of Mull ; on the right those of that 
district of Argyleshire, called Morven, or Morvern, succes- 
sively indented by deep salt-water lochs, running up many 
miles inland. To the soutlieastward arise a prodigious range 
of mountains, among which Cruachan-Ben is pre-eminent. 
And to the northeast is the no less huge and picturesque range 
of the Ardnamurchan hills. Many ruinous castles, situated 
generally upon cliffs overhanging the ocean, add interest to the 
scene. Those of Donolly and DunstafTnage are first passed, 
then that of Duart, formerly belonging to the ciiief of the wai^ 
like and powerful sept of Macleans, and the scene of Miss 
Baillie's beautiful tragedy, entitled the Family Legend. Still 
passing on to the northward, Artornish and Aros become vis- 
ible upon the opposite shores ; and, lastly, Mingarry, and other 
ruins of less distinguished note. In fine weather, a grander 
and more im[)ressive scene, both from its natural beauties, and 
associations with ancient history and tradition, can hardly be 
imagined. When the weather is rough, the passage is both 
difficult and dangerous, from the narrowness of the channel, 
and in part from the number of inland lakes, out of which sally 
forth a number of conflicting and thwarting tides, making the 
navigation perilous to open boats. The sudden flaws and 
gusts of wind which issue witliout a moment's warning from 
the mountain glens, are equally formidable. So that in un- 
settled weather, a stranger, if not mucli accustomed to the 
sea, may sometimes add to the other sublime sensations ex- 
cited by the scene, that feeling of dignity which arises from a 
sense of danger. 



Note J). 



" these seas behold, 

Round twice a hundred islands roll'd. 
From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, 
Tu the green Ilay^s fertile shore." — P, 417. 
T!ie number of the western isles of Scotland exceeds two 
hundred, of which St. Kilda is the most northerly, anciently 
called Hirth. or Hirt, probably from " earth," being in fact 
the wliole globe to its inhabitants. Hay, which now belongs 
almost entirety to Walter Campbell. Esq., of Shawfield, is by 
far the most fertile of the Hebrides, and has been greatly im- 
proved under the spirited and sagacious management of the 
present proprietor. This was in ancient times the principal 
abode of the Lords of the Isles, being, if not the largest, the 
most important island of their archipelago. In Martin's time, 
some relics of their grandeur were yet extant. " Loch-Fin- 
lagan, about three miles in circumference, affords salmon, 
Irouts, and eels : this lake lies in the centre of tlie isle. The 
Isle Finlagan, from which this lake lialh its name, is in it. It's 
famous for being once the court in whiuh the great Mac-Don- 
ald, King of the Isles, had his residence; his houses, chapel, 
8ec., are now ruinous. His guards de corps, called Luchtlach, 
kept guard on the lake side nearest to the isle ; the walls of 
ihar houses ire still to be seen there. The high court of judi- 



cature, consisting of fourteen, sat always her? ; and there was 
an appeal to them from all the courts in the isles : the eleventh 
share of the sum in debate was due to the principal judge. 
There was a big stone of seven foot square, in vvhicii there was 
a deep impression made to receive the feet of Mac-Donald ; 
for he was crowned King of the Isles standing in this stone 
and swore that he would continue his vassals in the possession 
of their lands, and do exjct justice to all his subjects: ami 
then his father's sword was put into his hand. The Bislio]! 
of Argyle and seven priests anointed him king, in presence of 
all the heads of the tribes in the isles and continent, and wc-k- 
his vassals ; at whicli time the orator rehearsed a catalogue ol 
his ancestors." &c.— Martin's Account of the Western Jsivs, 
8vo. London, 1716, p. 240, 1. 



Note E. 



• Mingarry sternly placed. 

Overawes the woodland and the waste. — P. 417. 

The Castle of Mingarry is situated on the sea-coast of the 
district of Ardnamurchan. The ruins, which are tolerably 
entire, are surrounded by a very high wall, forming a kind of 
polygon, for the purpose of adajjting itself to the projecliii-. 
angles of a precipice overlianging the sea, on which the castle 
stands. It was anciently the residence of tlie Mac-Ians. a 
clan of Mac-Donalds, descended from Ian, or John, a grand, 
son of Angus Og, Lord of the Isles. The last time that Min- 
garry was of military importance, occure in the celebrated 
Leabhar dearg, or Red-book of Clanrouald, a MS. renowned 
in the Ossianic controversy. Allaster Mac-Donald, commonlr 
called Colquitto, who commanded the Irish au.\iliaries, sent 
over by the Earl of Antrim, during the great civil war. to the 
assistance of Montrose, began his enterprise in 1644, by taking 
the castles of Kinloch-Alline, and Mingarry, the last of which 
made considerable resistance, as might, from the strength of 
the situation, be expected. In the mean while, Allaster Mac- 
Donald's ships, wliich had brought him over, were attacked 
in Loch Eisord, in 'Skye, by an armament sent round by the 
covenanting parliament, and his own vessel was taken. This 
circumstance is said chiefly to have induced him to continue 
in Scotland, where there seemed little prospect of raising an 
army in behalf of the King. He had no sooner moved east- 
ward to join Montrose, a junction which he effected in the 
braes of Aliiole, ttian the Marquis of Argyle besieged the 
castle of Mingarry, but without success. Among other war- 
riors and chiefs whom Argyle summoned to his camp to assist 
upon this occasion, was John of Moidart, the Captain of Clanr 
ronald. Clanrouald appeared ; but, far from yielding effec- 
tual assistance to Argyle. he took the opportunity of being iu 
arms to lay waste the district of Sunart, then belonging to the 
adherents of Argyle, an^ sent part of the spoil to relieve the 
Castle of Mingarry. Thus the castle was maintained until re- 
lieved by Allaster Mac-Donald (Colquitto), who had been de- 
tached for the purpose by Montrose. These particulars are 
hardly worth mentioning, were they not connected with the 
memorable successes of Montrose, related by an eyewitness, 
and hitherto unknown to Scottish historijins. 



Note F. 



The heir of mighty Somerled.—V. 417. 

Somerled was thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles, about 
the middle of the twelfth century. He seems to have exer- 
cised Ills authority in both capacities. inde|)endcnt of the 
crown of Scotland, against which he often stood in hostility 
He made various incursions upon tlie western lowlands iluring 
the reign of Malcolm IV., and seems to have made peace with 
him upon the terms of an independent prince, about the year 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



471 



H57. In 1104, Iio resomed the war against Maloolm, anil in- 
raded Scotlanii with a large, but probably a tumultuary army, 
collected in the isles, in the mainland of Aryylcslnre, and in 
the neighboring provinces of Ireland. He was defeated and 
filain in an engagement with a very inferior force, near Ren- 
frew. His son Gillicolanefell in tiie saint- battle. Thia mighty 
obieltain married a daugliter of Olaus, King of Man. From 
him our genealogists deduce two dynasties, distinguished in 
the stormy liistory of the middle ages ; the Lords of the Isles 
descended from his elder son Ronalii, — and the Lords of Lorn, 
who tooK. their sirnaine of M'Dougal, as descended of his sec- 
ond son Dougal, Tbat Somerled's territories upon the main- 
land, and upon the islands, should have been thus divided 
betwten his two sons, instead of passing to the elder e.xclu- 
iively, may illustrate the uncertainly of descent among the 
great Highland families, which we !?ba!l presently notice. 



Note G. 



Lord of the Isles.—?. 417. 

The representative of this independent principality, for snch 
it seems to have been, though acknowledging occasionally the 
pre-eminence of the Scottish crown, was, at the period of the 
poem, Angus, called Angus Og ; but tlie name lias been, cw 
phoniiB gratia, exchanged for that of Ronald, which frequent- 
ly occurs in the genealogy. Angus was a protector of Roburt 
Brace, whom he received in his castle of Dunnaverty, during 
the time of his greatest distress. As I shall be equally liable 
to censure for attempting to decide a controversy wliicli has 
long existed between three distinguished chieftains of tiiis fam- 
ily, who have long disputed the representation of the Lord of 
the Isles, or for leaving a qnestion of such imi)Ortance alto- 
gether untouched, I choose, in the tir^t place, to give such in- 
formation as I have been able to derive from Highland geneal- 
ogists, and which, for those wiio have patience to investigate 
BQch subjects, really contains some curious information con- 
cerning the history of the Isles. In the second place, I shall 
offer a few remarks upon the rules of succession at that pe- 
riod, without jiretending to decide iJieir bearing upon the ques- 
tion at issue, which must depend upon evidence which I have 
had no opportunity to examine. 

'* Angus Og," says an ancient manuscript translated from 
the Gaelic, " son of Angus Mor, son of Donald, son of Ronald, 
son of Somerled. high chief and superior Lord of Innisgall (or 
the Isles of the Gael, the general name given to the Hebrides), 
he married a daughter of Cunbui, namely, Cathan ; she was 
mother to John. ?on of Angus, and with her came an unusual 
portion from Ireland, viz. twenty-four clans, of wliom twenty- 
fonr families in Scotland are descended. Angus had another 
son, namely, young John Fraoch, whose descendants are called 
Cian-Ean of Glencoe, and the M'Donatds of Fraoch. This 
Angus Og died in Isla, where his body was interred. His son 
John succeeded to the inheritance of Innisgall. He had good 
descendant'*, namely, three sons procreate of Ann, daughter of 
Rodric, high chief of Lorn, and one daughter, Mary, married 
to Jo) n MacLean, Laird of Duart, and Lauchlan, his brother, 
Lairi af Coll ; she was interred in the cbureli of the Black 
Nuns. The eldest sons of John were Ronald, Godfrey, and 

Angus He gave Ronald a great inlieritance. 

These were the lands which he gave him, viz. from Kilcumin 
in Abertarf to the river Seil, and from thence to Beilli, north 
of Eig and Rum. and the two Uists, and from thence to the 
foot of the river Glaiclian, and threescore long ships. John 
married afterwards Margaret Stewart, danghter to Robert 
Stewart, King of Scotland, called John Fernyear ; she bore 
him three good sons, Donald of the Isles, the heir, John the 
Tainister (t. e. Thane), the second son, and Alexander Car- 



1 Wistcm leles and adJAcent coast. 



2 InniBgal. 



rach. John had another son called Marcus, of whom the clan 
Macdonald of Cnoc, in Tirowon, are descended. This John 
lived long, and made donations to Icolumkill ; he covered the 
chapel of Eorsay-Elan, the diapel of Finlagam, and the 
chapel of the Isle of Tsuibhnc, and gave the proper furniture 
for the service of God, upholding the clergy and monks ; he 
built or repaired the church of the Holy Cross immediately 
before his death. He died at his own castle of Ardtorinish : 
many priests and monks took the sacrament at his funeral, 
and they embalmed the body of this dear man, and brought 
it to Icolumkill ; the abbot, monks, and vicar, came as they 
ought to meet the King of Fiongal,' and out of great respect 
to his memory mourned eight days and nights over it, and 
laid it in the same grave with Iiiy father, in the church of Oran, 
1380. 

*' Ronald, son of John, was chief ruler of the Isles in his 
father's lifetime, aJid was old in the government at his father's 
death. 

" He assembled the gentry of the Isles, brought the sceptre 
from Kildonan in Eig, and delivered it to his brother Donald, 
who was thereupon called M'Donald, and Donald Lord of the 
Isles, 2 contrary to the opinion of tiie men of the Isles. 

"Ronald, son of John, son of Angus Og, was a great sup 
porter of the church and clergy ; his descendants are called 
Clanronald. He gave the lands of Tiruma in Uist, to the 
minister of it forever, for the honor of Goil and Columkill ; 
he was proprietor of all the lands of the north along the coast 
and the isles ; he died in the year of Christ 138G, iu his own 
mansion of Castle Tirim, leaving five children. Donald of the 
Isles, son of John, son of Angus Og, the brother of Ronald, 
took possession of Inisgall by the consent of his brother and 
the gentry thereof; they were all obedient to him : he mar- 
ried Mary Lesley, daughter to tlie Earl of Ross, and by her 
came the earldom of Ross to the M'Donalds. After iiis suc- 
cession to that earldom, he was called M'Donald, Lord of the 
Isles, and Earl of Ross. There are many things written of him 
in other places 

"He fought the battle of Garioch (i. e. Harlaw) against 
Duke Murdoch, the governor; the Earl of Mar commanded the 
army, in support of his claim to the earldom of Ross, which 
was ceded to him by King James the Fii-st, after his release 
from the King of England ; and Duke Murdoch, liis two sons 
and retainers, were beheaded : he gave lands in Mull and Isla 
to the minister of Hi, and every privilege whieh the minister 
of lona had formerly, besides vessels of gold and silver to Co- 
lumkill for the monastery, and became himself one of the fra- 
ternity. He left issue, a lawful heir to Innisgall and Ross, 
namely Alexander, the son of Donald: he died in Isla, and 
his body was interred in the south side of the temple of Oran. 
Alexander, called John of tlie Isles, sou of Alexander of the 
Isles, son of Donald of the Isles. Angus, the third son of 
John, son of Angus Og, married the daughter of John, the son 
of Allan, which connection caused some disagreement betwixt 
the two families about their marches and division of lands, 
the one party adhering to Angus, and the other to John : the 
differences increased so much that John obtained from Allan 
all the lands betwixt Abhan Fafida (i. e. the long river) and 
o/d na sionnack (i. e. the fox-burn brook), in the upper part 
of Cantyre. Allan went to the king to coinpbiin Df his soD' 
in-law ; in a short time thereafter, there hajipened to be a great 
meeting about this young Angus's lands to the north of Inver- 
ness, where he was murdered by his own harper Mac-Cairbre, 
by cutting his throat with a long knife. He^ lived a year 
thereafter, and many of those concerned were delivtred np to 
the king. Angus's wife was pregnant at the time of his mui^ 
der, and she bore him a son who was named Donald, and 
called Donald Du. He was kept in confinement until he was 
thirty years of age, when he was released by the men of Glen- 
co, by the strcng hand. After this enlargement, he came to 
the Isles, and convened the gentry thereof. There happened 

3 The mordcrcr, I preanmp, not tbe man wlio \v;ia inurilered. 



472 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



great feuds betwixt these families while Donald Du was in 
confinement, insomuch that Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan de- 
stroyed tlin greatest part of the posterity of John Mor of the 
Isles and CaiUyre. For Jolin Caihanacli, son of John, son of 
Donald BalloL'h, son of John Mor, son of John, son of Angus 
Og (tiie chief of the descendants of John Mor), and John Mor, 
son of John Cathanach, and young John, son of John Callia- 
nach. and young Donald Ba)loch, son of John Catlianatli, were 
treacherously taken by Mae-Cean in tlie island of Finlagan, in 
Isia, and carried to Edinburgli, where he got them hanged at 
the Burrow-muir, and their bodies were buried in the Church 
of St. Antliony, called the New Cliurch. There were none 
left alive at tliat time of the cliildren of John Cathanach, ex- 
cept Alexander, the son of John Cathanach, and Agnes Flach, 
who concealed themselves in the glens of Ireland. Mac-Cean, 
hearing of their hiding-places, went to cut down the woods of 
these glens, in order to destroy Alexander, and extirpate the 
whole race. At length Mac-Cean and Alexander met, were 
reconcileil, and a marriage-alliance took place; Alexander 
married Mac-Cean's daugliter, and she brought him good chil- 
dren. The Mac-Donalds of the North had also descendants; 
for. after the death of John, Lord of the Isles, Earl of Ross, 
and the murder of Angus, Alexander, the son of Archibald, 
the son of Alexander of the Isles, took possession, and John 
was in possession of the earldom of Ross, and the north boi> 
dering country ; he married a daughter of the Earl of Moray, 
of whom some of the men of the north had descended. The 
Mac-Kenzies rose against Alexander, and fought the battle 
called Blar na Paire. Alexander had only a few of the men 
of Ross at the battle. He went after that battle to take pos- 
Bession of the Isles, and sailed in a ship to the south to see if he 
could find any of the posterity of John Mor alive, to rise along 
with him ; but Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan watehed him as 
ne sailed past, followed him to Oransay and Colonsay, went 
to the house where he was, and he and Alexander, son of 
Jolin Cathanach, murdered him there. 

" A good while after these things fell out, Donald Galda, 
son of Alexander, son of Archibald, became major; he, with 
the advice and direction of the Earl of Moray, came to the 
Isles, and Mac-Leod of the Lewis, and many of the gentry of 
the Isles, rose with him : they went by ihe promontory of 
Ardnamurchan, where they met Alexander, the son of John 
Cathanach, were reconciled to him, he joined his men with 
theirs against Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan, came upon him at 
a place called the Silver Craig, where he and his three sons, 
and a great number of his people, were killed, and Donald 
Galda was immediately declared Mac-Donald ; And, after the 
atfair of Ardnamurchan, all the men of the Isles yielded to 
him, but he did not live above seven or eight weeks after it ; 
he died at Carnaborg, in Mull, without issue. He had three 
sisters' daughters of Alexander, son of Archibald, who were 
portioned in the nortli upon the continent, but the earldom of 
Ross was kept for them, Alexander, the son of Archibald, 
had a natural son, called John Cam, of whom is descended 
Achnacoiclian, in Ramoeh, and Donald Gorm, son of Ronald, 
son of Alexander Duson, of John Cam. Donald Du, son of 
Angus, son oi John of the Isles, son of Alexander of the Isles. 
ion of Donald of the Isles, son of John of the Isles, son of An- 
gus Og, namely, the true heir of the Isles and Ross, came 
after his release from captivity to the Isles, and convened the 
men thereof, and he and the Earl of Lennox agreed to raise a 
great army for the purpose of taking possession, and a ship 
came from England with a supply of money to carry on the 
war, which landed at Mull, and the money was given to Mac- 
Lean of Duart to be distributed among the commanders of the 
army, which they not receiving in proportion as it should have 
been distributed among them, caused the army to disperse, 
which, when the Earl of Lennox heard, he disbanded his own 
men, and made it up with the king. Mac-Donald went to 
Ireland to raise men, but he died on his way to Dublin, at 
Drogheda, of a fever, without issue of either sons or daugh- 
ters." 



In this history may be traced, though the Bard, or Sean 
nachie, touches sucli a delicate discussion with a gentle hand, 
the point of difference between the three principal sepLs de- 
scended from the Lords of the Isles, The first fineslion, and 
one of no easy solution, where so little evidence is produced, 
resi)ects the nature of the connection of John called by the 
Archdean of the Isles *' the Good John of Ila," and " the last 
Lord of the Isles," with Anne, daughter of Roderick Mao- 
dougal, high-chief of Lorn. In the absence jf positive evi- 
dence, presumptive must be resorted to, and I own it appears 
to render it in the highest degree improbable that this connec- 
tion was otherwise than legitimate. In the wars between Da- 
vid II. and Edward Baliol, John of the Isles espoused the 
Baliol interest, to which he was probably determined by his 
alliance with Roderick of Lorn, who was, from every family 
predilection, friendly to Baliol, and hostile to Bruce. It seenia 
absurd to suppose, that between two chiefs of the same de- 
scent, and nearly equal power and rank (though the Mac- 
Dougals had been much crushed by Robert Bruce), such a 
connection should have been that of concubinage ; and it ap- 
peal's more likely that the tempting offer of an alliance with 
the Bruce family, when they had obtained the decided supe- 
riority in Scotland, induced "the Good John of Ila" to dis- 
inherit, to a certain extent, his eldest son Ronald, who came 
of a stock so unpopular as the Mac-Dougals, and to call to 
his succession his younger family, born of Margaret Stuart 
daughter of Robert, afterwards King of Scotland. The set- 
ling aside of this elder branch of his family was most probably 
a condition of his new alliance, and his being received into 
favor with the dynasty he had always opposed. Nor were the 
laws of succession at this early period so clearly understood as 
to bar such transactions. The numerous and strange claims 
set up to the crown of Scotland, when vacant by the deatli of 
Alexander III., make it manifest how very little the indefeasi- 
ble hereditary right of primogeniture was valued at that period. 
In fact, the title of the Bruces themselves to the crown, though 
justly the most popular, when assumed with the determination 
of asserting the independence of Scotland, was, upon pure 
principle, greatly inferior to that of Baliol. For Bruce, the 
competitor, claimed as son of Isabella, second daughter of Da- 
vid, Earl of Huntingdon ; and John Baliol, as grandson of 
Margaret, the elder daughter of that same earl. So that the 
jilea of Bruce was founded upon the very loose idea, that as 
the great-grandson of David I., King of Scotland, and the 
nearest collateral relation of Alexander III., he was entitled to 
succeed in exclusion of the great-great-grandson of the same 
David, though by an elder daughter. This maxim savored ot 
the ancient practice of Scotland, which often called a brother 
to succeed to the crown as nearer in blood than a grand-child, 
or even a son of a deceased monarch. But, in truth, the max- 
ims of inheritance in Scotland were sometimes departed from 
at periods when they were much more distinctly understooil. 
Such a transposition took place in the family of Hamilton, in 
1513, when t."ie descendants of James, third Lord, by Lady 
Janet Home, were set aside, with an appanage of great value 
indeed, in order to call to the succession those which he 'lad 
by a subsequent marriage with Janet Beatoun. In short, 
many other examples might be quoted to show that the ques- 
tion of legitimacy is not always determined by the fact of suc- 
cession ; and there seems reason to believe, that Ronald, de- 
scendant of" John of Ila, * by Anne of Lorn, was legitimate, 
and therefore Lord of the sles dcjure, though de facto his 
younger half-brother Donald, son of his father's second mar- 
riage with the Princess of Scotland, superseded him in his 
right, and apparently by his own consent. From this Donald 
so preferred is descended the family of Sleat, now Lords Mac- 
Donald. On the other hand, from Ronald, the excluded heir, 
upon whom a very large appanage was settled, descended "iie 
chiefs of Glengary and Clanronald, each of whom Jiad largo 
possessions and a numerous vassalage, and boasted a long de- 
scent of warlike ancestry. Their con.mon ancestor Ronald 
was murdered by the Earl of Ross, at the Monastery nf Elcho, 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



473 



1. b. 1346. I believe it lias been subjeel of fierce dispute, 
wliL-iliLT Donalti, who carried on the line of Glerij-ary, or Al- 
lan (if Moidail. the ancestor of the captains of Clan run aid, w;l«( 
till' eldest son of Ronald, tiie son of John of Isla. An humble 
LowUmder may be pernutted to waive the discusi^ion, siace a 
Sennachie of no small note, who wrote in the sixteenth ccn- 
I tiry, expresses hiraself upon this delicate topic in the Ibllowing 
words : — 

" I liave now given you an account of every thing yon can 
exjiecl of the descendants of the clan CoIIa {i. e. tlie Mac- 
Donalds), to the death of Donald Du at Drogheda, namely, 
the true line of tho^e who possessed the Isles, Ro?i5, and ilie 
aiountainous countries of Scotland. It wa.* Donalii, the son 
of Angus, that was killed at Inverness (by his own harper 
Muc-i'Cairltre), son of John of the Isles, son of Alexander, 
son of Donald, son of John, son of Angus Og. And I know 
not which of his kindred or relations is the true heir, except 
these five sons of John, the son of Angus Og. whom I here set 
tlown for you. namely, Konald and Godfrey, the two sons of 
the daughter of Mac-Donald of Lorn, and Donald and John 
.'.lor, and Alexander Carrach, the three sons of Margaret 
Stewart, daughter of Robert Stewart, King of Scotland." — 
LcaOhar Dcay<^. 



Note H. 



The House of Lorn.— P. 418. 

The House of Lorn, as we observed in a former note, was, 
,ike the Lord of the Isles, descended from a son of Somerled, 
slain at Renfrew, in 1164. This son obtained the succession 
of !iis mainland territories, comprehending the greater jiart of 
the three districts of Lorn, in Argyleshire. and of course might 
rather be considered as petty princes than feudal barons. 
They assumed the patronymic appellation of Mac-Dougal, by 
wliich tlicy ar? distinguished in the history of the middle ages. 
The Lord ot Lom. who flourished during the wars of Bruce, 
was AlIast'T (or Alexander) Mac-Dougal, called Allaster of 
Argyle. He had married the third daughter of John, called 
Ihc Red Comyn,! who was slain by Bruce in the Dominican 
Church at Dumfries, and hence he was* a mortal enemy of 
that prince, and more than once reduced him to great straits 
during the early and distressed period of his reign, as we shall 
have rejieated occasion to notice. Bruce, when he began to 
obtain an ascendency in Scotland, took the fir.n opportunity 
in his m-.ver to rcfjuite these injuries. He marched into 
Argyleslnre to lay waste the country. John of Lorn, son of 
the chieftain, was pnsled with his followers in the formidable 
pass between Dalmally and Bunawe. It is a narrow path 
along the vorgeof ihe huge and precipitous mountain, called 
Cruachan-Bi-u, and guarded on the other side by a precipice 
overhanging Loch Awe. The pass seems to the eye of a sol- 
iliLT as strong, as it is wild and romantic to that of an ordinary 
traveller. But the skill of Bruce had anticipated tliis diffi- 
culty. While his main body, engaged in a skirmish with the 
men of Lorn, dt-laiaed their attention to the front of their 
position, James of Douglas, with Sir Alexander Fraser, Sir 
VVdliam Wiseman, and !?ir Andrew Gray, ascended the moun- 
tain with a select body of archery, and obtained possession of 
the heights which commanded the pass. A volley of arrows 
descending upon them directly warned the Argyleshire men 
of their perilous situation, and their resistance, which had 
hitherto been bohl and manly, was changed into a precipitate 
flight. Tlie deep and rapid river of Awe was then (we learn 
the fact from Barbour with some surprise) crossed by a bridge. 



1 The aunt, aficording to Lord Haik-9. But the gcne.-vlogy U distinctly 
"■ ven by AVyatoon :— 



"■ Tbe thryd douchlyt of Rod Cwniyn, 
Atysawiiijyr of Artrnvle syne 

60 



This bridge the mountaineers attempted to demoli'-li, hut 
Bruce's followers were too close upon their rear ; they were, 
therefore, without refuge and defence, and were dispersed 
with great slaughter. John of Lorn, suspicious of the evcnl, 
had early betaken himself to the galleys which he had upon 
tlie lake; but the feelings which Barbour assigns to him, 
while witnessing the rout and slaughter of his followers, ex- 
culpate him from the charge of cowardice. 

" To Jhone off" Lome it suld displese 
I trow, ([tiheri he his men myeht se, 
Owte oft' his schippis fra the se. 
Be slayne and chassyt in the hill, 
That he niycht set na help thar till. 
Bot it angrys als gretumly. 
To gud hartis that ar worthi. 
To se thar fayis fulfill iliair will 
As to thaim selff'to thole the ill." — B. vii., v. 3iM. 

After this decisive engagement, Bruce laid waste Argyleshire, 
and besieged Dunstaff'nage Castle, on the western sliore of 
Lorn, com])elled it to surrender, and placed m that principal 
stronghold of the Mac-Dougals a garrison and governor of his 
own. The elder Mac-Dougal, now wearied with the contest, 
submitted to the victor ; but his son, " rebellious," says Bar- 
bonr, " as he wont to be," fled to England by sea. When the 
wars between the Bruce and Baliol factions again broke out 
in the reign of David II.. the Lords of Lorn were again found 
upon the losing side, owing to their hereditary enmity to the 
house of Bruce. Accordingly, ujion the issue of that contest, 
they were de|)rived by David II. and his successor of by far 
the greater part of their extensive territopies, which were con- 
ferred upon Stewart, called the Knight of Lorn. The house 
of Mac-Dougal continued, however, to survive the loss of 
power, and affords a very rare, if not a unique, instance of a 
family of such unlimited power, and so distinguished during 
the middle ages, surviving the decay of their grandeur, and 
flourishing in a private station. The Castle of Dunolly, near 
Oban, with its dependencies, was the principal part of wliat 
remained to them, with their right of chieftainship over the 
families of their name and blood. These they continued to 
enjoy until the year 1715, when the representative incurred 
the penalty of forfeiture, for his accession to the insurrection 
of that period ; thus losing the remains of his iidieritance, to 
replace upon the throne the descendants of those princes, 
wiiose accession his ancestors had opposed at the expense of 
their feudal grandeur. The estate was, however, restored 
about 1745, to tbe father of the present jjroprietor, whom 
family experience had tauglit the hazard of interfering with 
tbe established government, and who remained quiet upon 
that occasion. He therefore regained his property when many 
Highland chiefs lost theirs. 

Nothing can be more wildly beautiful than the situation of 
Dunolly. The ruins are situated upon a bold and precipitous 
promontory, overhanging Loch Etive, and distant about a 
mile from tbe village and j)ort of Oban. The principal part 
which remains is the donjon or keep ; but fragments of otiier 
buildings, overgrown with ivy, attest that it had been once a 
place of importance, as large apparently as Artornish or Ditn- 
staff'iiage. These fragments enclose a courtyard, of wliich Ilie 
keep probably formed one side ; the entrance being by a stceji 
ascent tVoni the neck of the isthmus, formerly cut across by a 
moat, and dcfenilcd doubtless by outworks and a drawbridge 
Beneath the castle stands the present mansion of the Himily, 
having on the one hand Loch Etive, with its islamls and 
mountains, on the other two romantic eminence.-* tufted with 



Tuk, and wnddyt til bye wyf, 
All'] VII li>T he triLt ici-til hys Iyf« 
Jh«(i of jMme, the (]uhilk gat 
Ewyn of Lome eflyr ilmt." 
WvifTOCN'e Chroniclf, Book vili. Chnp. 



47-t 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



copsewootl. There are otiier accompaniments suited to the 
f ceiie ; in particalar, a huge uprigiit jiillar, or detached frag- 
ment of that sort of rock called pluni-pudding stone, upon the 
shore, about :i quarter of a mile from the castle. It is called 
Clafh-na-cau, or the Dog's Pillar, liL'cause Fiugal is said to 
havf used it as a stake to which he bound his celebrated dog 
Bran Otliers say. that when the Lord of the Isles came upon 
a \\<\\ 'Q the Lord of Lorn, the dogs brought for his sport were 
ke|)t beside this pillar. Upon tlie whole, a niore delightful 
and rom.?ntic spot can scarce be conceived ; and it receives a 
jnoral inre. 'st from the considerations attached to the residence 
pf a family onire powerful enough to confront and defeat Rob- 
ert Bruce, and now sunk into the shade of private life. It is 
at present possessed by Patrick Mac-Dougal, Esq., the lineal 
and undisputed representative of the ancient Lords of Lorn. 
The heir of Dunolly fell lately in Spain, fighting niider the 
Duke of Wellington, — a death well becoming Ins ancestry. 



Note I. 



Awaked before the rushing proic. 
The viimicjtres of ocean glow, 

Those lightnings of the wave — P. 419. 

The piienoinenon called by sailors Sea-fire, is one of the 
most beautiful and interesting which is witnessed in the He- 
brides. At times the ocean appears entirely illuminated 
around the vessel, and a long train of lambent coruscations 
are perpetually bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pui^ 
Buing her wake through the darkness. These pho^]dioric ap- 
pearances, concerning tlie origin of which naturalists are not 
agreed in opiuinii, seem to be called into action by the rapid 
motion of the ship through tiie water, and are probably owing 
to the water being saturated with (7sh-spawn, or other animal 
substances. They remind one strongly of the description of 
the sea-snakes in Mr. Coleridge's wild, but highly poetical 
ballad of the Ancient Mariner: — 

" Beyond the shadow of the ship 
I watch'd the water-snakes. 
They moved in tracks of shining white. 
And when they rear'd. the elvish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes." 



]^OTE K. 
Thf dark fortress.— V. 420. 

The fortress of a Hebridean chief was almost always on th-e 
sea-shore, for the facility of communication which the ocean 
afforded. Nothing can be more wild than tlie situations which 
they chose, and the devices by which the architects endeavored 
to defend them. Narrow stairs and arched vaults were the 
usual mode of access; and the drawbridge appears at Dun- 
stafthage, and elsewhere, to have fallen from the gate of the 
building to the top of such a staircase; so that any on3 ad- 
vancing with hostile purpose, found himself in a state of 
exposed and precarious elevation, with a gulf between him 
and the object of his attack. 

These fortresses were guarded with equal care. The duty 
of the watch devolved chiefly upon an officer called the Cock- 
man, who had the cliarge of challenging all who approached 
llie castle. The very ancient family of Mac-Niel of Barra 
k'--pt 'his attendant at their castle about a hundred yeai"? ago. 
Martin gives the following account of the difficulty which 
atrc ^ded his procuring entrance there : — " The little isIanJ Kis- 



mul lies about a quarter of a mile from the south of this isle 
(Barra) ; it is the seat of Mackneil of Barra ; there is a stone 
wall round it two stories high, reaching the sea; and within 
the wall there is an old tower and an hall, with other houses 
about it. There is a little magazine in the tower, to which 
no stranger has access. I saw the officer called the Cockman, 
and an old cock he is ; when I bid him ferry me over the wa- 
ter to the island, he told me that he was hot an inferior offi- 
cer, his business being to attend in the tower ; but if (says hcj 
the constable, who then stood ''on the wall, will give y<in 
access, I'll ferry you over. I desired him to procure me the 
constable's permission, and I would reward liira ; but having 
waited some hours lor the constable's answer, and not receiving 
any, I was obliged to return without seeing this famous fort. 
Mackneil and his lady being absent, was the cause of this 
difficulty, and of my not seeing the place. I was told some 
weeks after, that the constable was very apprehensive of some 
design I might have in viewing the fort, and thereby to expose 
it to the conquest of a foreign power ; of which I supposed 
there was no great cause of fear." 



Note L. 



That keen knight, Be Argentine.— V. 433. 

Sir Egidius, or Giles de Argentine, was one of the most 
accomplished knights of the period. He had served in the 
wars of Henry of Luxemburg with such high reputation, that 
he was, in popular estimation, the third worthy of the age. 
Those to whom fame assigned precedence over him were, 
Henry of Luxemburg himself, and Robert Bruce. Argentine 
had warred in Palestine, encountered thrice with the S'.iracens, 
and had slain two antagonists in each engagement : — an easy 
matter, he said, for one Christian knight to slay two Pagan 
dogs. His death corresponded with his high character. With 
Amer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, he was appointed to 
attend immediately upon the person of Edward II. at Bun- 
nockburn. When the day was utterly lost they forced the 
king from the field. De Argentine saw the' king safe from 
immediate danger, and then took his leave of him ; " God be 
with you, sir," he said, " it is not my wont to fly." So say- 
ing, he turned his horse, cried his war-cry, plunged into the 
midst of the combatants, and was slain. Baston, a rhyming 
monk who had been brought by Edward to ( -lebrate his ex- 
pected triumph, and who was compelled by th*" victors to com- 
pose a poem on his defeat, mentions with ^ ^me feeling the 
death of Sir Giles de Argentine : 

J^ohilis Argenten, pugil inchjte, dnlcis Egidi, 
Vix scieram mcntem cum te succumbere vidi. 

" The first line mentions the three chief requisites of a true 
knight, noble birth, valor, and courteousness. Few Leonine 
couplets can be produced that have so much sentiment. I 
wish that I could have collected more ample memorials con- 
cerning a character altogether different from modern manners. 
Sir Giles d' Argentine was a hero of romance ir. real life." So 
obser' cs the excellent Lord Hailes. 



Note M. 



" Fill me the mighty cup .'" he said, 

" Erst owri'd by royal Somcrled.'^ — P. 4'22. 

A Hebridean drinking cup, of the most ancient and curious 
workmanship, has been long preserved in the casjle of Dun- 
ve"an, in Skvc, the roinaniic scat of Mac-Leoil of iMac-Leod, 
ihe clii-jf of that :uiL'ien[. and powerful 



cla 



Tht- horn of 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47J 



Ror'e More, preserved in the same family, and recorded by 
Dr. Jolin'^on, is not to be compaa'd witli tliis piece of anti- 
i]uity, which is one of the greatest curiosities in Scotland. The 
fuHuwing is a pretty accurate description of its shape and di- 
inen-'^ionB, but cannot, I fear, be perfectly uiitierslood without 
a drawing. 

This very curious piece of antiquity is nine inches and three- 
quarters in inside depth, and ten ami a half in height on the 
outside, tlie extreme measure over the lips being four inclie^ 
and a half. The cup is divided into two parts I)y a wrought 
Ifdge, beautifully ornamented, about ttiree-fourlliH of an inch 
in breadth. Beneath this ledge (he shape of the cup is rounded 
off. and terminates in a flat circle, like that of a teacu|) ; four 
short feet support the whole. .-Vbove the projecting ledge ihe 
shape of the cup is nearly square, projecting outward at the 
brim. The cup is made of wood (oak to all appearance), but 
most curiously wrought and embossed with silver work, which 
projects from the vessel. There are a number of regular pro- 
jecting sockets, which appear lo have been set with stones ; 
two or three of them still hold pieces of coral, the rest are 
empty. At the four corners of the projecting ledge, or cornice, 
are four sockets, much larger, probably for pebbles or precious 
stone?. The workinan.'iliip of the silver U extremely elegant, 
and apiWars to have been lijghly gilded. The ledge, brim, and 
1pj;s of the cup, are of silver. The family tradition bears tiiat 
it was the property of Neil Ghlune-dhu. or Black-knee. But 
who this Neil was, no one pretends to say. Around the edge 
of tlie cup is a legend, perfectly legible, in the tia.xon black- 
letter, whii'h seems to run tlius : 

Sifo : Join's : fttfclj : || ittflii : ^ancipfs ; J3c -.J 
3^x : li^aiiac : Viti) : \\ aial)ia : l-ttsviiiuil:|| 
Ht : Spat : 33o : Jim : 33a: \\<tltH : JIlTiva .Spa: || 
Jfccit : ^no : Di : Jv : 9So Onilf : (Dimi : || 

The inscription may ran thus at length : Vfo Johanis Mich 
Md^ii Principis de Hr Jilanat- P'ich Liahin JSIagrynril et 
spenit Domino Ikcsu dart clcmcntinm iltoruiii opera. Fecit 
.^nno Domini 993 Onili Oimi. Which may run in English ; 
Ufo. the son of John, the son of Magnus, Prince of Man, the 
grandson of Liahia Macgryneil, trusts in the Lord Jesus that 
their works {i. e. his own and those of his ancestors) will ob- 
tain mercy. Oneil Oimi made this in the year of God nine 
hundred and ninety-three. 

l!nt this version does not include the puzzling letters hr be- 
fiirt" the word Manae. Within the mouth of the cup the lettere 
5H)S. (Jesus) are rejwated four times. From this and other 
circumstances it would s^em to have been a chalice. This cir- 
cumstance may perhaps account for the use of the two Arabic 
numerals 93. These figures were introduced by Pope Sylves- 
ter. A. D. 991, and might be used in a vessel formed for 
church ser^'ice so early as 993. The workmanship of the whole 
cup IB extremely elegant, and resembles. I am told, antiques of 
the same natun- preserved in Ireland. 

The cups, thus elegantly formed, and highly valued, were 
liy no means utensils of mere show. Martin gives the follow- 
ing account of the festivals of his time, and I have heard simi- 
lar instances of brutality in the Lowlands at no very distant 
period. 

" The manner of ilrinking u^ed by the chief men of the Isles 
is called in their language Streah, i. c. a Round ; for the com- 
pany sat in a circle, the cup-bearer filled the drink round to 
tliem. and all was drank out. whatever iL;-^ liquor was, whether 
strong or weak ; they continued drinking sometimes twe";v- 
four, sometimes torty-eight hours : It was reckoned a piece of 
maidiood to drink until they became drunk, and there were two 
men witli a barrow attending punctually oi\ such occasions. 
They f^tood at the door until some became drnnk, and they 
carryM them upon the barrow lo bed, and returned again to 
their post as long as any continued fre^h, and so carried oft' the 



whole company, one by one, as they became drunk. Several 
of my acquaintance have been witnesses to this custom of 
drinking, but it i-s now aboKshed.** 

This savage custom was not entirely done away within IhiJ 
last generation. I liave heard of a gentleman who hajijiened 
to be a water-drinker, and was permitted lo abstain from the 
strong potations of llie company. The bearern carried ^.fiiy 
one man after another, till no one was left hut this Scottish 
Mirglip. They then came to do him the same good office, 
which, however, ho declined as unnecessary, and proposeil to 
walk to his bedroom. It was a permission he conld not obtain. 
Never snch a thing had happened, they t«aid, in the castle! 
that it was impossible but he must require their assistance, at 
any ratp he must submit to receive it ; and carried him oft' in 
the barrow accordingly. A clapsical penalty was sometimes 
imposed on those who balked the rules of good fellowship 
by evading their share of the banquet. The same author con- 
tinues : — 

" Among persons of distinction it was reckoned an affront 
put upoil any company to broach a piece of wine, ale, or aqua- 
vita;, and not to see it all drank out at one meeting. If any 
man chance to go out from the company, though hut for a few 
minutes, he is obliged, upon his return, and before he take Iiis 
seat, to make an apology for liis absence in rhyme; which if 
he cannot perform, he is liable to such a share of the reck- 
oning as the company thinks fit to impose : wliich custom ob- 
tains in many places slill, and is called Bianchiz Bard, which, 
in their language, signifies the poet's congratulating tlie com- 
pany." 

Few cups were better, at least more actively, employed in 
the rude hospitality of the period, than those of Dunvegan ; 
one of which we have just described. There is in the Leabhar 
Dearg, a song, intimating the overflowing gratitude of a bard 
of Clan-Ronald, after the exnbcrance of a Hebridean festival 
at the patriarchal fortress of Mac-Leod. The translation being 
obviously very literal, has greatly flattened, as I am informed, 
the enthusiasiic gratitude of the ancient bard ; and it must be 
owned that the works of Homer or Virgil, to say noJthing of 
Mac-Vuirich, might have suffered by their transfii.sion through 
such a medium. It is pretty plain, that when the tribute of 
poetical praise was bestowed, the liorri of Rorie More had not 
i>een inactive. 

Upon Sir Roderic Mor Macicod, by J^'iail Mor 
jyiacVuirich. 

'■ Tlie six nights I remained in the Dunvegan, it was not a 
show of hospitality I met with there, but a plentiful feast in 
thy fair hall among thy numerous host of heroes. 

'• The family placed all aronnd under the protection of tlieir 
great chief, raised by his prosperity and respect for his warlike 
feats, now enjoying the company of his friends at the feast. — 
Amidst the sound of harps, overflowing cups, and happy youth 
unaccustomed to guile, or feud, partaking of the generous fare 
by a (laming fire. 

"Mighty Chief, liberal to all in your princely mansion, filled 
witii your numerous warlike host, wliose generous wine would 
overcome the hardiest heroes, yet we continued to enjoy the 
feast, so happy our host, so generous our fare." — Translated 
by D. Macintosh. 

It would be unpardonable in a modern bard, who has expe- 
rienced the hospitality of Dunvegan Castl- in the present day, 
to omit [laying his own tribute of gratitude for a reception 
more elegant indeed, but not less kindly sincere, than Sir Rod- 
erick More himself could have afforded. But Johnson has 
already described a similar ?cene in the same ancient patriarchal 
residence of the Lords of Mac-Leod : — " Whatever is imaged 
in the wildest tales, if giants, dragons, and enchantment be ex- 
cepted, would be felt by iiim, who, wandering in the nionn- 
tains without a guide, or upon the sea withont a pilot, shonlrl 
be carried, amidst his terror and uncertaintv, to the hospitalitif 
and elegance of Raasay or Dunvegan." 



i1Q 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note N. 

JVith solemn step and sUver wand, 
The Seneschal the presence scann'd 
Of these strange guests. — P. 423. 

The Sewer, to whom, rather than tlie Seneschal, the office 
of arranging the guests of an island chief appertained, was an 
officer of importance in the family of a HebriJean chief. — 
" Every family had commonly two stewards, which, in their 
language, were called Marischal Tauii : the first of these served 
always at home, and was obliged to be versed in the pedigree 
of all the tribes in the isles, and in the highlands of Seoilajid ; 
for it was his province to assign every man at table his seat ac- 
cording to his quality ; and this was done witliont one word 
speaking, only by drawing a score with a white rod, wliich 
this Marischal had in his hand, before ihe person who was 
bid by him to sit down : antl tins was necessary to prevent 
disorder and contention ; and though the Marischal might 
sometimes be mistaken, the master of the family incurred no 
censure by such an escape ; but this cnsloui has been laid 
aside of late. They h:id also cnp-beartTs, who always filled 
and carried the cup round tlie company, and he himself alway? 
drank ofFllie first draught. Tliey had likewise purse- masters, 
who kept their money. Both these officers had an hereditary 
rigiit to tht-ir office in writing, and each of them had a town 
and land for liis service : some of those rights I have seen fairly 
written on good parchment." — Martis's fVcstcrn Isles. 



Note 0. 

the rebellious Scottish crew. 

Who to Rath-Krin^s shelter drcio 

With Carricli's outlawed Chief ?— P. 424. 

It must he remembered by all wlio have read the Scottish 
history, that after he had slain Comyii at Dumfries, and assert- 
ed his right to the S'.'Ottish crown, Robert Bruce was reduced 
to tiie greatest e-tlremily by the English and their ailherents. 
He wa-s crowned at Scone by the general consent of the Scot- 
tish barons, but his authority endured hut a short time. Ac- 
cording 10 the phrase said to have been used by his wife, he 
was for that year " a summer king, but not a winter one." 
On tlie 29th March. 1306, lie was crowned king at Scone. 
Ujjon the 19th June, in the same year, he was totally defeated 
at Methven, near Perth ; and his most important adherents, 
with few exceptions, were either executed, or compelled to 
embrace the English inierest, for safety of their lives and for- 
tunes, Afrer this disaster, his life was that of an outlaw, 
ratlier than a candidate for monarchy. Ho separated himself 
from the lemales of his retinue, whom he sent for safety to the 
Casile of Kildrummie, in Aberdeenshire, where they afterwards 
became captives to England. From Aberdeenshire, Bruce 
retreated lo the mountainous parts of Breadalhane, and ap- 
proached the borders of ArgyleshJre, There, as mentioned in 
III- Ajipendi.x, Note H, and more fully in Note P, he was de- 
f,'itL-,l by the Lord of Lurn, who had assumed arms against 
hini in revenge of the death of iiis relative, John the Red Co- 
myii, Escaped from this peril, Bruce, with his f^iw attendants, 
subsisted by hunting and fishing, until the weather comiielled 
them to seek better sustenance and shelter than the Highland 
niouutains aftorded. With great difficulty they crossed, from 
Rowardennan probably, to the western banks of Lochlomond, 
partly in a miserable boat, and partly by swimming. The 
vanant and loyal Karl of Lenno.\. to whose territories they had 
now found their way, welcomed them with tears, but was un- 
dble to assist them to make an effectual Iiead. The Lord of 
the Isles, then in possession of great part of Cantyre, received 
the fugitive monarch and future restorer of his country's inde- 



pendence, in his castle of Dunnaverty, in that district. Bu 
treason, says Barbour, was so general, that the King durst nol 
abide there. Accordingly, with tlie remnant of his followers, 
Bruce embarked for Ratli-Erin, or Rachrine, tlie Recina of 
Plolemy, a small island lying almost opposite to the shores ol 
Ballycastle, on the coast of Ireland. The islanders at first fled 
from their new and armed guests, but upon some explanation 
submitted themselves to Brnce's sovereignty. He resided 
among them until the approach of spring [1306], when lie 
again returned to Scotland, with the desperate resolution to re- 
conquer his kingdom, or perish in the attempt. The progress 
of liis success, from its commencement to its completion, forms 
the brightest period in Scottisii history. 



Note P. 



The Brooch of Lorn.—?. 424. 

U has been generally mentioned in the preceding notes, that 
Bobert Bruce, after his defeat at Methven, being hard pressed 
by the English, endeavored, witli the dispirited remnant ol 
his followers, to escape from Breadalhane and the mountains 
of Perthshire into tlie Argyleshire Highlands. But he was en- 
countered and repulsed, after a very sevt-re engagement, by 
the Lord of Lorn. Bruce's personal strength and courage 
were never displayed to greater advantage than in this con- 
flict. There is a tradition in the family of the Mac-Dougals of 
Lorn, that their chieftain engaged in personal battle with 
Bruce himself, while the latter was employed in protecting 
the retreat of his men ; that Mac-Dougal was struck down by 
the king, whose strength of body was equal to his vigor of 
mind, and would have been slain on the spot, had not two of 
Lorn's vassals, a father and son, whom tradition terms Mac- 
Keoch, rescued him, by seizing the mantle of the monarch, aud 
dragging him from above his adversary. Bruce rid himself of 
these foes by two blows of his redoubted battle-axe, but was 
so closely pressed by the other followers of Lorn, that lie was 
forced to abandon the mantle, and brooch which fastened it, 
clasped in the dying grasp of the Mac-Keocha. A studded 
brooch, said to have been that which King Robert lost upon 
this occasion, was long preserved in the family of Mac-Dougal, 
and was lost in a fire which consumed their temporary resi 
dence. 

The metrical history of Barbour tlirows an air of credibility 
upon the tradition, allliough it does not entirely coincide either 
in the names or number of the vassals by whom Bruce was 
assailed, and makes no mention of the personal danger of Lorn, 
or of the loss of Bruce's mantle. The last circumstance, in- 
deed, might be warrantably omitted. 

According to Barbour, the King, with his handful of fol- 
lowci-s, not amounting probably to three hundred men, vu- 
couiUcrcd Lorn with about a thousand Argyleshire men, in 
Glen-Doucbart, at the liead of Breadalhane, near Teyndrum. 
The place of action is still called Dairy, or the King's Fii.-ld. 
The field of battle was unfavoi\*ile to Brnce's adherents, 
who were chiefly men-at-arms. Minyof the horees were slain 
by the long pole-axes, of whith the Argyleshire Scottish liad 
learned the use from the Norwegians. At length Bruce com- 
manded a retreat up a narrow and difficult -lass. he himsf If bring- 
ing up the rear, and repeated'y turning ani driving back the 
more venturous assai'''.nts. Lorn, observi.ig ihe skill and val- 
or used by his enemy in protecting the retreat of his follow- 
ers, "Methinks, iMurlhokson," said he, addressing one of his 
followers, "he resembles Gol Mak-morn, protecting Ins fol- 
lowers from Fingal." — '* A most unworthy comparison," oh 
serves the Archdeacon of Aberdeen, unsuspicious of the future 
fame of tlitse names ; "he might with more propriety li a ve 
compared llie King to Sir Gaudefer de Layrs, protecting the 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



477 



foragers of Gadyrs against the attacks of Alexander."! Two 
brolliers, the strongest among Lorn's followers, whose n:iniea 
Barbour calls Mat'kyn-Drosscr (interpreted Durward, or Por- 
tor**on), resolved to rid their cliief of this fonnidablo foe. A 
Uiird person (perhaps the Mac-Keoch of the family tradition) 
associated himself with thoin for this purpose. They watched 
their opportunity until Brui-e's party had entered a jiass be- 
tween a lake (Loch Dochart probably) anil a piveipice, where 
the King, wiio was the last of the party, had scarce room to 
manage his steed. Here his three foes sprung upon him at 
once. One seized his bridle, but received a wound which 
hewed off his arm ; a second grasped Bruce by the stirrup and 
If;;, and endeavored to dismount him, but the King, putting 
spui-s to his horse, tiirew Iiim down, still holiling by the stirrup. 
The tliird, taking advantage of an acclivity, sprung up be- 
hind liim upon his horse. Bruce, however, whose personal 
ktreiigth is uniformly mentioned as exceeding that of most 
men, extricated himself iVom his grasp, threw him to the 
ground, and cleft his tkull with his swoni. By similar ex- 
ertion he drew the stirrup from his grasp whom he had 
overthrown, and killed him also with his sword as he 
lay among the hoi-se's feet. The story seems romantic, but 
this was the age of romantic exploit ; and it must be remem- 
bered that Bruce was armed cap-a-pie, and the assailants were 
half-clad mountaineers. Barbour adds the following circum- 
stance, highly characteristic of the sentiments of chivalry 
Mac-Naughton, a Baron of Cowal, pointed out to the Lord of 
Lorn the deeds of valor which Bruce performed in this mem- 
orable rt treat, with the highest exjiressions of admiration. 
"It seems to give thee pleasure," said Lorn, "that he 
makes such havoc among our friends." — "Not so, by my 
faith." replied Mac-Naughton ; " but be he friend or foe who 
achieves high deeds of chivalry, men sliould bear faithful wit- 
ness lo his valor ; and never have I heard of one, who, by Ins 
knightly feats, has extricated himself from such dangers as 
have this day surrounded Bruce." 



Note Q. 

IVrought and chased with fair device^ 
Studdfd fair with gems of price. — P. 424. 

Great art and expense was bestowed upon the Jibuta, or 
tjrooch, which secured the plaid, when the wearer was a per- 
son of importance. Martin mentions having seen a silver 
brooch of a hundred marks value. " It was broad as anv or- 
dinary pewter plate, the whole curiously engraven with varions 
animals, &c. There was a lesser buckle, which was wore in 
the middle of the larger, and above two ounces weight ; it had 
in the centre a large piece of crystal, or some finer stone, and 
this was set all round with several finer stones of a lesser size," 
— Western Islands, Pennant has given an engraving of such 
a brooch as Martin describes, and the workmanship of which 
is very elegant. It is said to have belonged to the family of 
Lochbuy. — See Pennant's Tout, vol. iii. p. 14. 



Note B. 

Vain was then the Douglas brand-- 

Vain the CampbcWs vaunted hand. — P. 424. 

The gallant Sir James, called the Good Lord Douglas, the 
most faithful and valiant of Bruce's adherents, was wounded 
at the battlt; of Dairy. Sir Nigel, or Niel Campbell, was also 

l"Ttiifiis a very curiona paasnge, and has been often quoted in 
th.' 0»s!nnti; oon trove rev. That il rofers to ancient Collie tradition, there 
tan be uo doubt, and ns litttt; tbut it nti-ie to do inciilvDl iu the pocnia 
t'l.bUahtrd bj Mf. Ma'ij'ier3.in as (turn the Guvlic. The hero of ronuuici', 



in that unfortunate skirmish. He married Marjorie, sister to 
Robert Bruce, anil was among his most faithful followers. In 
a manuscript account of the house of Argyle, sujjpUod, it 
would seem, as materials for Archbishop J^pottiawoode's His- 
tory of the Chnrch of ScotlanrI, I fnid the following passage 
concerning Sir Niel Campbell : — " Moreover, when all the no- 
bles in Scotland had left King Robert after his liard snc.-ess. 
yet this noble kniglit w;is most faithful, and shrinked not, as 
it is lo be seen in an indenture bearing these words : — Menu-- 
randum quod cum ab incarnationc Vomini 1308 anvculun 
fuit ct concordatum inter nobitcs viros J)ominum AUrnn- 
drum de Seatoun viilitcm ct Domivum Oilbcrtum dr. Hoje 
militem ct Dominum JSTigcllum Campbell viilitcm apad vw- 
nastcrium dc Cambu^kcnneth 9° Heptcmbris qui tacta smicta 
eucharista, mngnoquc juramento f acta, jurar ant sr. dcbfrr. 
libertatcm regni et Robertum nuper regem coronatum contra 
omncs mortalcs Francos Anglos Scotos defr.ndere usque aU 
ultimum terminum vita: ipsoruin. Their nealles are aitpendiid 
to the indenture in greene wax, togithir with the seal of Gul- 
frid. Abbot of Cambuskenneth." 



Note S. 



When Comynfell beneath the knife 
Of that fell homicide The Bruce— P. 421. 
yaiii Kirkpatrick^s bloody dirk, 
Making sure of murder^ s work, — P. 424. 

Every reader must recollect that the proximate cause of 
Bruce's asserting his right to the crown of Scotland, was the 
death of John, called the Red Comyn. The causes of this 
act of violence, equally extraordinary from the high rank botU 
of the perpetrator and sufferer, and from the place where the 
slaughter was committed, are variously related by the Scottish 
and English historians, and cannot now be ascertained. The 
fact that they met at the high altar of the Minorites, or Grey- 
friar's Chnrch in Dumfries, that their dlflerence broke out into 
high and insulting language, and that Bruce drew his dagger 
and stabbed Comyn, is certain. Rushing to the door of the 
church, Bruce met two powerful barons, Kirkpatrick of Close- 
burn, and James de Lindsay, who eagerly asked him what 
tidings? *' Bad tidings," answered Bruce; "I doubt I have 
slain Comyn." — " Doubtest thou?" said Kirkpatrick; "I 
make sicker" (i. c. sure). With these words, he and Lintlsay 
rushed into the church, and despatched the wounded Comyn. 
The Kirkpalricks of Closeburn assumed, in memory of this 
deed, a hand holding a dagger, with the memorable wonis, " I 
make sicker." Some doubt having been started by the late 
Lord Hailes as to the identity of the Kirkpatrick who com- 
pleted this day's work with Sir Roger then representative of 
the ancient family of Closeburn, my kind and ingenious friend. 
Mr. Charles Kirkpatricke Sharpe, ha.-^ furnished me with the 
following memorandum, which appears to fix the deed with 
his ancestor i — 

" The circumstances of the Regent Cummin's murder, from 
which the family of Kirkpatrick. in Nithsdale. is said to have 
derived its crest and motto, are well known to all conversant 
with Scottish history ; bnt Lord Hailes has etarte<l a doubt as 
to the authenticity of this tradition, when recording the mui^ 
der of Roger Kirkpatrick. in his own Castle of Caerlaverock, 
bv Sir James Lindsay. ' Fordun,' says his lordship, ' remarks 
that Lindsay and Kirkpatrick were the heirs of the two men 
who accon}panied Robert Brus at the fatal conference with 
Comyn. If Fordun was rightly informed as to this pari.cu- 
lar. an argument arises, in support of a noti'^u which I have 

whom Barbour thinks n mere proper prototype for the Brace, occurs tn tho 
romance uf AKxnndor, of whicli Wwxe Uu iiiiiqiio trntiila'ion into Scotliah 
vcrM>, in tb« UbrAry of the Hoiiuunibli' Mr. Mauli', nuw Eiirl of P*n- 
nmri'."— Si'P \Vi:i!Ki;'s Romances, vol. i. Appendix to Introduction, p. 73. 



178 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



lOT^g entertained, tliat the person who struck his dagger in Co- 
myn's heart, was not the representative of the honourable 
family of Kirkpatrick in Nlthsdale. Roger tie K. was made 
prisoner at the battle of Durham, in 1346. Roger de Kirkpat- 
rick was alive on the Otii of August, i:Jj7 ; for, on that day, 
Hunipliry, the son and heir of Roger de K., is proposed as one 
of the young gentlemen who were to be hostages for David 
Bruce. Roger de K. Miles was prL-seiit at the parliaincni hold 
in Edinburgh. 25th September, 1357. ami he is mentioned as 
alive 3d October, 1357 {FtEdero) ; it follows, of necessary con- 
sequence, that Roger de K., murdered in June, 1357, must have 
been a dift'erent person.' — ^^nnats of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 242. 
" To this it may be answered, that at the period of the re- 
gent's murder, there were only two families of the name of 
Kirkpatrick (nearly allied to each other) in existence — Stirphen 
Kirkpatrick, styled in the Chartulary of Kelso (1278) Dvmi- 
nus villa: de Closeburn, Filius ct hwrcs Domini Jldr dv Kirk- 
■patrick, Militis (wliose father, Ivone de Kirkjiatrick, wit- 
nesses a charter of Robert Brus, Lord of Annandale, before 
the year 1141). had two sons. Sir Roger, who cairicd on the 
line of Closeburn, and Duncan, who married Isobel, daugliter 
and heiress of Sir David Tortborwald of tliat Ilk ; they liad u 
chartLT of Ihe lands of Torthorwald from King Robert Brus, 
dated 10th August, the year being omitted — Umi)lnay, the 
son of Duncan and Isobel, got a charter of Tortliorwold from 
tiie king, IGth July, 1322— his son, Roger of Tortliorwold, got 
a cliarter from John the Grahame, son of Sir John Graliame, 
of Mos^kessen, of an annual rent of 40 shillings, out of the 
lands of Ovenlryft. 1355 — his son, William Kirkpatriuk, grants 
a charter to John of Garroch. of the twa merk land of Glengip 
and Oarvellgill, within the tenement of VVamphray, 22d 
April, 1372. From this, it appears that the Torthorwald 
I branch was not concerned in tlie affair of Comyn's murder, 
and the infiiclions of Providence which ensued : Duncan 
Kirkpatrick, if we are to believe tiie Blind Minstrel, was the 
6rm friend of Wallace, to whom he was related : — 

' Ane Kyrk Patrick, that cruel was and keyne, 
III Esdail wod that lialf yer lie had beyne ; 
With Ingliss men he couth nocht weyll accord, 
Ort'Torlhorowald he Barron was and Lord. 
Off kyn he was, and Wallace modyr ner ;' — &e. 
B. v., V. 020. 

But '.his baron seems to have had no share in the adventures 
of Kmg Robert ; the crest of his family, as it still remains on a 
carved stone built into a cottage wall, in tJie village of Tor- 
thorwald, bears some resemblance, says Grose, lo arose. 

" Universal tradition, ami all our later iiislorians. have at- 
tributed the regent's ileath-hlovv to Sir Roger IC, of Closeburn. 
The author of the MS. History of the Presbytery of Penpont, 
in the Advocates' Library, affirms, that the crest and motto 
were given by the King on that occasion : and proceeds to re- 
late some circumstances resj)ecling a grant to a cottager and 
his wife in the vicinity of Closeburn Castle, which are cer- 
tainly authentic, and strongly vouch for the truth of the other 
report. ' The steep hill,* says he, ' called the Done of Tyn- 
ron, of a considerable height, upon the top of which there 
hath been some liabitation or fort. There have been in an- 
cient times, on all hands of it, very thick woods, and great 
about that place, which made it the more inaccessible, into 
whicli K. Ro. Bruce is said to have been conducted by Roger 
Kirkpatrick, of Closeburn, after they had killed the Cumin at 
Dumfriess, which is nine miles from this place, whereabout it 
is jjrobable that he did abide for some time thereafter ; and it 
is reported, tliat during his abode there, he did often divert to 
a poor man's cottage, named Brownrtg, situate in a small jiai-- 
cel of stony ground, encompassed with thick woods, wlicre he 
was content sometimes with such mean accommodation as the 
place could afford. The poor man's wife being advised to pe- 
Ution the King for somewhit, was so modest in her desires, 



that she sought uo more but security for the croft in her Iiu» 
band's possession, and a liberty of pasturage for a very few 
cattle of different kinds on tlie hill, and the rest of the bounds 
Of which privilege tliat ancient family, by the injury of time, 
hath a long time been, and is, <leprived : but the croft contin 
ues in the possession of the Iieirs and succe?soars lineally de- 
scended of this Brownrig and his wife: so that this family, 
being more ancient than rich, doth yet continue in the name, 
and. as they say, retains the old charter." — ,MS. History of 
the Prcsbytcrtj of Penpont, in the Advocates^ Library of 
Edinburgh. 



Note T. 

Barendoicn fled fast away. 

Fled the fiery De la Haye.—V. 424. 

Tliese knights are enumerated by Barbour among the small 
n imber of Bruce's adherents, who remaineil in arms with him 
after the battle of Methven. 

" With him was a bold baron, 
Schyr William the Baroundoun, 

Schyr Gilbert de la Haye alsua." 

There were more than one of the noble family of Hay engaged 
in Bruce's cause; but the principal was Gilbert de la Haye, 
Lord of Errol, a stanch adherent to King Robert's interest, 
and whom he rewarded by creating him hereditary Lord High 
Constable of Scotland, a title which he used 16lh Marcii, 130ri, 
where, in a letter from the peers of Scotland to Pliilip the 
Fair of France, he is designed Qilbcrtus de Hay Constahw 
larins Scotits. He was slain at the battle of Ualidoun-hill. 
Hugh de la Haye, his brother, was made prisoner at the battle 
of Methven. 



Note XT. 



Well hast thou framed. Old Man, tliy strains. 
To praise the hand that pays thy pains, — P. 42o. 

The character of the Highland bards, however high in an 
earlier period of society, seems soon to have degenerated. 
The Irish affirm, that in their kindred tribes severe laws be- 
came necessary to restrain their avarice. In the Highlands 
they seem gradually to have sunk into contemjit, as well as 
the orators, or men of speech, with whose office that of family 
poet was often united. — " The orators, ni their language called 
Isdane, were in high esteem both in them islands and the con- 
tinent ; until within these forty years, lln-y sat always among 
the nobles and chiefs of families in the streah, or circle. 
Tlj(?ir houses and little villages were sanctuaries, as well as 
churches, ami they took jdace before dottors of physick. 
The orators, after the Draids were extinct, were brought in 
to preserve the genealogy of families, and to repeat the same 
at every succession of clnefs ; and upon the occasion of mar- 
riages and births, they made epithalamiums and pauegyricks, 
which the poet or bard pronounced. The oraloi-s, by the force 
of their eloquence, had a powerful ascendant over the greatest 
men in their time; for if any orator diil but ask the habit, 
arms, horse, or any other thing belonging to the greatest man 
in these islands, it was readily granted them, sometimes out 
of respect, and sometimes for fear of being exclaimed against 
by a satyre, which, in those days, was reckoned a great dis- 
lionour. But these gentlemen becoming insolent, lost ever 
since both the profit and esteem whicli was formerly due to 
their character; for neither their panegyricks nor satvres are 
regarded to what they have been, and they are now allowed 
but a small salary. I must not omit to relate their way ot 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4V9 



luily, wliicli is very singular: They shut their doors ami 
viiuiows for a day's time, and He on their backs, with a stone 
upon their belly, and plads about their heads, and their eyes 
jeing covered, they |)umi) their brains lor rbetorienl encomium 
tir pariegyrick ; and indeed they furnish sueli a style from this 
dark cell as is understood by very few ; and if tliey purchase a 
couple of horses as the reward of their meditation, they tliink 
ihey have done a great matter. The poet, or bard, had a title 
lo the bride^oom's upper garb, tliat is, tlie plad and bonnet ; 
but now he is satislled with what the bridegroom jdeases lo 
give him on such occasions." — Martin's it'istem Isles. 



Note V. 



Wtts't not enough to RonattVs boiccr 
I brought thee, like a paramour. — 1*. 4ti7. 

It was anciently customary in the Highlands to bring the 
bride to the house of the husband. Nay, in some cases the 
complaisance wa^ stretclied so far, that she remained tliere 
upon trial for a twelvemonth ; and the bridegroom, even after 
this period of cohabitation, retained an o|ition of refusing to 
fulfil his engagement. It is said that a desperate fend ensued 
between the clans of Mac-Donald of Sleate and Mac-Leod, 
owing 10 the former chief having availed himself of this license 
to send back to Dunvegan a sister, or daughter of the latter. 
JUac-Leod, resenting the indignity, observed, that since there 
was no wedding bonlire, there should be one to solemnize the 
divorce. Accordingly, he burned and" laid waste the territories 
of Mac-Donald, wlio retaliated, and a deadly feud, with all its 
accompaniments, took place in form. 



Note TV. 
Since matchless Wallace first had been 
In mockery croioii'd with wreaths of green. — P. 427. ■ 

Stow gives the following curious account of the trial and 
execution of this celebrated patriot: — " William Wallace, 
who had oft-times set Scotland in great trouble, was taken and 
brought to London, with great numbers of men and women 
wondering upon him. lie was lodged in the house of William 
Delect, a citizen of London, in Fencliurch-streel. On the 
morrow, being the eve of St. Bartholomew, he w;ls brought on 
lioi-seback to Westminster. John Leg rave and (ieflVey, knighls, 
the mayor, sherilTs, and aldermen of London, and many others, 
both on horseback and on foot, accompanying him ; and in 
the great hall at Westminster, he being placed on the south 
bench, crowned with laurel, for that he had sai<l in times past 
that he ought to bear a crown in that ball, as it was commonly 
reporteil ; and being appeached for a traitor by Sir Peter Malo- 
ric, the king's justice, lie answered, that he was never traitor 
to tlie King of England ; but for otiier things whereof he w.is 
accused, he confessed them ; and was after headed and quar- 
tered." — Stou", Chr. p. 209. There is something singularly 
ioubifnl about tlie mode in which Wallace was taken. That 
.ie was betrayed to tlie English is indubitable ; and popular 
fame charges Sir John Menteith with the indelible infamy. 
" Accursed," says Arnold Blair, " be the day of nativity of 
John de Menteith, and may his name be struck out of the book 
of life." But John de Menteith was all along a zealous favorer 
of the English interest, and was governor of Dumbarton Castle 
by commission from Edward the First; and therefore, as the 
accurate Lord Hailes has observed, could not be the friend and 
confidant of Wallace, a.s tradition stales him to be. The truth 
seems to be, that Menteith, thoroughly engaged in the English 
interest, pursued Wallace closely, and made him prisoner 
t'lrough the treachery of "" .if»»ndant, whom Peter Langloft 
c.'ilU JacL' SJiori 



" William Waleia is nomen that master was of thcvcs, 
Tiding to the king is comen that robbery mischeives, 
Sir John of Menetest sued William so nigh. 
He tok him when he ween'd least, on night, his leniau 

liim by, 
Tliat was through treason qT Jack Short bis man, 
lie was the encheson that Sir John so him'ran, 
Jack's brother liad he slain, the Walleis that is said, 
Tiie more Jack was fain to do William that braid." 

From this it would appear that the infamy of seizing Wallace 
must rest between a degenerate Scottish nobleman, tlic vassal of 
England, and a domestic, the obscure agent of his treachery ; 
between Sir John Menteith, son of Walter, Earl of Menteith, 
and the traitor Jack Short. 



Note X. 

Where's J^Tigel Bruce ? and De la Uaye, 
And valiant Seton — where are they ? 

Where Somerville, the kind and free ? 
And Fraser, /lower of chivalry 1 — P. 427. 

When these lines were written, the author was remote from 
the means of correcting his indistinct recollection concerning 
the individual fate of Bruce's followers, after tlie battle of 
Melhven. Hugh de la Haye, and Thomas Somerville of Lin- 
toun and Cowdally, ancestor of Lord Somerville, were botl" 
made prisoners at that defeat, but neither was executed. 

Sir Nigel Bruce was the younger brother of Robert, to wMu m 
he committed the charge of his wife and dangliter, Marjorie, 
and the defence of his strong castle of Kililrnmmie, near the 
head of the Don, in Aberdeenshire. Kildrummie long resisted 
the arms of the Earis of Lancaster and Hereford, until the 
magazine was treacherously burnt. The garrison was then 
compelled to surrender at discretion, and Nigel Bruce, a youth 
remarkable for personal beauty, as well as for gallantry, fell 
into the bands of the unrelenting Edward. Ho was tried by a 
special commission at Berwick, was condemned, and executed. 

Chnstopber Seatoun shared the same unfortunate fate. He 
also was distinguished by personal valor, and signalized him- 
self in the fatal battle of Methven. Robert Bruce adventured 
his person in that battle like a knight of romance. He dis- 
mounted Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, but was in his 
turn dismounted by Sir Philip Mowbray. In this emergence 
Seatoun came to his aid, and remounted him. Langtoft men- 
tions, that in this battle the Scottish wore white surplices, or 
shirts, over their armor, that those of rank might not be known. 
In this manner both Bruce and Seatouu escaped. But the 
latter was afterwards betrayed to the Engli;*!), through means, 
according to Barbour, of one MacNab, " a disciple of Judas," 
in whom the unfortunate knight reposed entire confidence. 
Tliere was some peculiarity respecting his )iuuishment ; be- 
cause, according to Maltliew of Westminster, he was consid- 
ered not as a Scottish subject, but an Englishman. He wa.-- 
thercfore taken to Dumfries, where he was tried, condemned, 
and executed, for the murder of a soldier slain by liim. Hi- 
brother, John de Seton. had the .same fate at Newcastle ; both 
were considered as accomplices in the slaughter of Comyn, but 
in what manner they were particulariy accessory to that dcc.i 
docs not appear. 

The fate of Sir Simon Frazer, or Frizel, ancestor of the 
family of Lovat, is dwelt upon at great length, and with savage 
exultation, by the English historians. This knight, who w;ls 
renowned for personal gallantry, and high deeds of chivalrv, 
was also made prisoner, after a gallant defence, in the bauio 
of Melhven. Some stanzas of a ballad of the times, wIul-Ii. 
for the sake of rendering it intelligible, I have translated out 
of its rude orthography, give minute particulars of bis fate 
It was written immediately at the period, for it mentions the 
Earl of AUiolo as not yet in custody. It was first publisheil 



480 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



by the indefa'isaMc Mr. Ritson, but with so many contrac- 
tion!) and pcculia-'ilies of character, as to render it illegible, 
excepting by antiquaries. 

" Tliis was before Saint Bartholomew's mass, 
Tliat Frizel was y-taken, were it more other less, 
To Sir Thomas of Mutton, genlil haron and free. 
And to Sir Johan Jose be-take tlio was lie 
To hand 
He was y-fettereil wole 
Botli with iron and with steel 

To bripgen of Scotland. 

' Soon tnereafter the tiding to the kinj; come, 
He sent him to London, witli mony nrmed groom, 
He came in at Newgate, I tell you it on a-plight, 
A garlanJ of leaves oa his head y-dight 

Of green, 
For he sliould be y-know, 
Both of high and low, 

For trailoiir I ween. 

" Y-fettered were his legs under his horse's wombe, 
Butii with iron and with steel mancled were his bond, 
A garland of pervynk' set upon his heved,^ 
Much was the power that him was bereved, 
In land. 
So God me amend, 
Little he ween'd 

So to be brought in hand. 

* This was upon our lady's even, forsooth I understand^ 
The justices sate for the knights of Scotland, 
Sir Thomas of Multon, an kinde knvght and wise, 
And Sir Ralph of Sandwich tliat niiL'kle is told in price, 
And Sir Johan Abel, 
Moe I might tell by tale 
Botli of great and of small 

Ye know sooth well. 

' Then said the jostice, that gen til is and free. 
Sir Simon Frizel the king's traiter hast then be ; 
In water and in land that mony migliten see, 
What sayst thou thereto, how will thou quite thee. 
Do say. 
So foul he him wist, 
Nede war on trust 

For to say nay. 

* With fetters and with gives'" y-hot he was to-draw 
From the Tower of London tliat many men might know, 
In a kirtle of burel, a selcouth wise, 
And a garland on his head of ihe new guise. 

Tlirough Cheape 
Many men of England 
For to see Symond 

Thitherward can leap. 

'■ Tliougli lie cam to the gallow.s fii-at he was on hung. 
All quick beheaded iIkiL him thought long ; 
Then Ue was y-opened, his bowels y-hrend,* 
Tlie heved to London-bridge was send 

To shende. 
So evermore mote I the, 
Some while weened he 

Thu^s little to stand. » 

" He ridfth through the city, as I tell may. 

With gamen and with solace that was their jday, 



I Pcriwuicktc. —a He.id, — 3 He was condemned to be dmwn. — ' 
-6 Meaniag, ttl one time he little thought la stnnd thus. — 6 ' 



Burned, 
iz. Siiilh 



To London-bridge he took the way, 
Mony was the wives child tliat thereon lacketli a day," 
And said, alas I 
That he was y-born 
And so vilely forelorn. 

So fair man he was.' 

" Now standeih the heved above the lu-brigge. 
Fast by Wallace sooth for to segge ; 
After succour of St:otland long may he pry. 
And after Iielp of France what halt it to li^ 
I ween. 
Better him were in Scotland, 
With his axe in his hand, 

To )ilay on the green," &.c 

The preceding stanzas contain probably as minute an account 
as can be found of the trial and execution of state criminals of 
the period. Superstition mingled its horrors with those of a fe- 
rocious state policy, a.s appears from the following singular nai- 
rative. 

'* The Friday next, before the assumption of Onr Lady, 
King Edward met Robert the Bruce at Paint Johnstoune, in 
Scotland, and with his company, of which company King Ed- 
ward quelde seven thousand. Wlien Robert the Bruce saw 
this mischief, and gan to flee, and hov'd him that men might 
not him find ; but S. Simond Frisell [*uisued was so sore, so 
that he turned again and abode baiaille, for he was a worthy 
knight and a bolde of bodye, and tliL* Englishmeu pursuede 
him sore on every side, and qnekle the steed that Sir Simon 
Frisell rode upon, and then toke him and led hin>to the host. 
And S. Symond began for to flatter and speke fair, and .saidc, 
Lordys, I shall give you four thousand markes of silver, and 
myne horse and harness, and all my armoure and income. 
Tho' answered Tliobaude of Pevencs, that was the kiiiges 
archer, Now, Gtid me so helpe, it is for naught that thou speak- 
est, for all the gold of England I would not let thee go with- 
out commandnitnt of King Edward. And tho' he was led to 
the King, and tlie King would not see him, but commanded to 
lead him away to his doom in London, on Our Lady's even 
nativity. And he was hung and drawn, and his head smitten 
ofl*, and hanged again with chains of iron upon the gallows, 
and his liead was stt at London-bridge upon a spear, and 
against Christmas the body was burnt, for encheson (reason) 
that the men that keeped the body saw many devils ramping 
with iron crooks, running ujion the gallows, and liorribly tor- 
menting the body. And many that them saw, anon thereafter 
died for dread, or wa.\en mad, or sore sickness they had."— 
MS. Chronicle in the British Museum, quoted by Ritson. 



N"0TE Y. 



Was not the life of Athole shed. 

To soothe the tyrant's sickcited bed? — P. 428. 

John de Strathbogie, Earl of Athole, had attempted to es- 
cape out of the kingdom, but a storm east him upon the coriNl, 
when he was taken, sent to London, and executed, with oir- 
cumstances of great barbarity, being first half strangled, tln-n 
let down from the gallows while yet alive, barbarously di«niem- 
bered. and his body burnt. It may snrj)risc the reader to learn. 
that this was a m//iV«(ef/ jiuiiishment ; for in respect that his 
mother was a grand-daughltr of King John, by his natural son 
Richard, he was not drawn on a sledge to execntion, " that 
point was forgiven," and he made the passage on horseback. 
Matthew of Westminster tells us that Kitig Edward, then ex- 
tremely ill, received great ease from tho nt'ws that his relative 
was apjirehended. " Quo audita, tlcz Jiugliii:, ctsi gravis* 



Lficlt-fi-dfty. — 7 Tin- 
pitied by the fuiiiHli- 



Iniit kTii 
relators 



;Iit, like others in tho same eituatios, wai 
19 " H proper yoiiiiK innu." 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



431 



iiimo viorbo tunc langucrct, Icvius tamcn tulit dolorcm/ 
ihia singular expression the text alludes. 



Note Z. 

.■hid mujit /lis word, tilt dying day. 

Be naught bat quarter, hang, and slay. — P. 428. 

Tills alluiles to a passage in Barbour, singularly expressive of 
the viniiiclive spirit of Edward I. The prisoners taken at tiie 
castle of Kildrumniie had surrendered upon condition that they 
should be at King Edward's disposal. " But his will," says 
Barbour, " was always evil towards Suoltishnien." The news 
of the surrender of Kildrumniie arrived when he was in his 
uiorcal sickness at Burgli-upou-Sandg. 

" And when he to the death was near, 
The folk that at Kyldroniy wer 
Come witli prisoners that they had tane, 
And syne to the king are gane. 
And for to eomfort him they tauld 
How they the castell to them yauld ; 
And how they till his will were brought, 
To do oil' that whatever he thought ; 
And ask'd «hat men sliould oil' them do. 
Then look'd he angryty them to, 
He said, grinning, ' UANCis and draws.' 
That was wonder of sic saws. 
That he, that to tlie death was near, 
Should answer upon sic maner, 
Forouten moaning and mercy ; 
How might he trust on him to cry, 
That sooth-fa«tly dooms all thing 
To have mercy for his crying, 
OtV him that, throw his felony. 
Into sic point had no mercy ?" 

There was much troth in the Leonine couplet, with which 
Matthew of Westminster concludes his encomium on the first 
Edward : — 

*' Fcotos Edwardus, dum vixit, suppeditavit, 
Tenuit, afflixit, depressit, dilauiavit." 



Note 2 A. 



While I the blessed cross advance. 
And expiate this unhappy chance. 
In Palestine, with sjcard and lance. — P. 428. 

Bruce uniformly professed, and probably felt, compunction 
for having violated the sanctuary of the church by the slaugh- 
ter of Corny n ; and finally, in his last hours, in testimony of his 
faith, penitence, and zeal, he requested James Lord Douglas 
to carry his heart to Jerusalem, to be there deposited in the 
Holy Sepulchre. 



Note 2 B. 



De Bruce'. Irose with purpose dread 

To speak 7ny curse upon thy kead.—'V. 429. 

So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter reached Rome, 
Bruce and his adherents were excommunicated. It was pub- 
lished first by the Archbishop of York, and renewed at differ- 
ent times, particularly by Lambyrton, Bishop of St. Andrews, 
in KJ08 ; but it does not appear to have answered the purpose 
which the English monarch expected. Indeed, for reasons 
whicli it may he diffietlt to trace, the thunders of Rome de- 



scended upon tlie Scottish mountains with less effect than in 
more fertile countries. Probably the comparative poverty ol 
the benefices occasioned that fewer foreign clergy settled in 
Scotland ; and the interest of the native churchmen were 
linked with that of their country. Many of the t-'cottish pre- 
lates, Lambyrton the primate particularly, declared for Brnec, 
while he was yet under the ban of the church, allhou^li he 
afterwards again changed sides. 



Note 2 C. 



Ifecl within mine aged breast 

j3 power that will not be repressed. — P. 429. 

Bruce, like other heroes, observed omens, and one is recorded 
by tradition. After he liad retre:ited to one of the niiscrahle 
places of shelter, in which he could venture to take some re- 
pose after ilia disasters, he lay stretched upon a hamlfiil of 
straw, and abandoned himself to his melancholy meditation-. 
He had now been defeated four times, and was upon the jiuint 
of resolving to abandon all hopes of lurther opposition to hi?» 
fate, and to go to tlie Holy Land. It chanced, his eye, while 
he was thus pondering, was attracted by the exertions of a sjii- 
der, who, in order to fix his web, endeavored to swing himself 
from one beam to another above his head. Involuntarily he 
became interested in the pertinacity with which the insect re- 
newed his exertions, after failing six times ; and It occurred to 
him tliat he would decide his own course according to thesuo- 
cess or failure of the sjjider. At the seventh eflbrt the insect 
gained his object ; and Bruce, in like manner, persevered and 
carried his own. Hence it lias been held unlucky or ungrate- 
ful, or both, in one of the name of Bruce to kill a spider. 

The Archdeacon of Aberdeen, instead of the abbot of tliis 
tale, introduces an Irish Pythoness, who not only predicted Iih 
good fortune as he left the island of Rachrin, but sent her tun 
sons along witli him, to insure her own family a share in it 

" Tlien in schort time men mycht thaim se 
Schute all thair galayis to the se, 
And her to se baith ayr and ster, 
And othyr thingis that mystir' wer. 
And as the king apon the sand 
Wes gangand wp and donn, bidand^ 
Till that his meiiye redy war, 
His ost come rycht till him tliar. 
And quhen that scho him halyst had, 
And priwe spek till him scho made ; 
And said, * Takis gud kep till my saw : 
For or ye pass I sail you schaw, 
Off your fortoun a gret parly. 
Bot our all speceally 
A wyttring her I sail yow ma, 
(iuhat end that your purposs sail ta. 
For in this land is nane trewly 
Wate thingis to cum sa Weill as I. 
Ye pass now furth on your wiage, 
To wenge the harme, and the owtrag. 
That Ingliss men has to yow done ; 
Bot ye wat nocht fiuhatkyne forton 
Ye mon drey in your werraying. 
Bot wyt ye weill, with outyn lesing, 
That fra ye now haift'takyn land, 
Nane sa mychty, na sa strenth thi of hand. 
Sail ger yow pass owt of your countr6 
Till all to yow abandownyt be. 
With in schort tyme ye sail be king. 
And haiff the land at your liking, 
And ourcum your fayis all. 
Bot fele anoyis thole ye sail, 

I Nci'd.— 2 Abidia 



48-^ 



SCOTT'S' POETICAL WORK«. 



Or tliat your purposs end liaiff tane : 
Bot ye sail thaiin ouidi-yve ilkane. 
And, that ye trow this sokerly, 
]\Iy twa sonnys witli yow sail I 
Stud to tak part of your trawaiU ; 
For I wate weill thai sail nocht faill 
To be rewardyt Weill at rycht, 
Guhen ye ar heyit to your mycht.' " 

Barbouu's Bruce, Book iii., v. B5G. 



Note 2 D, 



^ hunted wanderer on the wild, 
On foreign shores a man exiled. — P. 429. 
This is not metaphorical. The echoes of Scotland did ac- 
tually 



With the bloodhounds that bayed for her fugitive king." 

A very carious and romantic tale is told by Barbour upon this 
subject, which may he abridged as follows : — 

Wlien Brace had again got footing in Scotland in the spring 
of 130G, he continued to be in a very weak and precarious con- 
dition, gaining, indeed, occasional advantages, but obliged to 
fly before his enemies whenever they assembled in force. Upon 
one occasion, while he was lying with a small party in the 
wilds of Cumnock, in Ayrshire, Aymer de Valence, Eurl of 
Pembroke, with his inveterate foe John of Lorn, came against 
him suddenly with eight hundred Highlanders, besides a large 
body of raen-at-arms. They brought with them a slougii-dog, 
or bloodhound, which, some say, had been once a favorite 
with the Bruce liimself, and therefore was least likely to lose 
the trace. 

Bruce, whose force was under four hundred men, continued 
to make head against the cavalry, till the men of Lorn Iiad 
nearly cut off his retreat. Perceiving the danger of his situa- 
tion, he acted as the celebrated and ill-requited Mina is said 
to liave done in similar circumstances. He divided liis force 
into three parts, appointed a place of rendezvous, and com- 
manded them to retreat by different routes. But when John 
of Lorn arrived at the spot where tliey divided, he caused the 
hound to be put upon the trace, which immediately directed 
him to the pursuit of that party which Bruce Iicaded. This, 
therelbrc, Lorn pursued with his whole force, paying no at- 
tention to the othei-s. The king again subdivided Ins small 
body into three parts, and with the same result, for the pur- 
suers attached themselves exclusively to that which he led in 
person. He then caused his followers to disperse, and retained 
only ids foster-brother in his company. The slough-dog fol- 
lowed the trace, and, neglecting tlie others, attached himself 
and liis attendatls to the pursuit of the king. Lorn became 
convinced that his enemy was nearly in his power, and de- 
tached five of his most active attendants to follow him, and 
interrupt his flight. They did so witli all the agility of moun- 
taineers. "What aid wilt thou makel" said Bruce to his 
single attendant, when he saw the live men gain ground on 
him. *' The best I can," replied Iiis fostei^brother, " Then," 
said Bruce, " here I maku my i^taud." TJie five pursuers 
came up fast. The king took three to himself, leaving the 
other two to his foster-brother. He slew the first who en- 
countered him ; but observing liis fostei'-brother liard pressed, 
he sprung to his assistance, and dispatched one of his assail- 
ants. Leaving him to deal with the sur\ivor, he returned 
upon the other two, both of whom he slew before his foster- 
brother had dispatched liis single antagonist. When this hard 
encounter was over, with a courtesy, which in the whole work 
marks Bruce's character, he thanked his fostei'-brother for his 
aid. " It likes you to say so," answered his follower ; " but 
you youi-self slew four of the five." — " True," said the king, 
" but only because T liad better opportunity tlian you. Tiiey 



were not apprehensive of me wlien they saw me encountei 
three, eo I had a moment's time to spring to thy aid, and to 
return equally unexpectedly upon my own opponents." 

In the mean while Lorn's ])arty approached rapidly, and the 
king and his foster-brother betook themselves to a neigliboring 
wood. Here they sat down, for Bruce was exhausted by 
fatigue, until tJie cry of the slough-iiound came so near, that 
hia fostei^brother entreated Bruce to provide for his safety by 
retreating further. " I liave heard," answered tlie king, " thai 
whosoever will wade a bow-shot length down a running stream, 
shall make the slough-hound lose scent. — Let us try the exper- 
iment, for were yon devilish hound silenced, I should care 
little for the rest." 

Lorn in the mean while advanced, and found the bodies ot 
his slain vassals, over whom he made his moan, and threat- 
ened the most deadly vengeance. Then he followed the hound 
to the side of the brook, down which the king had waded a 
great way. Here the hound was at fanlt, and John of Lorn, 
after long attempting in vain to recover Bruce's trace, relin^ 
quished the pursuit. 

" Others," says Barbour, " affirm, that upon this occasion 
the king's life was saved by an excellent archer who accompa- 
nied him, and who perceiving they would be finally taken by 
means of the blood-hound, hid himself in a thicket, and shot 
him with an arrow. In whicli way," adds the metrical biog- 
rapher, "this escape happened I am uncertain, but at that 
brook the king escaped from his pursuers." 

" Q.uben the chasseris relyt war, 
And Jlion of Lorn had met thaim thar, 
He tauld Schyr Aymer all the cass 
How that the king eschapyt wass ; 
And how that lie his five men slew, 
And syne to the wode liim drew. 
Q-ulien Schyr Aymer herd tliis, in hy 
He sanyt him for the ferly : 
And said ; ' He is gretly to pryss ; 
For I knaw nane that Hffand is, 
Tliat at myscheyff gan help him swa. 
I trow lie suld be hard to sla, 
And he war bodyn' ewynly.' 
On this wiss spak t^chyr Aymery." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book v., v. 391. 

The English historians agree with Barbour as to tlie mode 
in which tiie English pui*sued Bruce and his followers, and 
tlie dexterity with which he evaded them. The following is 
the testimony of Haidiiig, a great enemy to the Scottish na 
tion : — 

" The King Edward with boost Iiym sought full sore, 
But ay he fled into woodes and siraytc forest, 
And slewe his men at staytes and daungers there, 
And at marreys and mires was ay full prest 
Englyshmen to kyll withoutyn any rest; 
In tlie mountaynes and cragges he slew ay where, 
And in the nyght his foes he frayed full sere : 

" The King Edward with homes and honndes him soght, 
With raenne on fote, through marris, mosic, and myre. 
Through wodes also, and mountens (wber thei fought), 
And euer the ICyng Etlward bight men grcatehyre. 
Hym for to take and by myght conquere ; 
But thei miglit liym not gctte by force ne by U-ain, 
He satte by the fyre wiien thei went in the rain," 

Hardyng's Chrojiiclcj jip. 303-4. 

Peter Langtoft has also a passage concerning tlie extremitiei 
to which King Robert was reduced, wliicli he entitles 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



483 



J)e Jiobcrto Brns ct fuga circum circa Jit, 
And wcle I umierstocle tlial the Kyng Robjn 
1I;ls drunken of thiit blode tlie drink of Dan Waryn. 
Dan Waryn he les tonnes tliat lie lield, 
W'llU wrong lie mad a res, and misberyng of sclield, 
tfitlien into Uie fort'st lie yede naked and wode, 
A Is a wild lieast, cle of the gnis that stode, 
Tlius of Dan Waryn in his lioke men rede, 
God {.'yftlie King Kobyn, llial alle ids kynde so spede, 
Sir Robynet the Brus he durst noure abide, 
That tbei mad him restus, both in more and wod-side, 
To while lie mad this train, and did um while outrage," Stc. 
Peter Lanotoft's Chronicle, vol. ii. p. 335, 
8vo. London, 1810. 



Note 2 E. 



For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 

A pirate sworn was Cormac DoiL — P. 430. 

A sort of persons common in the isles, as may be easily be- 
lieved, until the introduction of civil polity. Witness the 
Dean of the Isles' account of Ronay. *' At the north end of 
Raarsay, be half niyle of sea frae it, layes ane ile callit Ronay, 
maire then a myle in lengthe, full of wood and lieddir, with 
ane havein for Iieiland galeys in the middis of it, and the same 
havein is guid for fostering of theives, ruggairs, and reivairs, 
till a nail, upon the peilling and spulzeing of poorpepill. This 
ile perteins to M'Giljychallan of Raarsay by force, and to the 
bJshope of tlie iles be heritage." — Sir Donald Monro's 
Description of the TVestcTii Islands of Scotland, Edinburgli, 
1805, p. 32. 



Note 2 F. 



*' Mas! dear youth, the unhappy timc,^^ 
Mnsiter*d the Bruce, ** must bear the crime, 

Si7ice, guiltier far than you. 
Even /" — he paused ; for Falkirk's icoes 

Upon his conscious soul arose. — P. 431. 

I have followed the vulgar and inaccurate tradition, that 
Bruce fought against Wallace, and the array of Scotland, at 
tlie fatal battle of Falkirk. The story, wliicli seeras to have 
no better authority than that of Blind Harry, bears, that hav- 
ing made much slaughter during the engagement, he sat down 
to dine with the conquerors without washing the filthy witness 
from his hands. 

" Fasting he was, and had been in great need. 
Blooded were all his weapons and his weed ; 
Southeron lords scorn'd him in terms rude. 
And said, Behold yon Scot eats liis own blood. 

" Then rued he sore, for reason bad be known. 
That blood and land alike should be his own ; 
With them he long was, ere he got away, 
But contrair Scots he fought not from that day.'* 

The account given by most of our historians, of the conversa- 
tion between Brace and Wallace over the Carron river, is 
equa..y apocryphal. There is full evidence that Bruce was 
not 3), tbat time on the English ?ide, nor present at the battle 
of Faixirk ; nay, that he acted as a guardian of Scotland, 
along with John Comyn, in the name of Baliol, and in oppo- 
sition to the English. He was the grandson of the competitor, 
with wboin he has been sometimes confoundptl. Lonl Hailes 
lias well described, and in some degree apologized for, the eai^ 
litT i)art of his life. — '* His grandfather, the competitor, had 
patiently acqv-esced in the award of Edward. His father, 



yielding to the times, had served under the English banners. 
But young Bruce had more ambition, and a more restless spirit. 
In his earlier years lie acteil upon no regular plan. By turna 
the parlisan of Edward, and the vicegerent of Baliol, he seems 
to have forgotten or stifled his pretensions to the crown. But 
his character developed itself by degrees, and in maturor age 
became firm and consistent." — Annals of Scotland, p. 290 
4to. London, 1776. 



Note 2 G. 



These are the savage wilds that lie 

J>rorth of Strathnardill and Dunskye.—V. 432. 

The extraordinary piece of scenery which I have here at- 
tempted to describe, is, 1 think, unparalleled in any part of 
Scotland, at least in any which I have hapjiened to visit. It 
lies just upon the iiontier of the Laird of Mac-Leod's country, 
which is thereabouts divided from the estate of Mr. Macalister 
of Strath-Aird, called Strathnardill by the Dean of the Isles. 
The following account of it is extracted from a journal' kept 
during a tour through the Scottish Islands : — 

*' The western coast of Sky is highly romantic, and at the 
same time displays a richness of vegetation in the lower grounds 
to which we have hitherto been strangers. We passed three 
salt-water lochs, or deep embayments, called Loch Bracadale, 

Loch Einort, and Loch , and about eleven o'clock opened 

Loch Slavig. We were now under the western termination 
of the high ridge of mountains called Cuillen, or QuiUin, or 
Coolin, whose weathei^beaten and serrated peaks we had ad- 
mired at a distance from Dunvegan. They sunk here upon 
the sea, but with the same bold and peremptory aspect which 
their distant appearance indicated. They appeared to consist 
of precipitous sheets of naked rock, down which the torrents 
were leaping in a hundred lines of foam. Tlie tops of the 
ridge, apparently inaccessible to human foot, were rent and 
split into the most tremendous pinnacles. Towards the base 
of these bare and precipitous crags, the ground, enriched by 
the soil washed down from them, is comparatively verdant and 
productive. Where we passed within the small isle of Soa, 
we entered Loch Slavig, under the shoulder of one of these 
grisly mountains, and observed that the opposite side of the 
loch was of a milder character, the mountains being softened 
down into steep green declivities. From the bottom of the 
bay advanced a headland of high rocks, which divided its 
depth into two recesses, from each of which a brook issued. 
Here it had been intimated to us we would find some roman- 
tic scenery ; but we were uncertain up which inlet we should 
proceed in search of it. We chose, against our better judg- 
ment, the southerly dip of the bay, where we saw a house 
which might afford us information. We found, upon inquiry, 
that there is a lake adjoining to eacli branch of the bay ; and 
walked a couple of miles to see that near the farm-house, 
merely because the honest Highlander seemed jealous of the 
honor of his own loch, though we were speedily convinced it 
was not that which we were recommended to examine. It 
had no particular merit, excepting from its neighborhood to a 
very high cliff, or precipitous mountain ; otherwise the sheet of 
water had nothing differing from any ordinary low-country 
lake. We returned and re-embarked in our boat, for our guide 
shook his head at our proposal to climb over the peninsula, oi 
rocky headland which divided the two lakes. In rowing round 
the headland, we were surjiriseil at the infinite number of sea- 
fowl, then busy apparently with a shoal offish. 

" Arrived at the depth of the bay, we found that the dis- 
charge from this second lake forms a sort of waterfall, or rather 
a rapid stream, which rushes down to the sea with great fnry 
and precipitation. Round this place were assembled hundreds 
of trouts and salmon, struggling to get up into the fresh water \ 

1 This is from the Poet*8 Own jouinal. — Ed. 



484 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



with a net we might have had twenty salmon at a haul ; and 
a suilor, with no helter liook tiian a crooked pin, caught a dish 
of trouts during our absence. Advancing up this huddhng 
and riotous brook, we found ourselves in a mo^^t extraordinary 
scene; we lost sigJit of the sea almost immediately after we 
had clin'ibed over a low ridge of crags, and were suiTounded by 
mountains of naked rock, of the boldest and most precipitous 
character. Tlie ground on which we walked was the margin 
of a lake, which seemed to have sustained tlie constant ravage 
of torrents from these rude neighbors. The sliores consisted of 
huge strata of naked granite, here and there intermixed with 
bogs, and heaps of gravel and sand piled in tlie empty watei^ 
courses. Vegetation tliere was little or none ; and the moun- 
tains rose so perpendicularly from the water edge, that Bor- 
rowdale, or even Glencoe, is a jest to them. We proceeded a 
mile and a half up this deep, dark, and solitary lake, which 
was about two miles long, half a mile broad, and is, as we 
learned, of extreme depth. The murky vapoi-s which envel- 
oped the mountain ridges, obliged us by assuming a thousand 
varied shapes, changing their drapery into all sorts of forms, 
and sometimes clearing off all together. It is true, the mist made 
us pay the penalty by some heavy and downright showers, 
from the frequency of which a Highland boy, whom we 
brought from the farm, told us the lake was popularly called 
ttie Water-kettle. The proper name is Loch Corriskin, from 
the deep corrie, or hollow, in the mountains of Cuilin, which 
al'fords the basin for this wonderful sheet of water. It is as 
exquisite a savage scene as Loch Katrine is a scene of romantic 
beauiy. After having penetrated so far as distinctly to ob- 
serve the termination of the lake under an immense precipice, 
which rises abrujitly from tlie water, we returned, and often 
stopped to admire the ravages which storms must have made 
in these recesses, where all human witnesses were driven to 
places of more shelter and security. Stones, or rather large 
masses and fragments of rocks of a composite kind, perfectly 
different from the strata of the lake, were scattered ujion tiie 
bare rocky beach, in the strangest and most precarious .situa- 
tions, as if abandoned by the torrents which had borne them 
duwn from above. Pome lay loose and tottering upon the 
ledges of the natural rock, with so little security, tiiat the 
Blightest push moved them, though their weight might exceed 
many tons. These detached rocks, or stones, were chiefly what 
is called plum-pudding stones. The bare rocks, which formed 
the shore of the lakes, were a species of granite. The opposite 
bide of the lake seemed quite pathless and inaccessible, a-s a 
huge mountain, one of the detached ridges of the Cuilin hills, 
sinks in a profound and perpendicular preciiiicc down to the 
water. On the left-hand side, which we traversed, rose a 
Iiigher and equally inaccessible mountain, the top of which 
strongly resembled the shivered crater of an exhausted volcano. 
I never saw a spot in which there was less appearance of vege- 
tation of any kind. The eye rested on nothing but barren and 
naked crags, and the rocks on which we walked by the side of 
the loch, were as bare as the pavements of Cheapside. There 
are one or two small islets in the loch, which seem to bear 
juniper, or some such low bushy shrub. Upon the vvliole, 
though I have seen many scenes of more extensive desolation, 
I never witnessed any in which it pressed more deeply upon 
the e3-e and the heart than at Loch Corriskin ; at the same time 
that its grandeur elevated and redeemed it from the wild and 
dreary character of utter barrenness." 



N"0TE 2 H. 



Jllen were they all of evil mien, 
Down-took^ d, uawiUing to he secn.- 



-P. 434. 



The Btory of Bruce's meeting the banditti is copied, with 
Buch alterations as the fictitious narrative rendereii necessary, 
from a striking incident in the monarch's history, tolii by Bar- 



bour, and which 1 shall give in the words of the hero's blog 
rapher. It is the sequel to tlie adventure of the blootlhound, 
narrated in Note 2 D. It will be remembered that the nana 
live broke off, leaving the Bruce escaped from his pursuers 
but worn out with fatigue, and liaving no other attendant but 
his fijstet^brother. 

" And the gude king held forth his way, 
Betuix him and his man, quhiU thai 
Passyt owt throw the forest war ; 
Syne in the more thai entryt thar. 
It wes bathe hey, and lang, and braid ; 
And or thai halff it passyt had, 
Thai saw on syd thre men cummand, 
Lik to lycht men and vvauerand. 
Swcrdis thai had, and axys als ; 
And ane off thaim, apon his hals,i 
A mekill boundyn wethir bar. 
Thai met the king, and hailst^ him thar: 
And the king thaim thar hailsing yauld ;3 
And askyt thaim »]uelhir thai wauld. 
Thai said, Robert the Rruyss thai soucht ; 
For mete with him gifl'tliat thai moucht, 
Tliar duelling with him wauld thai ma.< 
The king said, ' Gift" that ye will swa, 
Haldys furth your way with me. 
And I shall ger yow sone him se.' 
" Tiiai persawyt, bo his speking, 
That he wes the selwyn Robert king. 
And chaungyt contenance and late ;S 
And held nocht in the fyrst state. 
For thai war fayis to the king ; — 
And thoucht to cum in to sculking, 
And duell with him, quhill tliat tliai saw 
Thar poynt, and bryng him than off daw.*' 
Thai granlyt till his epek fortlii.' 
Bot the king, tliat wes witty, 
Persawyt weill, by thar hawing. 
That thai luffyt him na thing : 
And said, ' Falowis, ye mon, all thre, 
Forthir aqwent till that we be, 
All be your selwyn furtli ga ; 
And, on the samyn wyss, we Iwa 
Sail folow behind Weill uer.' 
Q.uoth thai, ' Scliyr, it is na mystei* 
To trow in ws ony ill.' — 
' Nane do I,' said lie ; ' bot I will, 
That ylie ga fourth thus, quhill we 
Better with othyr knawin be.' — 
' We grant,' thai said, ' sen ye will swa :* 
And furth apon thair gate gan ga. 

" Thus yeid thai till the nycht wes nei. 
And than the formast cummyn wer 
Till a ■waist Iioushand houss ;'■* and thar 
Thai slew the wethir that thai bar : 
And slew fyr for to rost thar mete ; 
And askyt the king giff he wald ete. 
And rest him till the mete war dycht. 
The king, that hungry was, Ik hycht, 
Assentyt till thair spek in liy. 
Bot he said, he wald anerly"" 
At a fyr ; and thai all thre 
On na wyss with thaim till gyddre be. 
In the end off the houss thai suld ma 
Ane othyr fyr ; and tliai did swa. 
Thai drew thaim in the liouss end. 
And halff the wethir till him send. 
And tliai rostyt in liy thair mele ; 

JCcck.— 2 Snlufed.— 3 Returned their B.i.iite.^ Slalii * tf^etuM or 
nmimer. — 6 Kill him. — " Therefore. — S There is no uecii, — 9 FHi.>.>AJdmai:'i 

house, cottago. — 10 Alone. 



APPENDIX TO THE LOUD OF THE ISLES. 



48i 



Ami fell rycht fresclily for till ete. 
For the king weill lang faslyt had ; 
Ami had rycht nickill trawaill mad : 
Tharlbr he eyt full egrely. 
And quheii lie had etyti hastily, 
Ht> had lo filep sa mekill will, 
Th:it lie moucht set iia let that tilL 
For qiihen the wanys' fillyt ar, 
Men worthys^ hewy euirmar ; 
And to slepe drawys hewyneg. 
Tiie king, that all fortrawaillyt^ wes, 
Saw tliat hiiu worthyt slep nedwayis. 
Till Ills fostyr-brorlyr he sayis ; 
•May I traist in the, me to waik, 
Till Ik a little sleping tak V — 
' Ya, Schyr,' he said, ' till I may drey.** 
The king then wynkyt a Htill wey ; 
And slepyt nocht t'lill encrely ; 
Bot glitfnyt wp oft sodanly. 
For he had dreid off thai thre men, 
That at the tothyr fyr war then. 
That thai his t'ais war he wyst ; 
Tharfor he slepyt as fovile on twyat.s 
" The king slepyt bot a Htill than ; 
ftohen sic slep fell on his man. 
That ho mycht nocht hald wp his ey, 
Bot fell in slep, and rowtyt hey. 
Now is the king in gret pprile : 
For slep he swa a litill quhile, 
He sail be ded, for owtyn dreid. 
For the thre traiours tuk gud heid, 
That he on slep wes, and his man. 
In full gret hy thai raiss wp than, 
And dre%v tlie suerdis hastily ; 
And wont towart the king in hy, 
Q,uhen that thai saw him sleip swa, 
And slepand tlioucht thei wald him sla. 
The king wp blenkit hastily. 
And saw his man slepand him hy ; 
Ami saw cummand the tothyr thre. 
Deliuerly on fule gat he ; 
And drew his suerd owt, and thaim mete. 
And, as he yude, his fute he set 
Apon his man, weill hewyly 
He waknyt, and raiss disily : 
for the slep maistryt hym sway, 
That or he gat wp, ane off thai, 
That come for to sla the king, 
Gaiff hym a strak in his rysing, 
Swa that he mycht help him no mar. 
The king sa straitly stad' wes thar, 
That he wes neuir yeyt sa stad. 
Ne war the armyng' that he had. 
He had been dede, for owtyn wer. 
But nocht for thi'' on sic maner 
He helpyt him, in that bargayne,^ 
That thai thre tratowris he has slan, 
Throw Goddis grace, and his manheid. 
His fostyr-brothyr thar was dede. 
Then wes he wondre will of wayn,'" 
Clnhen he saw him left allane. 
His fostyr-hrodyr menyt he ; 
And waryit>i all the tothyr thre. 
Anil syne hys way tuk him allane, 
And rycht towart his trysti2 is gane." 

The Bruce, Book v. p, 405. 



1 BtlliPi. — <; Bocomes. — 2 Fatigued. — 4 Endare. — 5 Bird on bough. - 
a So (Iniifrvrnutly situated. — 1 Had it not been for the ermor he wore.- 
8 N.-vprtheleM.— 9 Fray, or dispute. — 10 Much nfflicted.— 11 Cursed.- 
li The place of rondeavoua appointed for his soldiers. 



Note 2 I. 

.Ind mrrmnid^s alabaster grot, 

li'ho bathes her limbs in sunless well 

JJerp in StrathairiV s enchanted cell. — P. 436. 

Imagination can hardly conceive any thing more beautiful 
than the extraordinary grotto discovered not many years since 
upon the estate of Alexander Mac-Allister, Esq., of Strath- 
aird. It has since been much and deservedly celebrated, and 
a full account of its beauties has been jiuhlLshed by Dr. Mac- 
Leay of Oban. Tlie general impression may perhaps bo 
gathered from tlie following extract from a journal, which, 
written under the feelings of the moment, is likely to be more 
accurate than any attempt to recollect the impressions then 
received. — " The first entrance to this celebrated cave is rude 
and unpromising; hut the light of the torches, with which 
we were provided, was soon reflected from the roof, floor, and 
walls, which seem as if they were sheeted with marble, partly 
smooth, ])artly rough with frost-work and rustic ornaments, 
and partly seeming to be wrought into statuary. The floor 
forms a steep and difficult ascent, and might be fancifully 
compared to a sheet of water, which, while it rushed whiten- 
ing and foaming down a declivity, had been suddenly arrested 
and consolidated by the spell of an enchanter. Upon attain- 
ing the summit of this ascent, the cave opens into a splendid 
gallery, adorned with the most dazzling crystalizations, and 
finally descends with rapidity to the brink of a pool, of the 
most limpid water, about four or five yarJs broad. There 
opens beyond this pool a portal arch, formed by two columns 
of white spar, with beautiful chasing upon the sides, wliicli 
promises a continuation of the cave. One of our sailors swam 
across, for there is no other mode of passing, and informed us 
(as indeed we partly saw by the light he carried) that the en- 
chantment of Maccalister's cave terminates with this portal, 
a little beyond which there was only a rude cavern, speedily 
choked with stones and earth. But the pool, on the brink of 
which we stood, surrounded hy the most fanciful mouldings, 
in a substance resembling white marble, and distinguished 
by the depth and purity of ils waters, might have been the 
bathing grotto of a naiad. Tlie groups of combined figures 
jirojecting, or embossed, by which the pool is surrounded, are 
exquisitely elegant and fanciful. A statuary might catch 
beautiful hints from the singular and romantic disposition of 
those stalactites. There is scarce a form, or group, on wliich 
active fancy may not trace figures oi;t grotesque ornaments, 
which liave been gradually moulded in this cavern by the 
dropping of the calcareous water hardening into petrifactions. 
Many of those fine groups have been injured by the senseless 
rage of ajipropriation of recent tourists ; and the grotto has 
lost (I am informed), through the smoke of torches, some- 
thing of that vivid silver tint which was originally one of its 
chief distinctions. But enough of beauty remains to compen- 
sate for all that may be lost."— Mr. Mac-Allister of Strath- 
aird has, with great propriety, built up the exterior entrance 
to this cave, in order that strangers may enter properly at- 
tended hy a guide, to prevent any repetition of the wanton 
and selfish injury which this singular scene has already sus 
tained. 



Note 2 K. 



Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs. 
Bear witness with me. Heaven, belongs 
My joy o'er Edward's bier, — P. 438. 

Tdc generosity which does justice to the character of nn 
enemy, often marks Brnce's sentiments, as recorded by the 
faitht"ul Barbour. He seldom mentions a fallen enemy with 
oat praising such good qualities as he might possess. I shall 



486 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



only take one instance. Phortly after Bruce landed in Cai^ 
rick, in 1306, Pir Ingram Bell, the English governor of Ayr, 
engaged a wealthy yeoman, who had hitlierto been a follower 
of Bruce, to undertake the task of assassinating him. The 
King learned this treachery, as he is said to have done other 
secrets of the enemy, by means of a female with whom he had 
an intrigue. Shortly after be was pos.sessed of this informa- 
tion, Bruce, resorting to a small thicket at a distance from his 
men, with only a single page to lUtend him, met the traitor, 
accompanied by two of his sons. They approached him with 
their wonted familiarity, but Brucf . taking his page's bow ami 
arrow, commanded them to keep at a distance. As they still 
pressed forward with professions of zeal for bis person and 
service, he, after a second warning, shot the father with tlie 
arrow ; and being assaulted successively by the two son«, dis- 
patched tirst one, who was armed with an axe, then as the 
other charged him with a spear, avoided the thrust, struck the 
head from the spear, and cleft the skull of the assassin with a 
blow of Ijis two-handed sword. 

" He rushed down of blood all red. 

And when the king saw they were dead, 
All three lying, be wiped his brand. 
With that his boy came fast running, 
And said, ' Our lord might lowyt' be, 
That gr;inteJ you might and poweste^ 
To fell the felony and the pride, 
Of tliree in so little tide.' 
The king said, ' So our lord me see, 
They have been worthy men all three, 
Had they not been full of treason : 
But tliat made their confusion.' " 

Barbour's Bruce, B. v. p. 152. 



Note 2 L. 

Slick hate, was Ms on Sohrai/s strmtd, 
fV/zen rrngeancc deneh''d his ■palsied hand. 
That pointed yet to Scotland's land. — P. 439. 

To establish his dominion in Scotland bad been a favorite 
object of Edward's ambition, and nothing could exceed the 
pertinacity with which he pursued it, unless his inveterate 
resentment against the iuiiurgents. who so frequently broke 
the English yoke when he deemed it must llrmly riveted. 
After the battles of Falkirk and Methven, and the dreadful 
examples which he had made of Wallace and other cham- 
pions of national indepen<!ence, be probably concluded every 
chance of insnrrection was completely annihilated. This was 
in 130G. when Bruce, as we have seen, was utterly expelled 
from Scotland : yet, in the conclu-iion of the same year, Bruce 
was again in arms and formidable ; and in 1307, Edward, 
thougli exbaosted by along and wasting malady, put himself 
at the head of the army destined to destroy him utterly. This 
was, perhaps, partly in conseriuence of a vow wliich he had 
taken upon him, with all the pom]> of chivalry, upon the day 
in which he dubbed bis son a knight, for which see a subse- 
quent note. But even bis spirit of vengeance was unable to 
restore his exhausted strength. He reached Burgh-upon-Sands, 
a petty village of Cumberland, on the shores of the Solway 
Firth, and there, 6tb July, 1307, e.\pired in sight of the de- 
tested and devoted country of Scotland. His dying injunc- 
tions to bis son required him to continue the Scottish war, and 
never to recall Gaveston. Edward II, disobeyed both charges. 
Yet, more to mark his animosity, the dying monarch ordered 
his bones to be carried with the invading army. Froissart, who 
probably V^^d the authority of eye-witnes3es, has given us the 
following acooont of this remarkable charge :— 



Landed. 



2 Power. 



" In the said forest, the old King Robert of Scotland dyd 
kepe hymselfe. whan King Edward the Fyrst conquered uygh 
all Scotland ; for he was so often chased, that none durst logs 
him in castell, norfortresse, for feare of the said Kyng. 

" And ever whan the King was returned into Ingland, than 
he would gather together agayn his people, and conquere 
townes, castells, and fortresses, iuste to Berwick, some by bat 
tie, and some by fair speecii and love : and when the said 
King Edward heard thereof, than would he assemble his pow- 
er, and wyn the realme of Scotland again ; thus the chance 
went between these two foresaid Kings. It was shewed me, 
how tliat this King Robert wan and lost his realme v. time---. 
So this continued till tlie.said King Edward died at Berwick : 
and when he saw that he shonlo die, he called before l)iin his 
eldest son, who was King after him, and there, before all the 
barones, he caused him to swear, that as soon as he were dead, 
that he should take his body, and boyle it in a cauldron, till 
the flesh departed clean from the bones, and than to bury the 
flesli, and keep still the bones ; and that as often as the Pcous 
should rehell against him, he should assemble the people 
against them, and carry with him the bones of bis father ; for 
he believed verily, that if they had his bones with them, that 
the Scotts should never attain any victory against them, The 
which thing was not accomplished, for when the King died 
his son carried him to London." — Berners' Froissart's 
Chronicle. London. 1812, pp. 39. 40. 

Edward's commands were not obeyed, for he was interred 
in Westminster Abbey, with the appropriate inscription, — 

" Edwardus Primus Scotordm malleus hic est. 
Pactum Serva." 

Yet some steps seem to have been taken towards rendering 
his body capable of occasional transportation, for it was exqui- 
sitely embalmed, as was ascertained when his tomb was opened 
some years ago. Edward II. judged wisely in not carrying 
the dead body of his father into Scotland, since he would not 
obey bis living counsels. 

It ought to be observed, that though the order of the inci- 
dents is revei-sed in the poem, yet, in point of historical accu- 
racy, Bruce had landed in Scotland, and obtained some suc- 
cesses of consequence, before the death of Edward I. 



Note 2 M. 



-iTfnciV tower, that, steep and jrrat/, 

Like falton^ncst o'er hn Tiff s the bay. — P. 440. 

The little island of Canna, or Cannay, adjoins to those of 
Rum and Muick, with which it forms one parish. In a jirctf y 
bay opening towards the east, there is a lofty and slender rot-k 
detached from the shore. Upon the summit are the ruins of a 
very small tower, scarcely accessible by a steep and jirtciiiiNju.- 
path. Here, it is said, one of the kings, or Lords of the Isit-, 
confined a beautiful lady, of whom he was jealous. The 
ruins are of course haunted by her restless spirit, and many ru- 
mantic stories are told by the aged people of the island cou- 
cenung her fate in life, and I'ler appearances after death. 



Note 2 N. 

^nd Ronin's mountains dark hmic sent 
Their hunters to the shore.— P. 440. 

Ronin (popularly called Rum, a name which a poet m,iy 
be pardoned for avoiding if possible) is a very rough an.' moun- 
tainous island, adjacent to tho^e of Eigg and Cannay. There 
is almost no arable ground upon it, so that, except in the 
plenty of the deer, which of course are now nearly extirfiatcd, 
it stilt deserves the description bestowed by the archdeacon of 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



487 



thelslts. '* Ronin, pixteer my!e north-wnst from the ile of 
Coll. lycs ane ilc callit Renin I'c. of sixteen mjlc long, anil six 
111 bredtliein tin: narroj-est, line fcrfst of Iieigli mountains, and 
abundance of little deir in it, ([uhilk deir will never be slane 
dounewitli. but tfie prinei|ial saittis man be in Uic height of the 
hill, because the deir will be callit upwarl ay be the taincholl, 
or Without tynchell they will pass upwart perforce. In this 
Ile will be gotten about Britane als many wild nests upon the 
plane mure as men pleasis to gadder, and yet by resson the 
fowls lies few to*start them cxeept deir. This ile lyes from the 
west to the eist in lenth, and pertains to M'Kenabrey of Colla. 
Many solan geese are in this ile."— Monro's Description of 
the IVcstcni Isies, p. 18. 



Note 2 0. 



On Scoorcigg next a warning light 
Summoned her warriors to the fight ; 
A numprous race, ere stcrri Macleod 
O^er their bleak shores in vengeance strode. — P. 440. 
These, and the following lines of the stanza, refer to a 
dreadful tale of feudal vengeance, of which unfortunately 
there are relics that still attest the truth. Scoor-Eigg is a high 
peak in the centre of the small Isle of Eigg. or Egg. It is well 
known to mineralogists, as affording many interesting speci- 
mens, and toothers whom chance or curiosity may lead to the 
island, fur the astonishing view of the mairdand and neighbor- 
ing isles which it commands. I shall again avail myself of the 
journal I have quoted. i 

" 2G(A .Itigiist, 1814. — At seven this morning we were in 
(he Sound which divides tlie Isle of Rum from that of Eigg. 
Tlie latter, although hilly and rocky, and traversed by a re- 
markably high and barren ridge, called Pcoor-Rigg, has, in 
point of soil, a much more promising appearance. Southward 
of both lies the Isle of Mnicli, or Muck, a low and fertile 
island, and though the least, yet probably the most valuable 
of the three. We manned the boat, and rowed along the 
shore of Egg in quest of a cavern, which had been the memo- 
rable scene of a horrid feudal vengeance. We had rounded 
more than half the island, admiring the entrance of many a 
bold natural cave, which its rocks exhibited, without finding 
that which we sought, until we procured a guide. Nor, in- 
deed, wa^ it surprising that it should have escaped the search 
of strangers, as there are no outwanl indications more than 
might di-stinguish the entrance of a fox-earth. This noted 
cave has a very narrow opening, through which one can hardly 
creep on his knees and hanila. It rises steep and lofty within, 
and runs into the bowels of the rock to the depth of 255 mea- 
sured feet ; the height at the entrance may be about three feet, 
hut rises within to eighteen or twenty, and the breadth may 
vary in the same proportion. The rude and stony bottom of 
this cave is strewed with the bones of men, women, and chil- 
dren, the sad relics of the ancient inhabitants of the island, 200 
in number, who were slain on the following occasion : — The 
Mac-Donalds of the Isle of Egg. a people dejiendent on Clan- 
Ranald, had done some injury to the Laird of Mac-Leod. The 
tradition of the isle says, that it was by a ])cr-'onal attack on 
the chieftain, in which his back was broken. But that of the 
other isles bears, more probably, that the injury was offered to 
two or three of the Mac-Lcods, who, landing upon Eigg, and 
using some freedom with the young women, were seized by 
the islanders, hound hand and foot, and turned adrift in a boat, 
which the winds and waves safely conducted to Skye. To 
a%'enge the olVence given, Mac-Leoil sailed with such a body 
of men, as rendered resistance hopeless. Tiie natives, fearing 
his vengeance, concealed themselves in this cavern, and, after 
a strict search, the Mac-Leods went on board tlieir gallej's, 
after doing what mischief they couldt concluding the inhabit- 

l See note 2 G, n 4S3, ante. 



ants had left the isle, and betaken themselves to the Long Isl- 
and, or some of Clan-Ranald's other possessions. But next 
morning they espied from the ves-iels a man upon the island, 
and immediately landing again, they traced his retreat by the 
marks of his footsteps, a light snow being unhappily on tlie 
ground. Mac-Lcod then surrounded the cavern, summoned 
the subterranean garrison, and demanded that the individuals 
who had offended him should be delivered up to him. This 
was pcremiitorily refused. The chieftain then caused hia peo- 
ple to divert the course of a rill of water, which, falling over 
the entrance of the cave, would have [irevcnted his purposed 
vengeance. He then kindled at the entrance of the cavern a 
huge fire, composed of turf and fern, and maintained it with 
unrelenting assiduity, until all within were destroyed by suffo- 
cation. The dale of this dreadful deed must have been re- 
cent, if one may judge from the fresh appearance of those rel- 
ics. I brought oft", in spite of the prejudice of onr sailors, a 
skull from among the numerous specimens of mortality which 
the cavern afforded. Before re-embarking we visited another 
cave, opening to the sea, but of a character entirely different, 
being a large open vault, as high as that of a cathedral, and 
running back a great way into the rock at the same height. 
The height and width of the opening gives ample light to the 
whole. Here, after 1745, when the Catholic priests were 
scarcely tolerated, the priest of Eigg used to perforin the Ro- 
man Catholic service, most of the inlanders being of that per- 
suasion, A huge ledge of rocks rising about half-way up 
one side of the vault, served for altar and pulpit ; and the ap- 
pearance of a priest and Highland congregation in such an ex- 
traordinary place of worship, might have engaged tlie pencil of 
Salvator." 



Note 2 P. 



—that iDondrous dome, 



Where, as to shame the temples decked 

By skill of earthly architect, 

J^atitre herself, it sccnVd, would raise 

Ji Minster to her Maker's praise. — P. 441. 

It would bo unpardonable to detain the reader upon a won- 
der so often described, and yet so inca|iable of being nnder- 
stood by description. This palace of Neptune is even grander 
upon a second than the first view. The stupendous culumna 
which form the sides of the cave, the depth and strength of 
the tide which rolls its deep and heavy swell up to the extre- 
mity of the vault — the variety of the tints formed by white, 
crimson, and yellow stalactites, or petrifactions, which occupy 
the vacancies, between the base of the broken pillars which 
form the roof, and intersect them with a rich, curious, and va- 
riegated chasing, occupying each interstice — the corresponding 
variety below water, where the ocean rolls over a dark-red or 
violet-colored rock, from which, as from a base, the basaltic 
columns arise — the tremendous noise of the swelling tide, miii 
gling with the deep-toued echoes of the vault, — are circum- 
stances elsewhere unparalleled. 

Nothing can be more interesting than the varieil appearance 
of the little archipelago of islets, of whicli Staffa is the most 
remarkable. This group, called in Gaelic Tresharnish, affords 
a thousand varied views to the voyager, as they appear in dif- 
ferent positions with reference to his course. The variety of 
their shape contributes much to the beauty of these effects. 



Note 2 Q. 
Scenes sung hy him who sings no more. — P. 441. 
The ballad, entitled " Macphail of Colonsay, and the Mer- 
maid of Corrievrekiii" [^oe Border Minstrelsy, vol. iv. p. 



■188 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



285], was composed by John Leyden, from a tnulition wliich 
he foumf while making a tour throuj,'li tlie Hebrides ubout 
J801, soon before ]iis fatal departure for India, where, after 
having made farther progress in Oriental literature than any 
man of letters who had embraced those studies, he died a 
martyr to his zeal for knowledge, in t!ie island of Java, im- 
mediately after the landing of our forces near Batavia, in Au- 
gust, 1811. 



Note 2 R. 



Up TarhaVs western lalcc they bore, 

Then dragged their bark the isthmus o^cr. — P. 441. 

The peninsula of Cantire is joined to South Knapdale by a 
very narrow isthmus, formed by the western and eastern Loeh 
of Tarbat. These two salt-water lakes, or bays, eneroach so 
far upon the land, and the extremities come so near to each 
other, that there is not above a mile of land to divide them. 

" It is not long," says Pennant, " since vessels of nine or ten 
tons were drawn bv horses out of the west lorh into that of the 
east, to avoid the dangers of the Mull of Cantyre, so dreaded 
and so little known was the navigation round that jiromontory. 
It is the opinion of many, that these little isthmuses, so fre- 
quently styled Tarbat in North Britain, took thc-ir name from 
the above circumstance; Tarruing, signifying to draw, and 
Bata, a boat. This too might be called, by way of pre-emi- 
nence, the Tarbat, from a very singular circumstance related 
by Tor Re us. When Magnus, the barefooted King of Norway, 
obtained from Donald-bane of Scotland the cession of tlie 
Western Isles, or all those places that could be surrounded in 
a boat, he added to them the peninsula of Cantyre by this 
frand : he placed himself in the stern of a boat, lield the rud- 
der, was drawn over this narrow track, and hy this species of 
navigation wrested the country from his brother monarch." — 
Pknnant's Scottavd, J.ovilon, 1790, p. 190. 

But that Bruce also made tliis passa;,'?, altliough at a period 
two or three ye-ars later than in the poem, aj)pefirs from the 
evidence of Barbour, who mentions also the efiect produced 
npoii the minds of the Highlanders, from the prophecies cur- 
rent amongst them : — 

'• Bot to King Robert will we gang, 
That we haffleft wnspokyn of lang. 
Q,ulien he liad eonwoyit to the se 
His brodyr Eduuard, and his menye, 
And olhyr men oft'gret noblay. 
To Tarbart thai held tliair way, 
In galayis ordanyt for thair far. 
Bot thaim worthyt' draw thair schippis thar : 
And a myle wes betui.x the seys ; 
Bot that wes lompnyt- all with treis. 
The King his suhippis thar gert^ draw. 
And for the wynd couth' stoutly blaw 
Apou thair bak, as thai waM ga, 
He gert men rapys and mastis ta, 
And set thaim in the schippis hey, 
And sayllis to the top|)is tey ; 
And gert men gang thar by drawand. 
The wynd thaim helpyt, that was blawand ; 
r^wa that, in a litill space, 
Thair flote all our drawin was. 

*' And quhen thai, that in the His war, 
Hard tell how the gud King had thar 
Gert hys schippis with saillis ga 
Owt our betuix [tiie] Tarbart [is] twa, 
Thai war abaysit^ sa wtrely. 
For thai wyst, throw auld prophecy, 

Were cbliced to.— 2 L:itd with trees.— 3 Caused. — 4 Could. 



That he suld ger° schippis sua 

Betui.x thai seis with saillis ga, 

Suld wyne the His sua till hand, 

That nane with strenth suld him withstand, 

Tharfor they come all to the King. 

Wes nane wilhstud Ids bidding, 

Owtakyn'' Jhone of Lome allayne. 

Bot Weill sone eftre wes he tayne ; 

And present rycht to the King. 

And thai that war of his leding, 

That till the King had hrokyn fay ,8 

War all dede, and destroyit away." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book x. i 



H'OTE 2 S. 



The sun, ert yet he sunk behind 
Ben-Ohoit, " the J\iIountain of the IVind,^' 
Oave his grim peaks a greeting kind, 
And bade Lock Ranza smile. — P. 441. 

Loch Ranza is a beautiful bay, on the northern extremity of 
Arran, opening towards East Tarbat Loch. It is well describL-d 
by Pennant : — " The approach was magnificent ; a fine bay in 
front, about a mile deep, having a ruined castle near the lower 
end, on a low far projecting neck of land, that forms auollier 
harbor, with a narrow passage ; but within has three fathom 
of water, even at the lowest ebb. Beyond is a little jilain wn- 
tered by a stream, and inhabited by the people of a small vil- 
lage. Tiie whole is environed with a theatre of mountains ; 
and in the background the serrated crags of Grianan-Athol so:ir 
above." — Pennant's Tour to the li'cstcrn Isles, p. 191-2. 
Ben-Ghaoil, "the mountain flf the winds," is generally known 
by its Englbh, and less poetical name, of Goatfield. 



Note 2 T. 



Each to Loch Banza's margin spring ; 
That blast icasfwindcd by the King ! — P. 443. 

The passage in Barboor, describing the landing of Bruce, 
and his being recognized by Douglas and tliose of liis followers 
who had preceded him, by the sound of bis horn, is in the 
ori<Tinal singularly simple and affecting. — The king arrived in 
Arran with thirty-three small row-boats. He interrogated a 
female if there had arrived any warlike men of late in that 
country. " Surely, sir," she replied, " I can tell you of many 
who lately came hither, discomfited the English governor, and 
blockaded his castle of Brodick. They maintain themselves in 
a wood at no great distance." The king, truly conceiving that 
this most be Douglas and bis followere, who had lately set forth 
to try their fortune in Arran, desired the woman lO' conci ct 
him to the wood. She obeyed. 

" The king then blew his horn on high, 
And gert Ills men tliat were him by, 
Hold them still, and all privy ; 
And syne again his liorne blew he. 
James of Dowglas heard him blow, 
And at the last alone gan know. 
And said, * Soothly yon is the king ; 
I know long while since his blowing.* 
The tliird time therewithall he blew, 
And then Sir Robert Boid it knew ; 
And said, ' Von is the king, but dread, 
Go we forth till him, better speed.* 
Then weut they till the king in bye, 
And him inclined courteously. 

B Confounded.— C Make.— 1 Exceptiog.— 8 Faith. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



48« 



And blitlily welcomed them the king, 
Anil \v:is joyfnl of their meeting, 
And kissed ihcni ; and spearedi syne 
How ihey had fared in hunting? 
And they him told all, but lesing :i 
Syne laud ihoy God of their meeting. 
Sync with tlie king till his iiarbouiye 
Went both joyfu' and jolly." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book v, pp. 115 



Note 2 U. 



- . kis brother blamed, 

But shared the weakness!, while ashamed, 
li'ith haughty laugh his head he turned, 
And dashed away the tear he scorii'd. — P. 443. 

The kind, and yet fiery character of Edward Bruce, is well 
painted by Barbonr, in the accoant of his behavior after the 
battle of Bannockburn. Sir Walter Ross, one of the very few 
Scottish nohle!^ who fell in that battle, was so dearly beloved 
hy Edward, that he wished the victory had been lost, so Ross 
had lued. 

" Oot-taken him, men has not seen 
Where he for any men made moaning." 

And here the venerable Archdeacon intimates a piece of scan- 
da!, ."ir Edward Bruce, it seems, loved Ross's si.'^ter, par 
amours, to the neglect of his own lady, si&ter to David de 
Slralhhogie, Earl of Atliole. This criminal passion had evil 
consequences ; for, in resentment to the affront done to his 
sister, Athole attacked the guard which Bruce had left at 
Cambuskenneth, during the battle of Bannockburn, to protect 
his magazine of provisions, and slew Sir William Keith, the 
coramaniler. For which treason he was forfeited. 

In like manner, when in a sally from Carrie kfergus, Neil 
Fleming, and the guards whom he commanded, had fallen, 
after the protracted resistance which saved the rest of Edward 
Bruce's army, he made such moan as surprised his followers ; 

" Sic moan he made men had ferly,3 
For he was not customably 
Wont for to moan men any thing, 
Nor would not hear men make moaning." 

Such are the nice traits of character so often lost in general 
history. 



Note 2 V. 



rhou heard^st a wretched female plain 

In agony of travel-pain, 

.liid thou didst bid thy little band 

Upon the instant turn and stand, 

JInd dare the worst the foe might do, 

Rather than, like a knight untrue, 

l^cavc to pursuers merciless 

A woman in her last distress. — P. 445. 

Thi.s incident, which illustrates so happily the chivilrous 
generosity of Bruce's character, is one of the many simple and 
natural trait-s recorded by Barbour. It occurred during the 
expedition which Bruce made to Ireland, to support the pre- 
tensions of lus brother Edward to the throne of that kingdom. 
Bruce was about to retreat, and hie host waa arrayed for 
moving. 

'* The king haa heard a woman cry, 
He asked what that was in hy.* 
' It is the Iayndar,a sir,' sai ane, 



' That her child-illx right now has ta'en : 
And must leave now behind us iiere. 
Therefore she makes an evil cheer.'' 
The king said, ' Cerlcs,-* it were pity 
That she in that point left should be, 
For certes I trow there is no man 
That he no will rue'-" a woman than.* 
His host-s all there aresled he, 
And gcrl'o a tent soon stinted" be, 
And gert her gang in hastily, 
And other women to be her by. 
While she was delivered he bade : 
And syne forth on his ways rade. 
And liow slie forth should carried be, 
Or he forlii fure,'^ ordained be. 
This was a full great courtesy. 
That swilk a king and so mighty, 
Gert his men dwell on this manner, 
But for a poor lavender." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book xvi. pji. 39, 40. 



Note 2 W. 
OVr chasms he passed, where fractures wide 
Craved wary eye and ample stride. — P. 448. 

The interior of the island of Arran abounds with beautiful 
Highland scenery. The hills, being very rocky and pm-ipi- 
loua, afford some cataracts of great height, though of im-on- 
siderable breadth. There is one pass over the river Muclirai, 
renowned for the dilemma of a poor woman, who, being 
tempted by the narrowness of the ravine to step across, suc- 
ceeded in making the first movement, but took fright when it 
became necessary to move the other foot, and remained in 3 
posture equally ludicrous and dangerous, until some chance 
passenger assisted her to extricate herself. It is said she re- 
mained there some hours. 



1 A»Itoil.— » Witliout lying.— 3 Wonder.- 
Cbild-bcd- 

63 



Hfi«t«. — 5 LaundrcM.— 



Note 2 X. 

He crossed his brow beside the stone 
Where Druids erst heard victims groan ; 
Jind at the cairns upon the wild, 
O'er many a heathen hero piled. — P. 448. 

The isle of Arran, like those of Man and Anglesea, abounds 
with many relics of heathen, anil prol)ably Druidical, super- 
stition. There are high erect columns of unhewn stone, the 
most early of all monuments, the circles of rude stones, com- 
monly entitled Druidical, and the cairns, or sepulchral piles, 
within which are usually found urns enclosing ashes. Much 
doubt necessarily rests upon the history of such monuments, 
nor is it possible to consider ihem aa exclusively Celtic oi 
Druidical. By much the finest circles of standing stones, ex- 
cepting Stonehege. are those of Stenhouse, at Stennis, in the 
island of Pomona, the princiiial isle of the Orcades. These, 
of course, are neither Celtic nor Druidical ; and we are assured 
that many circles of the kind occur both in Sweden and Nor- 
way. 



Note 2 Y. 
Old BrodicVs gothic towers were seen ; 
Prom Hastings, late their English Lord, 
Douglas had won them by the sword. — P. 448. 

Brodick or Brathwick Caalle, in the Isle of Arran, is nn an- 
cient fortress, near an open roadstead called Brodick-Bav, 

1 Stop.— 9CcrtainIy.-9 Pi'y.— 10 Cmifr-'d.— 11 Pitched.— 12 Moved. 



490 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



and not far distant from a tolerable liarbor, closed in by the 
Island of Lamla-sh. This important place had been assailed a 
ehoil time before Bruce's arrival in the island, James Lord 
Douglas, who accompanied Bruce to his retreat in Rachrine, 
Beems, in the spring of 1306. to have tired of his abode there, 
and set out accordingly, in the phrase of tiie times, to see what 
adventure God would send him. Sir Robert Boyd accom- 
panied him ; and his knowledge of the localities of Arran 
appears to have directed his course thither. They landed in 
ihe island privately, and appear to have laid an ambush for 
Sir John Hastings, the English governor of Brodvvick, and 
surprised a considerable sapply of arms and provisions, and 
nearly took the castle itself. Indeed, that lliey actually did 
so, has been generally averred by historians, although it does 
not appear from the narrative of Barbour. On the contrary, 
it would seem that they took shelter within a fortification of 
the ancient inhabitants, a rampart called Tor an Srhinn. 
When they were joined by Bruce, it seems probable that they 
had gained Brodick Castle. At least tradition says, that from 
the battlements of the tower he saw the supposed signal-fire 
on Turnberry-nook. . . . The castle is now much modernized, 
but has a dignified appearance, being surrounded by flourish- 
ing plantations. 



Note 2 Z. 



Oft, too, icilh unaccustomed ears, 

A language viuck unmeet he hcars.—V. 448. 

Barbonr, with great simplicity, gives an anecdote, from 
which it would seem that the vice of profane swearing, after- 
wards too general among the Scottish nation, was, at this 
time, confined to military men. As Douglas, after Bruce's 
return to Scotland, was roving about the mountainous coun- 
try of Tweeddale, near the water of Line, he chanced to hear 
some persons in a farm-house say "(Ar devil." Concluding, 
from this hardy expression, that tlie house contained warlike 
guests, he immediately assailed it, and had tho good fortune 
to make prisoners Thomas Raudoljih, afterwards the famous 
Ear! of Murray, and Alexander Stuart, Lord Bonkle. Both 
were then in the EiigHsh interest, and had come into that 
country with the purpose of driving out Douglas. They aftei^ 
wards ranked among Bruce's most zealous adherents. 



Note 3 A. 

For. see! the ruddy signal made. 
That Clifford, with his merry-men all. 
Guards carelessly our father^ s hall. — P. 449. 

The remarkable circnmstances by which Bruce was induced 
to enter Scotland, under the false idea that a signal-fire was 
li-jhtcd upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry 
— the disappointment which he met with, and the train of 
Biv'cess which arose out of that very disappointment, are too 
purious to be passed over unnoticed. The tbllowing is the 
nan-ative of Barbour. The introduction is a favorable speci- 
men of his style, which seems to be in some degree the model 
for that of Gawain Douglas : — 

" This wes in Ter' quhen wynter tid, 
With his blastis hidwyss to bid, 
Was our drywyn : and byrdis smale, 
As turturis and the nyclityngale, 
Begouth2 rycht sarielyi to syng ; 
And for to mak in thair singyng 
Swete notis, and sownys ser,* 

1 S*vriDff.-2 Began.— 3 Lciftily. — 4 Severftl.— 5 Miikc.— 6 Buds.— 7 Cov- 

erinfr 



And melodys plesand to her. 
And the treJs hegouth to ma^ 
Burgeans,o and brycht blomys alsna, 
To wyn the helyng? offthaJr hewid. 
That wykkyt wyntir Imd thaim rewid.8 
And all gressys beguth to spryng. 
In to that tyme the nobill king, 
With his flote, and a few menye,' 
Thre hundyr I trow thai mycht be, 
Is to the se. owte oft' Arane 
A litill forouth,'" ewyn gane. 

"Thai rowit fast, with all thair mycht. 
Till that apon thaim fell the nycht. 
That woux myrki* ajion gret maner, 
Swa that thai wyst noclil quhar thai wer. 
For thai na netlill had, na stane ; 
Bot rowit alwayis in till ane, 
Sterand all tyme apon tlie fyr. 
That thai saw brynnand lycht and schyr.'* 
It wes bot auentur'3 thaim led : 
And they in schorl tyme sa thaim sped, 
That at the fyr arywyt thai ; 
And went to land bot mar delay. 
And Cuthbert, that has sene the fyr, 
Was full offangyr, and off ire: 
For he durst nocht do it away ; 
And wes alsua dowtand ay 
That his lord snld pass to se. 
Tharfor tliair cummyn waytit he ; 
And met them at thair arywing. 
He wes wele sone broucht to the King, 
That speryt at him how he had done. 
And he with sar liarl tauld him sone, 
How that he fand nane wcill lulland ; 
Bot all war fayis, that he fand ; 
And that the lord the Persy, 
With ner thre hundre in cumpany, 
Was in the castell thar besid, 
Fullfillyt otTdispyt and prid. 
Bot ma than twa partis off his rowt 
War herberyt in the tonne without ; 

* And dyspytyt yow mar, Schir King, 
Than men may dispyt ony thing.' 
Than said the King, in full gret ire ; 

* Tratour, quliy maid thow than the fyr ?'- 
' A ! Schyr.' said lie, ' sa God me se I 
The fyr wes newyr maid for me. 

Na, or the nycht, I wyst it nocht ; 
Bot fra I wyst it, weill I thocht 
That ye, and haly your nienye. 
In hy''' suld put yow to the se. 
For ihi I cum to mete yow her, 
To tell perellys that may aper.' 

" The King wes offhis .spek angry. 
And askyt his prywK men, in hy, 
Quliat at thaim thoucht wes best to do. 
Schyr Edward fryst answert thar to, 
Hys brodyr that wes s\^ a hardy, 
And said : ' I saw yow jekyrly 
Thar sail na perell. that may be, 
Dryve me eflsoiiy';'^ to the se. 
Myne aueiitur her tak will I, 
Uuhethir it he esfull or angry. '- 
' Brothyr.' he said ' sen tliou will sua, 
It is gude that we samyn ta 
Dissese or ese, or payne or play, 
Eftyr as God will ws purway."* 



9 Bercavt-d.— 9 l\fen.— 10 ».'ri>r".— 11 Dark. 
-14 Him---.— 15 Soon afUr.— 16 Proimre. 



-12 Clear.— ;3 Ad-nrntart 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



491 



And sen men sayis tliat the Persy 

Myn lieretage will occupy ; 

Ami his ineiiye sa ner ws lyis, 

That ws (li'ipytis mony wyss ; 

Gtt we and wengci sum off the dispyte 

And thut may we haifFdone alss tile ;a 

For thai ly traistly,=' but dreding 

Oft'ws. or off our her commyiig. 

And thoiH-ht we slepaud slew thaim all, 

RepruiTtharofna man sal!. 

For WPrrayour na forss said ma, 

(iuhelhir he mycht oureom his fa 

Throw strenth, or tiirow sutelti- ; 

Bot that gud faith ay haldyn lie.' " 

Barboi r's Bruce, Book n*. v. 



jS"ote 3 B. 



JVou) ask you whence that wondrous lig'ht. 
Whose fairy glow heg^uiled their sight ? 
/( ne'er was known. — P. 451. 

The lollowing are the woMs of an ingenious corre<;pondont, 
lo whoir. I am obliged for much informalion respecting Turn- 
berry and its neisliborhooii. '* The only tradition now re- 
membered of the landing of Robert the Bruce in Carrick, re- 
lates to the fire seen by him from the Isle of Arran. It is still 
generally reported, and religiously believed hy many, that 
tiiis fire was really the work of supernatnral power, unassisted 
by the hand of any mortal being ; and it is said, that, for sev- 
eral centuries, the flame rose yearly on the same honr of the 
same night of the year, on which the king first saw it from the 
turrets of Brodick Castle ; and some go so far as to say, that 
if the exact time were known, it would be still seen. That 
this saperstitious notion is very ancient, is evident from the 
place where the fire is said to have appeareil, being called the 
Bogles' Brae, beyond the remembrance of man. In support 
of this curious belief, it is said that the practice of burning 
heath for the improvement of land was then unknown; ti:at 
a spunkie (Jack o'lanthorn) could not have been seen across 
tiie breadth of the Forth of Clyde, between Ayrshire and 
Arran ; and that the courier of Bruce was his kinsman, and 
never suspected of treachery." — Letter from Mr. Joseph Train. 
ofNewton Stuart, author of an ingenious Collection of Poems, 
illustrative of many ancient Traditions in Galloway and Ayr- 
shire. Edinburgh, 1814. [Mr. Train made a journey into Ayr- 
shire at Sir Walter Scott's request, on purpose to collect 
accurate information for the Notes to this poem ; and the 
reader will find more of the fruits of his labors in Note 3 D. 
This is the same gentleman whose friendly assistance is so 
often acknowledged in tlie Notes and Introductions of the 
Waverley Novels.] 



Note 3 C. 



Thry gained the Chnse, a wide domain 
Leftfo'- the CastWs silvan reign. — P. 451. 

The Castle of Turnberry, on the coast of Ayrshire, was the 
property of Robert Bruce, in right of his mother. Lord Hailea 
mentions the following remarkable circumstance concerning 
the mode in which he became proprietor of it: — "Martha, 
Countess of Carrick in her own right, the wife of Robert 
Bruce. Lord of Annandale, bare him a son, afterwards Robert 
I. (llih July, 1274). The circumstances of her marriage wepe 
idngular: happening to meet Robert Bruce in her domains, 
ahe became enamored of him, and with some violence led him 

1 Avenge. — *! Quickly. — 3 Confidently. 
Sir W»lter Scott has misread Mr. Tniiii'a MS., which gave not 



to her castle of Turnberry. A few days after she married him, 
without the knowledge of the relations of eitlier partv. an<i 
without the requisite consent of the king. The king instantly 
seized her ca*itle and whole estates: She afterwards atoned 
by a fine far her feudal delinquency. Little did AU^xander 
foresee, tliat, from thi^ union, tlie restorer of the t^cotti^h 
monarchy was to arise." — JJn/ials of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 180. 
The same obliging correspondent, whom I liave quoted in the 
preceding note, gives me the following account of the present 
state of the ruins of Turnberry : — " Turnberry Point is a rock 
projecting into the sea ; the top of it is about eighteen feel 
above high-water mark. Upon this rock was built the caslle. 
There is about twenty-five feet high of the wall next to tl*» 
sea yet standing. Upon the land side the wall is only about 
four feet high ; the length has been sixty feet, and the breadth 
forty-five: It was surrounded by a ditch, but that is now near- 
ly filled up. The top of the ruin, rising between forty and 
fifty feet above the water, has a majestic apjicarauce from the 
sea. There is not much local tradition in the vicinity con 
nected with Bruce or his history. In front, however, of the 
rock, upon which stands Culzean Castle, is the mouth of a 
romantic cavern, called the Cove of Colean, in which it is 
said Bruce and his followers concealed themselves immediately 
after landing, till they arranged matters for their farther en- 
terprises. Burns mentions it in the poem of Hallowe'en. The 
only place to the south of Turnberry worth mentioning, with 
reference to Bruce's history, is the Weary Nuik, a little ro- 
mantic green hill, where he and his parly are said to have 
rented, after assaulting the castle." 

Around the C.Tstle of Turnberry was a level plain of about 
two miles in extent, forming the castle park. There could be 
notliing. I am informed, more beautiful than the copsewood 
and verdure of this extensive meadow, before it was invaded 
by the ploughshare. 



Note 3 D. 
The Bruce hath won his father'' s hall! — P. 455. 

I have followed the flattering and pleasing tradition, that the 
Bruce, after his descent upon the coast of Ayrshire, actually 
gained possession of his maternal castle. But the tradition is 
not accurate. The fact is, that he was only strong enough to 
alarm and drive in the outposts of the English garrison, then 
commaniled, not by Clifford, as assamed in the text, but by 
Ptrcv. Neither was Clifibrd slain upon tliis occasion, thougli 
he had several skirmishes witii Bruce. He fell afterwards in 
the battle of Bannockburn. Bruce, after alarming the castle 
of Turnberry, and surprising some part of the garrison, who 
were quartered without the walls of the fortress, retreated into 
the mountainous part of Carrick, and there made himself so 
strong, that the English were obliged to evacuate Turnberry, 
and at length the Castle of Ayr. Many of his benefactions and 
royal gifts attest his attachment to the hereditary followers of 
his house, in this part of the country. 

It is generally known that Brnce, in consequence of his di^ 
trusses after the battle of Methven, was affected by a scorbutic 
disorder, which was then called a leprosy. It is said he expe- 
rienced benefit from the use of a medicinal sjiring, about a 
mile north of the town of Ayr, called from that circumstance 
King's Ease.' The following is the tradition of the country, 
collected by Mr. Train : — " After Robert ascended the throne, 
he founded the priory of Dominican monks, every one of whom 
was under the obligation of putting up to Heaven a prayer 
once every week-day, and twice in holydays, for the recovery 
of the king ; and, after his death, these masses were continueil 
for the saving of his soul. The ruins of this old monastery an 
now nearly level with the ground. Robert likewise caused 

Kinff^s Etue, but King^a C'lf, {, c. Cfisa Regia, the name of tlio rovaJ 
foiiDilntion described below. Mr. TrotD's kindoes; cnnbleB t^e Editoi lo 
makfl this correction.— 1833. 



492 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



houses to be buitt roiiml tbe well of King's Case, for eight 
lepers, and alloweil L-igiii bolls of oatmeal, and X23 Scotch 
money, per ;innum, to each person. These donations were laid 
upon the lands of Fullarton, and are now payable by the Duke 
of Portlanil. The farm of Shiels, in the neighborhood of Ayr, 
has to give, if required, a certain quantity of straw for the 
lepe-^' beds, and so much to thatch tiicir houses annually. 
Eaci. leprous person had a drinking-horn provided Iiim by tlie 
king, which continued to be liereditary in tlic house to which 
it was first granted. One of those identical horns, of very 
curious workmanship, was io the possession of the late Colonel 
Fullarton of that Ilk." 

My correspondent proceeds to mention some curious rem- 
nants of antiquity i^spectin;,' tliis foundation. "In compli- 
ment to Sir V^'ilI!am VVallace, the great deliverer of his coun- 
try. King Robert Rruce invested the descendants of that hero 
witli the riglit of placing all tlie lepers upon the establishment 
of King's Case. Tiiis patronage continued in the family of 
Craigie, till it was sold along willi the lands of the late Sir 
'"homas Wallace. The B urgli of Ayr then purcliased the right 
jf applying the donations of King's Case to the support of the 
pooMiouse of Ayr. The lepers' charter-stone was a basaltic 
block, exactly the shape of a slieep's kidney, and weighing 
an Ayrshire boll of meal. Tiie surface of this stone being 
as smooUi as glass, there was not any other way of lifting it 
than by turning the hollow to tlie ground, there extending the 
arms along each side of the stone, and clasping the hands in 
the cavity. Young lads were always considered as deserving 
to be ranked among men, when they could lift the blue stone 
of King's Case. It always lay beside the well, till a few years 
ago, when some English dragoons encamped at that place 
wantonly broke it, since which the fragments have been kept 
by the freemen of Prestwick in a place of security. There is 
one of these charter-stones at the village of Old Daily, in 
Carrick, which has become more celebrated by the following 
event, which hapi)ened only a few year^ ago : — The village 
of New Daily being now larger than the old place of the same 
name, the inhabitants insisted that the charter-stone should be 
removed from the old town to the new, but the people of Old 
Daily were unwilling to part with their ancient right. De- 
mands and remonstrances were made on each side without 
eliect, till at last man, woman, and child, of both villages, 
marched out and by one desperate engagement put an end to a 
war, the commencement of which no j)erson then living re- 
membered. Justice and victory, in this instance, being of the 
same party, the villagers of the old town of Daily now enjoy 
the pleasure of keeping the blue-stane unmolested. Ideal 
privileges are often attached to some of these stones. In Gir- 
van, if a man can set his back ngainst one of the above de- 
scription, he is supposed not liable to be arrested for debt, nor 
can cattle, it is imagined, be poinded as long as they are fas- 
tened to the same stone. That stones were often used as sym- 
liols to denote the right of possessing land, before the use of 
written document-* became general in Scotland, is, I think, 
exceedingly probable. The charter-stone of Inverness is still 
kept with great care, set in a frame, and hooped with iron, at 
the market-place of that town. It is called by the inhabitants 
of that district Clack na Couddin. I think it is very likely 
that Carey has mentioned this stone in his poem of Craig Pha- 
derick. This is only a conjecture, as I have never seen that 
work. While the famous marble chair was allowed to remain 
at ?coon, it was considered as the charter^tone of the kingdom 
of Scotland." 



Note 3 E. 

" Bring here," he said, " the mazers four, 
JUij noble fathers loved of yore."— P. 455. 

These mazers were large drioking-caps, or goblets. Mention 
•t'tbem occurs tn a curious inventory of tbe treasoro and jew- 



els of King James III., which will be published, with oilier 
curious documents of antiquity, by my friend, Mr. Thomas 
Thomson, D. Register of Scotland, under the title of " A Col- 
lection of Inventories, and other Records of the Royal Ward- 
robe, Jewel-House," &c. I copy the passage in whicii mention 
is made of tlie mazers, and also of a habiliment, called " King 
Robert Brace's serk,'* i.e. shirt, meaning, perhaps, his shirt 
of mail; although no other arms are mentioned in the inven- 
tory. It might have been a relic of more sanctified description, 
a penance shirt perhaps. 

Extract from " lavcntarc of anc Pnrt'j of the Gold and 
Silver conycit and unconycit, Jowc'.iis, and uthcr Stiijf 
pcrteining to Ur.nju.kile oure Soveiane Lords Fader, that 
he had in Depois the Tyme of his Utcc^is, and that 
come to the Handis of oure Soverane L.ord that now is, 
M.CCCC.LXXXVlll." 

"Memorandum fundin in a bandit kist like a gardeviant,i 
in the fyrst the grete chenye" of gold, couteuaod sevio score 
sex linkis. 

Item, thre plalis of silver. 

//rm, tnelf salfatis.3 

Itcvi, fyftene discheis^ ouregilt. 

Item, a grete gilt plate. 

Item, twa grete bassingis^ ouregilt. 

Item, FOUR Masaris, called KiNo Robert the Brocib, 

with a cover. 
Itevi, a grete cok maid of silver. 

Item, the hede of silver of ane of the coverJs of masar. 
Item, a fare dialle.^ 
Hem, twa kasis of knyffis.'' 
Item, a pare of auld kniffis. 
Item, takin be the smyth that opinnit the lokkis, in gold fourty 

demy is. 
Item, in Inglys grotis" xxiiii. H. and the said silver 

given again to the takaris of hym. 
Item, ressavit in the clossat of Davidis tour, ane haly watei^fat 

of silver, twa boxis, a cageat tume, a glus with rois-water 

a dosoune of torchis, King Robert Brucis Serk." 

The real use of the antiquarian's studies is to bring the 
minute information which he collects to bear upon points of 
history. For examjile, in the inventory I have just quoted, 
there is given the contents of the hiack kist, or chest, belong- 
ing to James III., which was his strong box, and contained a 
quantity of treasure, in money and jewels, surpassing what 
might have been at the period expected of "poor Scotland's 
gear." This illustrates and authenticates a striking passage 
in the history of the house of Douglas, by Hume of God:*crolt. 
The last Earl of Douglas (of the elder branch) had been re- 
duced to monastic seclusion in ihe Abbey of Lindores, by James 
II. James III., in his distresses, would willingly have recalled 
him to public life, and made him his lieutenant. " But he," 
says Godscroft, '* laden with years and old age, and weary of 
troubles, refused, sayings Sir, you have keept mee, and your 
black coffir in Sterling, too long, neither of us can doe you 
any good ; I, because my friends have forsaken me, and my 
followers and dependers are fallen from me, betaking them- 
selves to other masters ; and your black trunk is too farre from 
you, and your enemies are between you and it: or (as others 
say) because there was in it a sort of black coyne, that the 
king had caused to be coyned by the advice of liis courtiers; 
which moneyes (saith he) sir, if you had put out dX the lirst, 
the people would have taken it; and if you had em)iloyed 
mee in due time, I might have done you service. But now 
there is none tiiat will take notice of me, nor meddle with 



1 Gard-vin, or wine-coolor. — 3 Chain. — 3 ijalt-cellare, anciently ttie object 
of much curioue workDianship, — I Difibee. — 5 BoBtna. — 6 Diol.— T Ciisus of 
knivei. — ^ English groal*. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



493 



vour money." — Hume's History of the House of Douglas, 
fot. Ellin. ib44, p. 206. 



Note 3 F. 



Arouse old friends, and gather ncic. — P. 455. 

As soon as it was known in Kylt*. says ancient tradition, 
tiiat Robert Brace hail laruleil in Carrick, witli the intention 
of recovering the crown of Scotland, tiie Laird of Craigie, and 
Ibrty-oight men in his immediate neighborhood, declared in 
favor of tlieir legitimate prince. Bruce granted them a tract 
of land, still retained by the freemen of Newton to this day. 
The original charter was lost when the [lestilerice was raging 
at Ayr ; but il was renewed by one of the .lameses, and is dated 
at Faulkland. The freemen of Newton were formerly officers 
by rotation. The Provost of Ayr at one lime was a freeman 
of Newton, and it happened to be his turn, while provost in 
Ayr, to be officer in Newton, botli of which offices he dis- 
chai^ed at the same time. 

The forest of Selkirk, or Ettrick, at this period, occopied all 
the district which retains that denomination, and embraced 
the neighboring dales of Tweeddale, and at least the Upper 
Ward of Clydesdale. All that tract was probably as waste as 
it is rooutitainons, and covered with the remains of the ancient 
Caledonian Forest, which is supposed to liave stretched from 
Clieviot Hills as far as Hamilton, and to have comprehended 
even a p:irt of Vyrshire. At the latal battle of Falkirk, Sir 
John Stewart of Bonkill, brotlier to the Steward of Scotland, 
commanded the archers of Selkirk Forest, who fell around 
the dead body of their leader. The English Iiistorians have 
commemorated the tall and st-ately persons, as well as the 
unswerving faith, of these foresters. Nor has their interesting 
fall escaped the notice of an elegant modern poetess, whose 
subject led her to treat of that calamitous engagement. 

" The glance of the mom had sparkled bright 
On their plumage green and tlieir actons light ; 
The bugle was strung at each hunter'e side, 
As they had been bound to the chase to ride ; 
But the bugle is mnte, and the shafts are spent, 
The arm nnnerved and the bow nnbent, 
And the tired forester is laid 
Far, far from the clustering greenwood shade ! 
Sore have they toil'd — they are fallen asleep. 
And their slumber is heavy, and dull, and deep! 
When over their bones the grass shall wave. 
When the wild winds over their tombs shall rave, 
Memory shall lean on their graves, and tell 
How Selkirk's hunters bold around old Stewart fell !" 

Wallace, or the Fight of Falkirk [by Miss 
Holford], Lond. 4to. 1809, pp. 170-1. 



obliged to be supported on either side. He was victorious, und 
it is said that the agitation of his spirits restored his health. 



Note 3 G. 



fVhen Bruce* s banner had victorious flowed, 

O^er Loudoun's mountain, arid in Unj's vale. — P. 456. 

The first important advantage gained by Bruce after land- 
ing at Turnbtrry, was over Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pem- 
broke, the same by wliom he bad been defeated near Metli- 
ven. They met, as has been said, by appointment, at Lou- 
donhill, in the west of Scotland. Pembroke sustained a 
defeat; and from that time Bruce was at the head of a con- 
Blderable flying army. Yet he was subsequently obliged to 
retreat into Aberdeenshire, antl was there as^?ailed by Coniyn, 
Earl of Bochan, desirous to avenge the death of his relative, 
vhe Red Comyn, and supported by a body of English troops 
under Philip de Moubray. Bruce was ill at the time of a scrof- 
Tjlous disorder, but took horse to meet his enemies, altliough 



Note 3 H. 

f^hcn English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale. — P. 450. 

The " good I^onl James of Douglas," during these conim^ 
lions, often took from the English his own castle of Dougbf, 
but being unable to garrison it, contented himself with destroy- 
ing the fortifications, anil retiring into the mountains. As a 
reward to his patriotism, it is said to have been jirophosiod, 
that how often soever Douglas Castle should be destroyi^d, it 
should always again rise more magnificent from iis niins. 
Upon one of these occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing 
all the store of provisions, which the English Imd laid Uj) in 
his castle to be heaped together, bursting the wine and beer 
casks among the wheal and flour, slaughtering the calllo upon 
the same spot, and upon the top of the whole cutting the ihruals 
of the English prisoners. This pleasantry of the '* gool Lonl 
James'* is commemoraled under the name of tlic Dotig'ns's 
Larder. A more pleasing tale of chivalry is recorded by God^ 
croft. — " By this means, and such other exploits, he so aflright- 
ed the enemy, that it was counted a matter of great jeopardie 
to keep this castle, which began to be called the adventin-ouf' 
(or hazardous) Castle of Douglas ; whereupon Sir John Wal- 
ton being in suit of an English lady, she wrote to him, thut 
when he had kept the adventurous Castle of Douglas seven 
yeais, then he might think himself worthy to be a suitor to her. 
Upon this occasion Walton took upon him the keeping of it, 
and succeeded toThruswall, but he ran the same fortune with 
the rest that were before him. For Sir James, having first 
dressed an ambuscado near unto the place, he made fourteen 
of his men take so many sacks, and fill them with grass, as 
though it had been corn, which they carried in the way to 
Lanark, the chief market town in that county : so hoping to 
draw forth the captain by that bait, and either to take iiim or 
the castle, or both. Neither was this exjicctalion frustrated, 
for the captain did bite, and came forth to have taken this vic- 
tual (as he supjwsed). But ere he could reach these carriers, 
Sir James, with his company, had gotten between the cattle 
and him ; and these disguised carriers, seeing the captain fol 
lowing after them, did quickly cast off" their sacks, mounted 
themselves on horseback, and met Ihe captain with a sharp 
encounter, being so much the more amazed, as it was uu- 
looked for : wlierefore, when he saw these carriers metamor- 
phosed into warriors, and ready to assault him, fearing that 
which was, that there was some train laid for lliem, he turned 
about to have retired to his castle, but there he also met with 
his enemies ; between which two companies he and his wliole 
followers were slain, so that none escaped ; the captain after- 
wards being searched, they found (as is reported) his mis- 
tress's letter about him.*' — Hume's History of the House of 
Douglas, fol. pp. 29, 30.» 



Note 3 X. 

And fiery Edward routed stout St. John. — P. 4.^6. 

" John de St. John, with 15,000 horsemen, iiad advanced 
to oppose the inroad of the Scots. By a funded marcii he en- 
deavored to surprise them, but intelligence of his molions wxi 
timeously received. The courage of Edward Bruce, ap|)roach- 
ing to temerity, freciuiMitly enabled him to achieve what men 
of more Judicious valor would never have attempted. He or- 
dered the infantry, and the meaner sort of liis army, to inlreneh 
themselves in strong narrow ground. He himself, %vith fifty 
horsemen well harnessed, issued forth under cover of a thick 

1 This is the foiuidsuoii of the Author's lost romoiico, Caslk Datge* 
ow.— Ed. 



494 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



mist, surjirised llie Englisli on tlieir march, attacked and dis- 
pei-sed iheiiL " — Dalrvmple's Annals 0/ -Scof/anrf, quarto, 
Edinburgh, 1779, p. 25. 



Note 3 K. 



lihrr Randolph'' s war-cry swcIVd the southern gale. — P. 456. 

TJiomas Randolph, Bruce's sister's son, a renowned Scottish 
chief, was in the early part of his life not morereiniirkuble for 
KOiif.isttucy than Bruce himself. He espoused his uncle's 
parly when Bruce fii^st assumed the crown, and w;is made 
prisoner at the fata, hattle of Methven, in which Iiis relative's 
hopes appeared to he ruined. Randolph accordingly not only 
suliniitled to the English, but took an active part against 
Bruce ; appeared in arms against him ; and, in tlie skirmish 
where lie was so closely pursued by the hlootlhound, it is said 
his nepliew took his standard with his own hand. But Ran- 
dolph was afterwards made prisoner by Douglas in Tweeddale, 
anri brought before King Robert. Some harsli language was 
exchanged between the uncle and nephew, and the hitter was 
committed fora time to close custody. Afterwards, however, 
they were reconciled, and Randolph was cr&ated E;iil of iMo- 
ray about 1312. After this period he eminently distinguished 
himself, first by the surprise of Edinburgh Castle, and aftei^ 
wards by many similar enterprises, conducted witii equal 
courage and ability. 



Note 3 L. 



-Stir Hi 



t towers. 
Beleaguered by King Robert's powern ; 

And they took term of truce. — P. 456. 

When a long train of success, actively improved by Robert 
Bruce, had made him master of almost all Scotland, Stirling 
Castle continued to hold out. The care of the blockade was 
committed by the king to his brother Edward, who concluded 
a treaty with Sir Philip Mowbray, the govcnior. that he should 
surrender tlie fortress, if it were not succored by the King of 
England before St. John the Baptist's day. The King se- 
verely blamed his brother for the imjiolicy of a treaty, which 
gave time to the King of England to advance to the relief of 
the castle with all his assembled forces, and obliged himself 
either to meet them in battle with an inferior force, or to re- 
treat with dishonor. " I^et all England come," answered 
the reckless Edward ; " we will fight them were they more." 
The consequence was, of course, that each kingdom mustered 
its strength for the expected battle ; and as the space agreed 
upon reached Irom Lent to Midsummer, full time was allowed 
for tliat purpose. 



Note 3 M. 

To summon prince and peer, 
^t Berwick-bounds to meet their Li-ege. — P. 456. 

There is printed in Rymer's Fffidera the summons issued 
up(ni this occasion to the sheriff of York ; and he mentions 
eighteen other persons to whom similar ordinances were issued. 
Tt seems to respect the infantry alone, for it is entitled, De 
pcditihus ad recussum, Caslri de Stryvelin a Scoiis obsessi, 
properare faciendis. This circumstance is also clear from the 
reasoning of the writ, which states: "We have understood 
that our Scottish enemies and rebels are endeavoring to collect 
as strong a force as possible of infantry, in strong and marshy 
grounds, where the approach of cavalry would be difficult, 
between us and the castle of Stirling." It then sets forth 
Mowbrav's agreement to surrender the castle, if not relieved 



before St. John the Baptist's day, and the king's determiua- 
lion, with divine grace, to raise the siege. " Therefore,"' the 
summons further bears, " to remove oursaid enemies and reb- 
els from such places as above mentioned, it is necessary for 
us to have a strong force of infantry fit for arras." And ac- 
cordingly the shentt" of York is commanded to equip and 
send forth a body of four tliousand infantry, to be assembled 
at VVerk, Ujion the tenth day of June first, onder pain of the 
royal displeasure, &c. 



Note 3 N. 



And Cambria, but of late subdued. 

Sent forth her viountain-muliitude. — P. 456. 

Edward the First, with the usual policy of a conqueror, 
employed the Welsh, whom he had subdued, to assist him iu 
his Scottish wars, for which their habits, as mountaineers, 
particularly fitted them. But this policy was not without its 
risks. Previous to the battle of Falkirk, the Welsh quarrelletl 
with the English men-at-arms, and after bloodshed on both 
parts, separated themselves from his ariuy, and the feud be- 
tween tiiem, at so dangerous and critical a juncture, was rec- 
onciled with difficulty. Edward II. followed his father's ex- 
ample in tliis particular, and with no belter success. Tliey 
could not be brought to exert themselves in tiie cause of their 
conquerors. But they had an indifferent reward for their for^ 
bearance. Without arms, and clad only in scanty dresses of 
linen cloth, they appeared naked in the eyes even of the Scot- 
tish peasantry ; and after the root of Bannockburn, were 
massacred by tliem in great numbers, as they retired in con- 
fusion towards tlieir own country, Tliey were under com- 
mand of Sir Maurice de Berkeley. 



Note 3 0. 



And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 
Dark Etji O'Connor sway'd.—F. 456. 

There is in the Fffidera an invitation to Eih O'Connor, chief 
of the Irish ofConnaught, setting forth that the king was 
about to move against his Scottish rebels, and therefore re- 
questing the attendance of all the force he could muster, either 
commanded by himself in person, or by some nobleman of his 
race. Tliese auxiliaries were to be commanded by Richard 
de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. Similar mandates were issued tc 
the following Irish chiefs, whose names may astonish the un- 
learned, and amuse the antiquary. 

" Etii O Donnnld, Duci Hihernicorum de Tyconil ; 
Demod O Kalian, Duci Hihernicorum de Fernetrew ; 
Doneval O Neel. Duci Hihernicorum de Tryowyn ; 
Xeel Macbreen, Duci Hihernicorum de Kynallewan; 
Eth Offyn, Duci Hihernicorum de Turtery ; 
Adraely Mac Anegus, Duci Hihernicorum de Onehagh ; 
Neel O Hanlau, Duci Hihernicorum de Erthere ; 
Bieu Mac Mahun, Duci Hibernicorum de Uriel ; 
Lauercagh Mac Wyr, Duci Hibernicorum de Lougherin , 
Gillys O Ra'i/.y, Duci Hibernicoium de Bresfeny ; 
Geffrey O Fergy, Duci Hibernicorum de Montiragwil ; 
Felyn O Honughur, Duci Hibernicorum de Connach ; 
Donethuth O Bien, Duci Hibernicorum de Tothmund ; 
Dermod Mac Arthy, Duel Hibernicorum de Dessemound • 
Denenol Carbragh ; 
Maur. Kenenagh Mac Murgh ; 
Murghugh O Bryn ; 
David O Tothvill ; 
Dermod O Tonoghur, Doftaly ; 
Fyn O Dymsy ; 



APPENDIX TO THE LOUD OF THE ISLES. 



495 



Souetliulh Mac ttilleiihatrick ; 

Lyssa^ii O Morlh ; 

GiibtTius Ekelly, Duci Hibeniicorum de Omany ; 

Mac Etlielau ; 

Onialati Helyti, Duci Hilierniconim Miilic." 

Rvmkr's Fadcra, vol. iii. pp. 47G, 47' 



Note 3 P, 



Their chief, Fitz-Louis.—V. 458. 

Fitz-Louis, or Mac-Louis, ollierwise called Fullaiton, is a 
fanuly of ancient descent in the Isle of Arraii. They arc said 
to he of Frencii origin, as the iiunie intimates. They attaclied 
liiemseives to Bruce upon his first hitiding ; and Fergus Mac- 
Louis, or FuUarton, received from the grateful monarch a 
charter, dated "6[h Novembur, in the second year of his reign 
(1307), for the lands of Kilmichel, and otiiers, which still re- 
main in this very ancient and respectable family. 



Note 3 Q. 

In battles four heneath their eye, 

The forces of King Robert lie.—V. 45S. 

The arrangements adopted hy King Robert for the decisive 
battle of Banuockburn, are gi\'en very distinctly hy Barbour, 
^nd form an edifying lesson to tacticians. Yet, till commented 
upon by Lord Ilailes, this important passage of history has 
been generally and strangely misunderstood by Iiistorians. I 
will here endeavor to detail it fully. 

Two days before the battle, Bruce selected the field of action, 
and took po=t there with his army, consisting of about 30,000 
disciplined men, and about Iialf the number of disorderly attend- 
ants upon the camp. The ground was called the New Park of 
Stirling; it was partly open, and partly broken by copses of 
wood and marshy ground. He divided his regular forces into 
four divisions. Three of these occupied a front line, separated 
from each other, yet sufficiently near for the purpose of com- 
munication. The fourth division formed a reserve. The line 
iitended in a north-easterly direction from the brook of Ban- 
nock, which was so rugged and broken as to cover the right 
flank effectually, to the village of Saint Ninians, probably in 
the line of the present road from Stirling lo Kilsyth. Edward 
Bruce commanded the right wing, which wa% strengthened by 
a strong body of cavalry under Keith, the Mareschal of Scot- 
land, to whom was committed the important charge of attack- 
ing the English archers; Douglas, and the young Steward of 
Scotland, led the central wing ; and Thomas Randolph, Earl 
of Moray, the left wing. The King himtelf commanded the 
fourth division, which lay in reserve behind tlie others. The 
royal standard was jiitched, according to tradition, in a stone, 
havins a round hole for its reception, and thence called the 
Bore-stone. It is still shown on the top of a small eminence, 
called Brock's-brae, to the southwest of Saint Ninians. His 
main body thus disposed, Xing Robert sent the followers of the 
camj), fifteen thousand and upwards in number, to the emi- 
nence in rear of his army, called from that circumstance the 
Oillics* (i. c. the servants') Hiti. 

The military advantages of this position wrre obvious. The 
Scottish left (lank, protected by the brook of Bannock, could 
not be turned ; or, if that attempt were made, a movement by 
the reserve might have covered it. Again, the English could 
not pass the Scottish army, and move towards Stirling, without 
ex|>osiug their flank to be attacked while in march. 

If, on the other hand, the Scottish line had been drawn uj) 
east and west, and facing to the southward, as affirmed by 

1 Au fiuietAnce which (by the way) could not liftvo b«en rendered, hod 
not the English approached from tho southeast', since, had their march 



Buchanan, and adopted hy Mr. Nimmo, the author of the 
History of Stirlingshire, there appears nothing to have pre 
vented the English approacliing upon the carse, or level ground 
from Falkirk, either from turning the Scottisli left flank, oi 
from passing their position, if they preferred it, witliout coming 
to an action, and moving on to the relief of Stirling. And the 
Gillies' Hill, if this less probable hypothesis be adopted, would 
be situated, not in the rear, as allowed by all the liislurians, 
but upon the left flank of Bruee's army. The only objeelion 
to the hypothesis above laid down, is, that the left flank ol 
Bruee's army was thereby exposed to a sally irom the garrison 
of Stirling. But, 1st, the garrison were bound to neutrality by 
terms of Mowbray's treaty ; and Barbour even seems to cen- 
sure, as a breach of faitli, some secret assistance whieh tliey 
rendered their countrymen upon the eve of battle, in placing 
temporary bridges of doors and spars over the pools of water in 
the carse, to enable them to advance to the charge. > 2dly, Had 
this not been the case, the strength of the garrison was proba- 
bly not sufficient to excite apprehension. 3dly, The adveise 
hypothesis leaves the rear of the Scottish army as much ex- 
posed to the Stirling garrison, as the left flank would be in the 
case supposed. 

It only remains to notice the nature of tlie ground in front of 
Bruee's Une of battle. Being part of a park, or chase, it was 
considerably interrupted with trees ; and an extensive marsh, 
still visible, in some places rendered it inaccessible, and in all 
of difficult approach. More to the norlhw.ird, where the natu- 
ral impediments were fewer, Bruce fortified his position against 
cavalry, by digging a number of pits so close together, says 
Barbour, as to resemble the cells in a Jioney-comb. They 
were a foot in breadth, and between two and three feet deep, 
many rows of them being placed one behind the other. Tiiey 
were slightly covered with brushwood and green sods, so as not 
to be obvious to an impetuous enemy. 

All the Scottish array were on foot, excepting a, select body 
of cavalry stationed witli Edward Bruce on the right wing, 
under the immediate command of Sir Robert Keith, the Mar- 
shal of Scotland, who were destined for the important service 
of charging and dispersing the English archers. 

Thus judiciously posted, in a situation fortified both by art 
and nature, Bruce awaited the attack of the KugUsh. 



Note S R. 
Beyond, the Southern host appears. — P. 458. 
Upon the 23d June, 1314, the alarm reached the Scottish 
army of tlie approach of the enemy. DougUs and the Marshal 
were sent to reconnoitre with a body of cavalry : 

"And soon the great host have they seen, 
Where shields shining were so sheen, 
And basinets burnished bright. 
That gave against the sun great light. 
They saw so feleS brawdyi.eS baners, 
Standards and pennons and spears. 
And so fele knights upon steeds, 
AU flaming in their weeds, 
And 80 fele hataills, and so broad. 
And too so great room as they rode, 
That the mai?t host, and the stoutest 
Of Christendom and the greatest, 
Should be abay^it for to see 
Their foes into such quantity." 

The Bruce, vol. ii. p. 111. 

The two Scottish commanders were cantious in the account 
which they brought back to their camp. To the king in pri 

been due north, the wholo Scottish army must have been betwfin Uk tt. 
and tho garrison. 1 M:>ny. 8 Displitvud 



406 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



▼ate they told the formidable stite of the enemy ; but in public 
reported that tlie English were indeed a numerous host, bat ill 
commanded, and worse disciplined. 



Note 3 S. 



JVitk these the valiant of the Isles 

Beneath their chieftains ranked their files. — P. 458. 

The men of Argyle, the islanders, and the Highlanders in 
general, were ranked in the rear. They must have been nu- 
merous, for Bruce had reconciled himself with almost all their 
cliieftains, excepting the obnoxious MacDougals of Lorn. 
The following deed, containing the submission of the potent 
Earl of Ross to the King, was never before publislied. It is 
dated in the third year of Robert's reign, that is, 13U9. 

" ObLIGACIO COMITIS ROSSENSIS PER HoMAGIUM FlDELl- 
TATEM ET ScRlPTUM. 

" Universis christi fidelibus ad quorum noticiam presentes 
litere peruenerint WJllielmus Comes de Ross salutem in domi- 
no seinpiternani. Q.uia magnificus princeps Dominus Robertas 
dei gracia Rex Scottorum Dominus mens ex innata sibi boni- 
tate, inspirataque clemencia, et gracia sjieciali remisit michi 
pure rancorem animi sui, et relaxanit ac condonauit michi ora- 
nimodas Iransgressiones seu offensas contra ipsum et suos per 
me el meos vsque ad confeccionem literarum preseucium per- 
petratas : Et terras raeas et tenementa niea omnia graciose con- 
cessit. Et me nichilominus de terra de Dingwal et ferncroskry 
infra comitatum de Suthyrland de benigna liberalitate sua heri- 
dilarie infeodarecarauit. Ego tautam principis beneuolenciam 
efficaciler attendens, et pro tot graciis michi factis, vicem sibi 

gratitudinis meis pro viribus de cetero digne 

vite cupiens exhibere, subicio et oblige nie et heredes meos et 
homines meos vniaersos dicto Domino meo Regi per omnia 

erga suam regiam dignitatem, quod eri- 

mus de cetero fideles sibi et heredibns suis et fidele sibi seruicium 
auxilium et concilium _ contra omnes homi- 
nes et feminas qui vivere poterint aut mori, et super h Ego 

VVillielmus pro me hominibus meis vni- 

ucRis dicto domino meo Regi nianibus horaagium 

sponte feci et super dei ewangelia sacramentum prestiti 

In quorum omnium testimonium sigillum meum, 

et sigilla Hugonis filii et heredis et Johannis filii mei vna cum 
sigillis venerabiliura patrum Dominorum Dauid et Thome Mo- 
raviensis et Rossensis dei gracia episcoporum presentibus Uteris 
sunt appensa. Acta scripta et data ajmd Aldern in Morauia 
vltinio die mensis Octobris, Anno Regni dicti domini nostri 
Regis Robert! Tertio. Testibns venerabilibus patribus supra- 
dietis, Domino Bernardo Cancellario Regis, Doniinis Williel- 
mo de Haya, Johanne de Striuelyn, Wilhelmo VVysman, Jo- 
hanne de Ffenton, Dauid de Berkeley, ct Waltero de Berke- 
ley militibus, magistro Waltero Heroc, Decano ecclesie Mora- 
uie, magistro Willielmo de Creswel eiusdem ecclesie precentore 
et multis aliis nobilibus clericis et laicis dictis die et loco con- 
grcgatis," 

The copy of thb curious document was supplied by my 
friend, Mr. Thomson, Deputy Register of Scotland, whose re- 
Bearclies into our aucient records are daily throwing new and 
important light upon the history of the country. 



Note 3 T. 

The Ji'onarch rode alov^ the van, — P. 459. 
The English vanguard, commanded by the Earls of Glouces- 
er and Hereford, came in sight of the Scottish army upon the 

1 Comiadee.— liable.— 3 Without slirinking.- -4 Spurred.— 5 Lino. 



evening of the 23d of Jane. Bruce wa; then riding upon a 
little palfrey, in front of his IbremO'^t line, putting liis host in 
order. It was then that the personal encounter took place be- 
twixt him and Sir Henry de Boliun, a gallant English knight, 
the issue of which had a great etTect upon the spirits of both 
armies. It is thus recorded by Barbour : — 

" And qulien Glosyster and Herfurd war 
With thair bataill, approchand ner. 
Before thaim all thar come rydand. 
With helm on heid, and sper in hand 
Schyr Henry the Boune, tlie worlhi. 
That wes a wycht knyclit, and a iiardy ; 
And to the Erie ofi" Herfurd cusyne : 
Armyt in armys gud and fyne ; 
Come on a sted, a bow schote ner, 
Befor all olhyr that thar wer : 
And knew the King, for that he saw 
Him swa rang his men on raw ; 
And by the croune, that wes set 
Alsua apon his bassynet. 
And towart him lie went in hy. 
And [quhen] the King sua apertly 
Saw him cum, forouth all his feris.i 
In hy- till him the hors he steris. 
And quhen Schyr Henry saw the King 
Cum on, for owtyn abaysing,^ 
Till him he raid in full gret hy 
He thoucht that be suld Weill lycbtly 
Wyn him, and haf him at Ins will, 
Sen he him horsyt saw sa ill. 
Sprenf* thai samyn in till a Ung.* 
Sciiyr Henry myssit the noble King. 
And lie, that in his sterapys stud. 
With the ax that wes hard and gud, 
With sa gret mayne^ raclit him a dynt, 
That nothyr hat, na helm, mychl stynt 
Tlie hewy" dusche^ that he him gave, 
That ner the heid till tlie harynys clave. 
The hand ax schafl fruschit'-* in twa ; 
And lie doune to the erd gan ga 
All flatlynys,'" for him faillyt mycht. 
Tliis wes the fryst strak oli" the fycht." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book viii. v. G84. 

The Scottish leaders remonstrated with the King upon his 
temerity. He only answered, " 1 have broken my good battle- 
axe. "—The English vanguard retreated after witnetsing this 
single combat. Probably their generals did not lliink it advisa. 
ble to hazard an attack while its unfavorable issue remained 
upon their minds. 



Note 3 U. 



What train of dust, with trumpet sound, 
And glimmering spears, is wheeling round 
Our leftward fiank ? — 460. 
While the van of tlie English army advanced, a detached 
body attempted to relieve Stirling. Lord Hailes gives tiie fol 
lowing account of this mancBuvre and the result, whicli is ac- 
companied by circumstances highly characteristic of the chiv- 
alrous manners of the age, and displays that generosity which 
reconciles us even to their ferocity upon other occasions, 

Bruce had enjoined Randolph, who commanded tlie left 
wing of his army, to be vigilant in preventing any advanced 
parties of the English from throwing succors into the castle of 
Stirling. 

" Ei^ht hundred horsemen, commanded by Sir Robert Clif- 

6 Strength, or force— 1 Heavy.— S Cl.tsh.— 9 Broke.— 10 Flat. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



497 



fottl, were detached from tlie English army ; they made a cii^ 
cuit by thf low grounds to the east, and approaulied the uuslle. 
The King pfrecived their motions, and, coming up to R;ui- 
dolph, angrily exclaimed, ' Thonghtleiis man ! you have suf- 
fered the enemy to pa^.' Randolph hasted to repair his 
fault, or perish. As he advanced, the English cavalry wlieeled 
to attack him. Randolpli drew up his troops in a circular 
form, with their spears resting on the ground, and protended 
on every side. At the first onset. Sir William Dayncconrt, an 
iliiglish commander of distinguished note, was slain. The 
enemy, far superior in numbers to Randolph, environed liim, 
and pressed hanl on Ins little band. Douglas saw Iiis jeopardy, 
and requested the King's permission to go and succor him. 
■ Vou shall not move from your ground,' cried the King ; ' let 
Randolph extricate himself as he best may. I will not alter 
my order of battle, and lose the advantage of my position.' — 
' In truth,' replied Douglas, ' I cannot stand by and see Ran- 
dolph perisli ; and, therefore, with your leave, I must aid 
him.' The King unwillingly consented, and Douglas flew to 
the assistance of his friend. While approaching, he perceived 
that the English were falling into disorder, and that the perse- 
verance of Randolph had prevailed over their impetuous cour- 
age. 'Halt,' cried Douglas, 'those brave men have repulsed 
the enemy ; let us not diminish tlieir glory by sharing it.* " — 
D.\lrymple's Annals of Scotland, 4to. Edinburgh, 1779, 
pp. 44, 45. 

Two large stones erected at the north end of the village of 
Newhouse, about a quarter of a mile from the south part of 
Stirling, ascertain the place of this memorahle skirmish. Tne 
circumstance tends, were confirmation necessary, to support 
the opinion of Lord Hailes, that the Scottish line had Stirling 
on its left flank. It will be remembered, that Randolph com- 
manded infantry, Daynecourt cavalry. Supposing, therefore, 
according to the vulgar hypothesis, that the Scottish line was 
drawn up, facing to the sonth. in the line of the brook of Ban- 
nock, and consequently that Randolph was stationed with his 
left flank resting upon Milntown bog. it is morally impossible 
that his infantry, moving from that position, with whatever 
celerity, conld cut off from Stirling a body of cavalry who had 
already passed St. Ninians.i or, in other words, were already 
between them and the town. Whereas, supposing Randolph's 
left to have apjiroached St. Ninians, the short movement to 
NewhoQse could easily be executed, so as to intercept the Eng- 
lish in the manner described. 



K'OTE 3 V. 

Responsive from the Scottish host. 

Pipe-clang' and bugle-sound were toss'd. — P. 461. 

There is an old tradition, that the well-known Scottish tune 
of *' Hay, tntti taStti," was Brnce's march at the battle of 
Bannockburn. The late Mr. Ritson, no granter of proposi- 
tions, doubts whether the Scots had any martial music, quotes 
Froissart's account of each soldier in the host bearing a little 
liorn, on which, at the onset, they would make such a horrible 
noise, as if all the devils of hell had been among them. He 
observes, that these horns are the only music mentioned by 
Barbour, and concludes, that it must remain a moot point 
whether Brace's army were cheered by the sound even of a 
solitary bagpipe. — Historical Essay prefixed to Rttson's 
Scottish Songs. — It may be observed in passing, that the 

1 Barbonr snj-a expressly, they avoided the Xevr Park (trhere Bnice'a 
ATniT Iny), ao'l lielil "wffUneath the Kirk,'* which can only mean St. 

2 Tos:*-'ther. 

Z SchiUrufn. — Tliis word liaa been Tariously limited or extended io ita 
v^ficAtioD. In g-ineml, it scums to imply n Lirge body of men drawn up 
very closely, together. B»t it hiis been limited to imply a round or circular 
body of men so drawn up. I cnnoot understand it with this limitation in 
the present ca«. The si-hillnmi of the Scottish army at Fnlkirk was un- 
03 



Scottish of this period certainly observed some musical ca- 
dence, even in winiliiig their horns, since Bruce was at one" 
recognized by his followers from his moile of blowing. i^cT 
Note 2 T. on canto iv. But the tradition, true or false, hat 
been the means of securing to Scotland one of the finest lyric-, in 
the language, the celebrated wai^song of Burns, — " Scots, wha 
hae wi' Wallace bled." 



Note 3 W. 



.Vow omonrd, and in open view, 

The countless ranks of England drew.— P. 4GI. 

Upon the 24th of June, the English army advanced to the 
attack. The narrowness of the Scottish front, and the nature 
of the ground, did not permit them to have the full advantage 
of tiieir numbers, nor is it very easy to find out what was thcii 
proposed order of battle. The vanguard, however, appeared 
a di-stincl body, consisting of archers and spearmen on loot, 
and commanded, as already said, by the Earls of Gloucester 
and Hereford. Barbour, in one place, mentions that they 
formed nine b.^ttles or divisions; but from the following 
passage, it appears that there was no room or space for tlieui 
to extend themselves, so that, except the vanguard, the wliol» 
army appeared to form one solid and compact body :- 

'■ The English men, on either party, 
That as angels shone brightly, 
Were not array'd on such manner : 
For all their battles samyn^ were 
In a schiltrum.3 But whether it waa 
Through the great strailness of tlie place 
That they were in, to bide fighting ; 
Or that it was for abaysing ;■* 
I wete not. But in a schiUram 
It seemed they were all and some ; 
Out ta'en the vaward anetly,^ 
That right with a great company, 
Be them selwyn, arrayed were. 
Who had been by, might have seen there 
That folk ourlake a niekill feild 
On breadth, where many a shining shield, 
And many a burnished bright armour, 
And many a man of great valour, 
Might in that great schiltrum be seen : 
And many a brjglit banner and sheen." 

BaRdour's Bruce, vol. n. o. IJ? 



Note 3 X. 



Sec where yon barefoot Abbot stands, 

And blesses them with lifted hands. — P. 461. 

" Maurice, abbot of Inchafiray, placing himself on an emi 
nence, celebrated mass in sight of the Scottish army. He then 
passed along the front barefooted, and bearing a crucifix in his 
hands, and exhorting the Scots, in a few and forcible words, 
to combat for their rights and their liberty. The Scots kneeled 
down. ' They yield,' cried Edward ; ' see, they implore mer 
cy.' — ' They do,' answered Ingelram de Umfraville. * but nol 
ours. On that field they will be victorious, or die.' " — Annals 
of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 47. 

donbtcdly of a circular form, in order to resist the attacks of the Kngliah 
cavalry*, on whatever quarter they might he charged. But it does not ap- 
pear how, or why, the Enf-liah, advancing to the attack at Bannorkbnm, 
should have arrayed themselves in a circular form. It seems mort^ proba 
ble, that, by Sckiitrum in thu present e&ae, Barbour means to exprcu lu: 
irregular mass into which the English army was compressed by tlin iin 
wivldmessof its numlN-rs, and the carelcssnt&s or ignoraci^o [jf ils leaders. 

4 Frightening. 

& Alone. 



498 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 3 Y. 

Forth, .Mars/inly on the peasant foe ! 
We'll tame the terrors of their bow, 

jivd cut the bow-string loose ! — P. 462. 

Tlie English archers commenced the attack with theii nsnal 
bravery and dexterity. But against a force, whose importance 
lie hail learned by fatal experience, Brnce was provided. A 
small but select body of cavalry were detached from tlie right, 
under command of Sir Robert Keith. They rounded, as I 
conceive, the marsh called Milntown bog, and, keeping tlie 
firm ground, charged the left flank and rear of the Englisli 
arclitTS. As the bowmen had no spears nor long weapons fit 
to defend themselves against Iiorse, they were instantly thrown 
into disorder, and spread through the whole English army a 
confusion from which they never fairly recovered. 

" The Inglis archeris schot sa fast, 
That mycht thair schot haff ony last 
It had bene hard to Scottis men. 
Bot King Robert, that wele gan ken^ 
That ihair archeris war peralouss, 
And thair schot rycht hard and grewouss, 
Ordanvt, forouths tlie assemble, 
Hys marschell with a gret menye, 
Fyve liundre armyt in to stele, 
That on lycht horss war horsyt welle, 
For to pryk^ amang the archeris ; 
And swa assaile thaim with thair speris, 
That thai na layser haiffto schute. 
This marschell that Ik of mute, i 
That Schyr Robert of Keyth was cauld, 
As Ik befor her has yow tauld, 
Quhen he saw the batailhssua 
Assembill, and to gidder ga, 
And saw the archeris schoyt stoutly ; 
With all thaim off his cumpany, 
In hy apon thaim gan he rid ; 
And our tuk thaim at a sid : 
And ruschyt amang thaim sa rudly, 
Stekand thaim sa dispitously. 
And in sic fusoun" berand doun. 
And slayand thaim, for owtyn ransoun ;? 
That thai thaim scalyf^ euirilkane.9 
And fra that tyme furlh thar wes nane 
That assemblyt schot to ma.^" 
Q,uhen Scottis aichcris saw that thai sua 
War rebutyt,!! thai woux hardy, 
And with all thair mycht schot egrely 
Amang the lioi-ss men. that thar raid ; 
And woundis wid to thaim thai inaiil ; 
And slew of thaim a full gret dele." 

Barbour's Brnce, Book ix. v. 228. 

Although the success of this manceuvre was evident, it is 
very remarkable that the Scottish generals do not appear to 
have profited by the lesson. Almost every subsequent battle 
which they lost against England, was decided by the archers, 
to whom the close and compact array of the Scottish phalanx 
afforded an exposed and unresisting mark. The bloody battle 
of Halidoun-liill, fou<;!it scarce twenty years afterwards, was 
so completely gained by the archers, that the English are said 
to have lost only one kniglit, one esquire, and a few foot-sol- 
diers. At the battle of Neville's Cross, in 1346, where David 
II. was defeated and made prisoner, John de Graham, observ- 
ing the loss which the Scots sustained from t)ie English how- 
men, offered to charge and disperse tliem, if a hundred men-at- 
arms were put under his command. " But, to confess the 
trath," says Fordun, " he could not procure a single horseman 

1 Know. — 2 Disjoined from the main body. — 3 Spur,— 4 That I spoak 
ot — fi Set upon thair Hank, — S Numbers. — 1 Rausom. — S Dispersed, — 
9 Evory one. — 10 Ma]ie. — 11 Driven back. 



for the service proposed." Of such little use is experience '» 
war, where its results are opposed by habit or prejudice. 



Note 3 Z. 



Each braggart chtirl could boast before, 
Tmdve Scottish lives his baldric bore ! — P. 4G2. 

Roger Ascham quotes a similar Scottish proverb, " whereby 
they give the whole praise of shooting honestly to Englishmen, 
saying thus. ' that every English archer beareth under liis gir 
die twenty-four Scottes.' Indeed Toxophilus says before, and 
truly of the Scottish nation, ' The Scottes surely be good men 
ofwarre in theyre owne feates as can be; but as for shoot- 
inge. they can neither use it to any profite, nor yet challenge it 
for any praise." — Works of Ascham, edited hy Bcnnct, 4to. 
p. 110. 

It is said, I trust incorrectly, by an ancient English historian, 
that the "good Lord James of Douglas" dreaded the saperi- 
ority of the English archers so much, that when he made any 
of them prisoner, he gave him the option of losing tlie forefin- 
ger of his right hand, or his right eye, either species of mutila- 
tion rendering him incapable to use the bow. I have mislaid 
the reference to this singular passage. 



Note 4 A. 



Down! down! in headlong overthrow. 
Horseman and horse, the foremost go. — P. 462. 

It is generally alleged by historians, that the English men-at- 
arms fell into the hidden snare which Bruce had prepared for 
them. Barbour does not mention the circumstance. Accord- 
ing to his account, Randolph, seeing the slaughter made by 
the cavalry on the right wing among the archers, advanced 
courageously against the main body of the English, and en- 
tered into close combat with them. Douglas and Stoart, who 
commanded the Scottish centre, led their division also to the 
charge, and the battle becoming general along the whole line, 
was obstinately maintained on both sides for a long space of 
time ; the Scottish archers doing great execution among the 
English men-at-arms, after the bowmen of England were dis- 
persed. 



Note 4 B. 



And steeds that shriek in agony. — P. 4G2. 

I have been told that this line requires an explanatory note ; 
and, indeed, those who witness the silent patience with which 
horses submit to the most cruel usage, may be permitted to 
doubt, that, in moments of sudden and intolerable anguish, 
they utter a most melancholy cry. Lord Erskine, in a speech 
made in the House of Lords, upon a bill for enforcing huma- 
nity towards animals, noticed this reniarl able fact, in language 
which I will not mutilate by attempting to repeat it. It was 
my fortune, upon one occasion, to hear a horse, in a moment 
of agony, utter a thrilling scream, which I still consider the 
most melancholy sound I ever heard. 



Note 4 C. 



Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 

Is firm as Ailsa Rock : 
Rush on with Highland sword and targe, 
I, with my Carrick spearmen charge. — P. 464. 

When the engagement between the main bodies had lasted 
some time, Bruce made a decisive movement, by bringing up 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



400 



(ho Scottish resiTve. It is traditionally said, that at this cri- 
eis, lie addressed the Lord of the Isles in a phrase used as a 
motto i>y some of his aescendants, " My trust is constant in 
thee." Biirbour intimates, that the reserve "assembled on 
one field," that is, on the same line with the Scottish forces 
already engaged ; which leads Lord Hailes to conjecture that 
tiiL' Scottish ranks mnst have been much thinned by slaughter, 
bhiL-L', in that circumscribed ground, there was room for tlie 
rctierve to fall into the line. But the advance of tbe Scottish 
(.iivalry must have contributed a good deal to form the va- 
^«incy occupied by tlie reserve. 



Note 4 D. 



To arms they jlew, — aic, dub, or spear, — 
And mimic ensig-ns high they rear. — P. 464. 

The followers of tlie Scottish camp observed, from the Gil- 
lies' Hill in the rear, the impression produced upon the Kni^lish 
army bj- the bringing up of the Scottish reserve, and, prompted 
by the entimsiasm of tlie moment, or the desire of plunder, 
assumed, in a tumultuary manner, such arms as they found 
nearest, fastened sheets to tent-poles and lances, and showed 
themselves like a new army advancing to battle. 

*' Yoraen, and swanys.i and pitaill,^ 
That in the Park yerayt wictaill,3 
War left ; quhen thai wyst but lesing,^ 
That thair lordis, with fell fechtyng, 
On tfiair fayis assemblyt wer ; 
Ane otFthaim selwyn^ that war thar 
Capitane of thaim all thai maid. 
And schetis, that war snmedele^ brad, 
Thai festnyt in steid offbaneris, 
Apon lang treys and speris : 
And said that thai wald se the fycht ; 
And help tliair lordis at thair mycht. 
Quhen her till all assentyt wer, 
In a rout assemblit er ;' 
Fyftene thowsand thai war, or ma. 
And than in gret hy gan thai ga, 
With thair baneris, all in a rout, 
As thai had men bene styths and stout. 
Thai come, with all thai assemble, 
Rycht quhill thai mycht the bataill se : 
Than all at anys thai gave a crj', 
'Sla! sla ! Apon thaim hastily !' " 

Barbour's Bruce, Book ix. v. 410. 

The unexpected apparition, of what seemed a new army, 
completed the confusion which already prevailed among the 
Eriglisli, who fled in every direction, and were pursued with 
immense slaugliter. The brook of Bannock, according to 
Barbour, was so choked with the bodies of men and horses, 
that it miglit have been passed dry-shod. The followers of 
the Scottish camp fell upon the disheartened fugitives, and 
added to the confusion and slaughter. Many were driven 
into the Foith. and perished there, which, by the way, could 
hardly have happened, had the armies been drawn up east 
and west ; since, in that case, to get at the river, the English 
fugitives must have fled through the victorious army. About 
a short mile from the field of battle is a place called the 
Bloody Folds. Here the Earl of Gloucester is said to have 
made a stand, and died gallantly at the head of his own mili- 
tary tenants and vassals. He was much regretted by both 
sides ; and it is said the Scottish would gladly have saved his 
life, but, neglecting to wear his snrcoat with armorial bear- 

I Swiiini.— 2 Rabble. — 3 Kept the provUiona. — 1 LjTDg. — 5 Selves. — 
S' mewUut —^ Art.— 3 Stiff. 



ings over his armor, he fell unknown, after his horse had been 
stabbed with spears. 

Sir Marmaduke Twenge, an English knight, contrived to 
conceal iiimself during tlie fury of the pursuit, and wlien it 
was somewhat slackened, approached King Robert. " Wboso 
prisoner are you. Sir Maimaduke ?" said Bruce, to whom he 
was personally known. "Yours, sir," answered the kniglit. 
" I receive you," answered the king, and, treating him with 
the utmost courtesy, loaded him with gifts, and dismissed Itim 
without ransom. The other prisoners were all well treated. 
There might be policy in this, as Bruce would naturally wish 
to acquire the good opinion of the English barons, who were 
at tliis time at great variance with their king. But it also well 
accords with his high chivalrous character. 



Note 4 E. 



O / give their hapless prince his due. — P. 464. 

Edward II., according to the best authorities, showed, in 
tlie fatal field of Bannockburn, personal gallantry not un- 
worthy of his great sire and greater son. He remained on tlie 
field till forced away by the Earl of Pembroke, when all was 
lost. He then rode to the Castle of Stirling, and demanded 
admittance ; but the governor, remonstrating upon the impru- 
dence of shutting himself up in that fortress, which must so 
soon surrender, he assembled around his person five hundred 
men-at-arms, and, avoiding the field of battle and the victo- 
rious army, fled towards Linlithgow, pursued by Douglas with 
about sixty horse. They were augmented by Sir Lawrence 
Abernethy with twenty more, whom Douglas met in the Tor- 
wood upon their way to join the English army, and whom he 
easily persuaded to desert the defeated monarch, and to assist 
in the pureuit. They hung upon Edward's flight as far as 
Dunbar, too few in number to assail him with effect, but enough 
to harass his retreat so constantly, that whoever fell an instant 
behind, was instantly slain or made prisoner. Edward's igno- 
minious fliglit terminated at Dunbar, where the Earl of March, 
who still professed allegiance to him, "received him full 
gently." From thence, the monarch of so great an empire, 
and the late commander of so gallant and numerous an army, 
escaped to Bamborough in a fishing vessel. 

Bruce, as will appear from the following document, lost no 
time in directing the thunders of Parliamentary censure against 
sQch part of his subjects as did not return to their natural alle- 
giance after the battle of Bannockburn. 

Apud Monasterium de Cambuskenneth, 

vi die novembris, m,ccc,siv. 

Judicium Rcditum apud Kamhuskinet contra omnes illos qui 
tunc fucrunt contra Jidcvi et pacem Domini Regis. 

Anno gracie millesimo tricentisimo quarto decimo sexto die 
Novembris tenente parHamentom suum Excellentissimo prin* 
cipe Domino Roberto Dei gracia Rege Scottorum Illuslri IQ 
mona.'^terio de Cambuskyneth concordatum fuit finaliter Jo- 
dicatum [ac super] hoc statutum de Concilio et Assensu Epis- 
coporum et ceterorum Prelatorum Comitum Baronum et alio- 
rum nobilium regni Scocie nee non et tocius communitatis 
regni predict! quod omnes qui contra fidem et pacem dicti 
domini regis in bello sen alibi mortui sont [vel qui dicj to die 
ad pacem ejus et fidem non venerant licet sepios vocati et le- 
gitime expectati fuissent de terris et tenementis et omni alio 
statu infra regnum Scocie perpeluo sint exheredati et habean- 
tur de cetero tanquam inimiei Regis et Regni ab omni vendi- 
cacione juris hereditarii vel juris alterius cujuscnnque in pos- 
terum pro se et heredibus suis in perpetuum privati Ad pei^ 
petuam igitur rei memoriam et evidentem probacionem hujoa 



500 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Jiulicii et Statuli sigilla Episcoporum et aliornm Prelatorum 
iiec non et coniitum Baroiiuiii ac ceterorura nobilium dicti 
Rl'^mu presenti ordinacioni Judicio et Ptatuto sunt appensa. 

Sigillnm Domini Regis 
Sigillura Willelini Episeopi Sancti Andree 
Sigillum Roberli Episeopi Glascuensis 
Sigillum Willelmi Episeopi Dunkeldensi« 

. . . Episcop. 

. . . Episeopi 

. . . Episeopi 

Sigillum Alani Episeopi Sodorensis 
Sigillum Joliannis Episeopi Brechynensis 
Sigillum Andree Eitiscopi Ergadiensis 
Sigillum Freehardi Episeopi Cathanensls 
Sigillum Abbalis de Scona 
Sigillum Abbatis de Caico 
Sigillum Abbalis de Abirbrothok 
Sigillum Abbatis de Sancla Cruce 
Sigillum Abbatis de Londoris 
Sigillum Abbatis de Newbotill 
Sigillum Abbatis ile Cupro 
Sigillum Abbatis de Paslet 
Sigillum Abbatis de Duufermelyn 
Sigillum Abbatis de Lincluden 
Sigillum Abbatis de Insula Missarnm 
Sigillum Abbatis de Sancto Columba 
Sigillum Abbatis de Deer 
Sigillum Abbatis de Dulce Corde 
Sigillum Prioris de Coldinghame 
Sigillum Prioris de Rostynot 
Sigillum Prioris Sancte Andree 
Sigillnm Prioris de Pittinwem 
Sigillum Prioris de Insula de Lochlevin 
Sigillum Penescalli Pcocie 
Sigillum Willelmi Comitis de Ros 



Sigillnm Gilberti de la Haya Constabularii ScocJe 

Sigillum Rooerti de Kctli Mariscalli Scocie 

Sigillum Hugonis de Ros 

Sigillum JaL'obi de Duglas 

Sigillum Joliannis de Sancto Claro 

Sigillum Thome de Ros 

Sigillum Alexandri de Settone 

Sigillum Walteri Haliburtone 

Sigillum Davidis de Balfour 

Sigillum Duncani de Wallays 

Sigillum Thome de Dischingtone 

Sigillum Anuree de Moravia 

Sigillum Arehibaldi de Betun 

Sigillum Ranulphi de Lyill 

Sigillum Malcomi de Balfour 

Sigillum Normanni de Lesley 

Sigillum Nigelli de Camjio betio 

Sigillnm Morni de Musco Campc 



Note 4 F. 



J\ror for D.e Argentine alone, 

Through J^inian^s church these torches shone, 

^nd rose the death-prayer'' s awful tone. — P. 465. 

The remarkable circumstances attending the death of De 
Argentine have been already noticed (Note L). Besides this 



1 Together. 

S fThe eztrocta from Burbour in this 



2 Red, or giWed. 
edition of Sir Wiilter Scott'e 



renowned warrior, there fell many representatives of the 
noblest houses in England, which never sustained a more 
bloody and disastrous defeat. Barbour says that two hundred 
pairs of gilded spurs were taken from the field of battle ; and 
that some were left the author ean bear witne^rs-. who has in 
his possession a curious antique spur, dug up in t'le morass, 
not long since. 

*' It wes forsQth a gret ferly, 
To se sarayn' sa fele dede lie. 
Twa hondre payr of spuris reid.2 
War tane of kniehtis that war deid." 

I am now to take my leave of Barbour, not without a sincere 
wish that the public may encourage the underinking of my 
friend Dr. Jamieson, who has issued proposals for publishing 
an accurate edition of his poem, and of blind Hany's Wal- 
lace.3 Tlie only good edition of The Bruce was published by 
Mr. Pinkerton, in 3 vols., in 1790; and, the learned editor 
having had no personal access to consult the manuscript, it is 
not without errors ; and it has besides become scarce. Of 
Wallace there is no tolerable edition ; yet these two poems do 
no small Iionor to the early state of Scottish poetry, and The 
Bruce is justly regarded as containing authentic historical 
facts. 

TJie following list of the slain at Baunockbnrn, extracted 
from the conlinualor of Trivet's Annals, will show the extent 
of the national calamity. 

List of the Si.ais. 



Knights and Knights Ban- 
nerets, 
Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Glou- 
cester, 
Robert de Clifford, 
Payan Tybetot, 
William Le Mareschal, 
John Comyn, 
William de Vescey, 
Jolin de Montfort, 
Nicolas de Hasteleigh, 
William Dayncourt, 
jEgidins de Argenteyne, 
Edraond Comyn, 
John Lovel (the rich), 
Edmund de Hastynge, 
Milo de Stapleton, 



Simon Ward, 
Robert de Feiton, 
Michael Poyning, 
Edmund MauUey. 

Knights. 
Henry de Boon, 
Thomas de Ufford, 
John de Elsingfelde, 
John de Harcourt, 
Walter de Hakelnt, 
Piiilip de Courtenay. 
Hugo de Scales, 
Radulph de Beauchamp 
John de Penbrigge, 
With 33 others of the same 
rank, not named. 



Prisoners. 



Barons and Baronets. 
Henry de Boun, Earl of Here- 
ford, 
Lord John Giffard, 
Wdliam de Latimer, 
Maurice de Berkeley, 
Ingelram de Umfraville, 
Marmaduke de Twenge, 
John de Wylelone, 
Robert de INIaulee, 
Henry Filz-Ilugh, 
Thomas de Gray, 
Walter de Beauchamp, 
Richard de Charon, 
John de Wevelmton 
Robert de Nevil, 
Jolm de Segrave, 
Gilbert Peeche, 
John de Clavering, 



Antony de Lucy. 
Radulph de Camys, 
John (le Evere, 
Andrew.de Abremhyn. 

Knights. 
Thomas de Berkeley, 
The son of Roger Tyrrel, 
Anselm de Ulareschal, 
Giles de Beauchamp, 
John de Cyfrewasl, 
John Bluwet, 
Roger Corbet, 
Gilbert de Bonn, 
Bartholomew de EnefeW, 
Thomas de Ferrers, [ton 

Radulph and Thomas Botte- 
John and Nicholas de King- 
stone (brothers). 



liave bi^ew uniformly corrected by the text of Dr. Jamieson's Brncp, pub 
lialied, along willi Blind Hurrj's Wftllacf , Edin. 1620, 2 vols. 4to.— En-l 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



501 



William Lovel, 
IK-iiry de Wileton, 
U:tUI\viii de Frevill, 
John tie Clivedon.i 
Adoinar la Zouche, 
Joliiide Alerewode, 
Joliii Maufe.'J 



Thomas and Odo Lele Erce- 

dekene, 
Robert nenuj)?! (the son), 
John Maulravers (the son), 
William and William GilTard, 
and 34 other knights, not 
named by the historian. 



And in sDin there were slain, along with the Earl of GloDce&- 
ler, forty-two barons and bannerets. The number of earls, 
barons, and bannerets made captive, was twenty-two, and 
sixty-eight knights. Many clerks and e&quires were also there 
8iain or taken. Roger de Northburge, keeper of the kin/' 



1 Suppofit^d Cliatdn. 



3&Uule. 



signet {Custos Targim Domini Rcg-is), was made prisoner 
with his two clerks, Roger de Wakenfelde and Thomas do 
Switon, upon which the king cansed a seal to be made, and 
entitled it his priuysrff/, to distinguish the same from the signet 
so lost. The Earl of Hereford was exchanged jigainst Bruce'a 
queen, who had been detained in captivity ever since the year 
1306. The Targia, or signet, was restored to England tlirough 
the intercession of Ralph de Monthermer, ancestor of Lord 
Moira, who is said to have found favor in the eyes of the Scot- 
tish king. — Coniinuaiion of Trivet's Annals, Hall's edit. 
Oxford, 1712, vol. ii. p. 14. 

t^uch were the immediate consequences of the Field of Ban- 
nockburn. Its more remote effects, in completely establishing 
the national independence of Scotland, affoni a boundless field 
for speculation. 



^[)t Ixcih of lUatcvloo 



A POEM.' 



" Tliough Valois braved yonng Edward's gentle hand, 
And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band, 
With Europe's chosen sons, in arms renown'd. 
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd, 
Nor Audley's sqnires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd, — 
They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound." 

Akensidb. 



HER GRACE 

THE 



DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON, 
PRIIfOESS OF WATERLOO, 

&c. &c. &c. 

THE FOLLOWING VERSES 

ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



, ADVERTISEMENT. 

It may be some apology for the imperfections of this poem, that it was composed hastily, and during a 
short tour upon the Continent, when the Author's labors were dable to frequent interruption ; but its 
best apology is, that it was written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription. 
Abbotsford, 1815. 



ai)c liclb of lllatcrloo. 



Fair Brussels, thou art far behind, 
Though, lingering on the morning wind, 

We yet may hear the hour 
Peal'd over orchard and canal, 
With voice prolong'd and measured fall. 

From proud St. Michael's tower ; 
Tliy wood, dai'k Soignies, holds us now,' 
Where the tail beeches' glossy bough 

' Published by Constable & Co. in October, 1815. 8vo. 5s. 

2 '* The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the 

forest of Ardennes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immor- 



For many a league around. 
With birch and darksome oak between. 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen, 

Of tangled forest ground. 
Stems planted close by stems defy 
The adventurous foot — the ctu-ious eye 

For access seeks in vain ; 
And the brown tapestry of leaves, 
Strew'd on the blighted ground, receives 

Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. 
No opening glade dawns on our way, 
No streamlet, glancing to the ray, 

tal in Shaltspeare's ' As yon Lilie it.* It is also celebrated in 
Tacitus as being the spot of successful defence by the Germans 
against the Roman encroachments." — Byron. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 503 


Our -woodland path has cross'd ; 


Yet one mile on, yon sliatter'd hedge 


And the straight causeway wliich we tread, 


Crests the soft liill whose long smooth ridge 


Prolougs a hue of dull arcade, 


Looks on the field belo"W, 


Unvarying through the unvaried shade 


And sinks ao gently on the dale, 


Until m distance lost. 


That not the folds of Beauty's veil 




In easier ciu'ves can flow. 


II. 


Brief space from thence, the ground again 


A brighter, livelier scene succeeds ;' 


Ascending slowly from the plain, 


111 groups the scattering wood recedes, 


Forms an opposing screen. 


lleilge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, 


"Wliich, with its crest of upland groimd, 


And corn-fields, glance between ; 


Shuts the horizon all around. 


The peasant, at his labor bhthe. 


The soften d vole between 


Plies the hook'd staff and shortend scythe :' — 


Slopes smooth and fiiir for courser's tread; 


But when these ears were green, 


Kot the most timid maid need dread 


Placed close within destruction's scope, 


To give her snow-white palfrey head 


Full little was that rustic's hope 


On that wide stubble-ground ;" 


Tlitir ripening to have seen ! 


Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush, are there. 


And, lo, a hamlet and its fane : — 


Her comse to intercept or scare, 


Let not the gazer with disdain 


Nor fosse nor fence are found, 


Theii- ai-chitecture view ; 


Save where, from out her shattcr'd bowers, 


For yonder rude ungraceful shrine. 


Rise Hougomont's dismantled towcrsJ 


Aud di.-^'proportion'd spire are thine,' 




Immortal Waterloo !* 


IV. 




Now, see'st thou aught in this lone scene 


III. 


Can tell of that wliich late hath been ? — 


Fear not the heat, though full and high 


A stranger might reply. 


Tlie sun has scorch'd the autumn sky. 


" The bare extent of stubble-plain 


And scarce a forest straggler now 


Seems lately lighteu'd of its grain ; 


To shade us spreads a greenwood bough; 


And yonder sable tracks remain 


These fields have seen a hotter day 


Marks of the peasant's ponderous waiu, 


Than e'er w:is iii-ed by sunny ray.' 


When harvest-home was nigh.^ 


1 *' Southward from Brussels lies the field of Diooa, 


His childless sovereign. Heaven denied an heir. 


Some three hours' journey for a well-girt man ; 


And Europe mourn'd in blood the frustrate prayer." 


A horseman, wlio in haste pareued his road. 


SOUTHEY. 


Would reach it as the second hour began. 


To the original chapel of the Marquis of Castanaza has now 


The way is through a forest deep and wide, 


been added a building of considerable extent, the whole inte- 


Extending many a mile on either side. 


rior of which is filled with monumental inscriptions for tlie 




heroes who fell in the battle. 


'* No cheerful woodland this of antic trees, 


6 The MS. has not this couplet. 


With thickets varied and with sonny glade; 


6 "As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene of 


Look where he will, the weary traveller sees 


some great action, though this may be mere imagination. I 


One gloomy, thick, impenetrable shade 


have viewed with attention, those of Platea, Troy. Mantinea. 


Of tall straight trunks, which move before his sight. 


Leuctra, Chicronea, and Marathon ; and the field around 


With interchange of lines of long green light. 


Mont .St. Jean and Hougomont appears to want hltle but a 




better cause, and that indefinable but impressive halo wJiich 


*' Here, where the woods receding from the road 


the lapse of ages throws around a consecrated spot, to vie in 


Have left on either hand an open space 


interest witli any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last men 


For fields and gardens, and for man's abode, 


lioned." — Byron. 


Stands Waterloo ; a little lowly place, 


' MS. — " i=ave where, \ '^ \ fire-scathed b<:wers among, 


Obscure till now, when it hath risen to fame, 


' t the ) 


And given the victory its Englisii name." 


Rise the rent towers of Hongoncom. 


Sodthey's Pilgrimage to IVaterloo. 


8 " Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust, 




Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? 


a See Appendix, Note A. 


None : But the moral's truth tells simpler so. 


8 MS. — " Let not the stranger with disdain 


As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — 


Its raisproportions view ; 


How that red rain hath made the harvest grow t 


Yon ! "■''■''' f"""''' \ ungraceful shrine, 


And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, 


( awkwarii and j 


ThoQ first and last of fields ! king-making Victory V 


And yonder humble spire, are thine.'* 
« *' What time the second Carlos ruled in Spain, 


Byeow 




Last of the Austrian line by fate decreed, 


" Was it a soothing or a mournful thought, 


Here Castanaza rear'd a votive fane. 


Amid this scene of slaughter as we stood, 


Praying tlie patron saints to bless with seed 


Where armies had with recent fury fought 



.-■,04 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


On these broad spots of trampled ground, 


Death hover'd o'er the maddening rout. 


Perchance the rustics dauced such round 


And, in the thriUing battle-sliout. 


As Teniers loved to di*aw ; 


Sent for the bloody banquet out 


And "^'here the earth seems scorch'd by flame, 


A summons of hi.s own. 


To di-ess the homely feast they came. 


Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye 


And toil'd the kerchief 'd village dame 


Could well each destined guest espy, 


Aromid her fire of straw." 


Well could his ear in ecsta.sy 




Distinguish every tone 


V. 


That fiU'd tlie chorus of the fray— 


So deera'st thou — so each mortal deems. 


From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray. 


Of tliat which is from that which seems : — 


From charging squadrons' wild hurra. 


But otlier harvest here. 


From the wUd clang that mark'd their way,- 


Than that which peasant's scythe demands, 


Down to the dying groan. 


Was gather'd in by sterner hands. 


And the last sob of life's decay. 


With bayonet, blade, and spear. 


When breath was all but flown. 


No vulgar crop was theirs to reap. 




No stinted harvest tliin and cheap ! 


VIIL 


Heroes before each fatal sweep 


Feast on, stern foe of mortal life. 


Fell tliick as ripen'd grain ; 


Feast on ! — but think not tliat a strife. 


And ere the darkening of the day, 


With such promiscuous carnage rife. 


rded higli as autumn shocks, there lay 


Protracted space may last ; 


The ghastly harvest of the fray. 


The deadly tug of war at length 


The corpses of the slain.' 


Must limits find in human strength. 




And cease when these are past. 


VI. 


Vain hope ! — that morn's o'erclouded sun 


Ay, look again — that line, so black 


Heard the wild shout of fight begun 


And trampled, marks the bivouac. 


Ere he attain'd his height. 


Yon deep-graved ruts the artilleiy's track, 


And through the war-smoke, volumed high, 


So often lost and won ; 


Still peals that unremitted cry. 


And close beside, the harden'd mud 


Though now he stoops to night. 


Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood. 


For ten long hours of doubt and dread, 


The fierce dragoon, thi"ough battle's flood. 


Fresh succors from the extended head 


Dash'd the hot war-horse on. 


Of either IiiU the contest fed ; 


These spots of excavation tell 


Still down the slope they drew, 


The ravage of the bvusting shell — 


The charge of coliunns paused not. 


And feel'st thou not the tainted steam. 


Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot ; 


That reeks against the sultry beam, 


For all that war could do 


From yonder trenched mound ? 


Of skill and force was proved that day. 


The pestilential fumes declare 


And turn'd not yet the doubtful fray 


That Carnage has replenish'd there 


On bloody Waterloo. 


Her garner-house profound. 


IX. 


VII. 


Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were thine. 


Far other harvest-home and feast. 


When ceaseless from the distant line 


Than claims the boor from scythe released, 


Continued thunders came 1 


On these scorch'd fields were known ; 


Each burgher held his breath, to hear 


To mark how gentle Nature still ptirsned 


And friend and foe, within the general tomb. 


Her quiel course, as if she took no care 


Equil had been their lot ; one fatal day 


For what her noblest work had suffer'd there. 


For all, . . one labor, . . and one place of rest 




They fonnd within their common parent's breast. 


'* The pears had npen'd on the garden wall ; 




Tliose leaves which on the autumnal earth were spread, 


" The passing seasons had not yet effaced 


The trees, though pierced and scared with many a ball. 


The stamp of numerous hoofs impress'd by force 


Had only in their natural season shed ; 


Of cavalry, whose path might still be traced. 


Flowers were in seed, whose buds to swell began 


Yet Nature everywhere resumed her coarse ; 


When such wild havoc here was made by man." 


Low pansies to the sun their purple gave. 


SOUTHEY. 


And the soft poppy blossom'd on the grave." 


I '• Earth had received into her silent womb 


SouTHiy 


Her slaogbter'd creatures ; horse and man they lay. 


2 See Appendix, Note B, 



'I'HE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 505 


These forerunners' of havoc neai-, 


On came tlio wliirlwind — steel-gleams broke 


Of rapine and of flame. 


Like lightning through the rolling smoke; 


Wliat ghastly siglits were thine to meet, 


The war was waked anew. 


When roUiug^ through thy stately street, 


Tliree hundred canuon-niouths roar'd loud. 


The -n-oundeil showVl their mangled plight' 


And from their tlu-oat.s, with flash and cloud. 


In token of the untinish'd fight, 


Their showers of iron threw. 


And from each anguish-laden wain 


Beneath their fire, in full career. 


The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain !* 


Rush'd on the ponderous cuirassier. 


How often in the distant drum 


The lancer conch'd his ruthless spear. 


Heard'-st thou the fell Invader come. 


And hun-ying as to havoc near. 


■While Ruin, shouting to his band. 


The cohorts' eagles flew. 


Shook liigh her torch and gory brand ! — 


In one dark torrent, broad and strong. 


Cheer thee, fair City ! From yon stand. 


The advancing onset roU'd along. 


Impatient, still his outstretch'd hand 


Forth harbingtjr'd by fierce acclaim. 


Points to his prey in vain, 


That, from the .shroud of smoke and flame. 


While maddening in his eager mood. 


Peal'd wildly the imperial name. 


Anil all unwont to be withstood, 




He fires the fight again. 


XII. 




But on the British heart were lost 


X. 


The terrors of the charging host ; 


On ! On !" was still his stem exclaim ; 


For not an eye the storm that view'd 


" Confront the battery's jaws of flame ! 


Changed its proud glance of fortitude. 


Rush on the levell'd gun !' 


Nor was one forward footstep staid. 


My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance ! 


As dropp'd the dying and the dead.' 


Each Hulan forward with his lance, 


Fast as their ranks the thunders tear. 


My Guard- — my Chosen — charge for France 


Fast they renew'd each serried square ; 


France and Napoleon !" 


And on the wounded and the slain 


Loud answer'd their acclaiming shout, 


Closed their diininish'd files agaiu. 


Greeting the mandate which sent out 


Till from their fine scarce spears' lengths thrcrt 


Tlieir bravest and their best to dare 


Emerging from the smoke they see 


The fate their leader shunn'd to share." 


Helmet, and plume, aud panoply, — 


But He, his country's sword and shield. 


Tlien waked their fire at once ! 


Still in the battle-front reveal'd. 


Each musketeer's revolving knell, 


Where danger fiercest swept the field, 


As fast, as regularly fell. 


Came like a beam of light. 


As when they practise to display 


In action prompt, in sentence brief— 


Their discipline on festal day. 


" Soldiers, stand firm," exclaim'd the Chief, 


Then down went hehn and lance. 


" England sliall tell the fight!'" 


Down were the eagle banners sent. 




Down reeUng steeds and riders went. 


XI. 


Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent ; 


On came the whirlwind — like the last 


And, to augment the fray. 


But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — 


Wheer<l full against their staggering flanks, 


• MS. — " H.irhingere." 


W.is festering, and along the crowded ways, 


M^. — " Streaming." 


Hour al"ler hour was heard the incessant sound 


MS.—" Bloody plight." 


Of wheels, which o'er the rough and stony road 


' 'tVithin those walls there lingerM at that hoar. 


Couvey'd tJieir living agonizing load ! 


Many a brave soltlier on the bed of pain. 
Whom aiii ot'liuinan art sliould ne'er restore 




" Hearts little to the melting mood inclined, 


To see his conntry and his friends a^aia ; 


Grew sick to see their sufferings ; .and the thought 


And many a victim of that fell debate. 


Still comes with horror to the shuddering mind 


Whose life yet waver'd in the scales of fate. 


Of those sad days, when Belgian ears were taught 




The British soldier's cry. half groan, half prayer. 


" Others in wagons borne abroad I saw. 


Breathed when his pain is more than he can bear." 


Albeit recovering, still a tDoarnful sight ; 


SotiTntv. 


Languid and helpless, some were stretch'd on straw. 


MS. " his stem exclaim ; 


Some more advanced, sustain'd themselves upright. 


* Where tails the sword make way by flame I 


And with bold eye and careless front, methought. 


Kecoil not from the cannon's aim ; 


Seem'd to set wounds and death again at naught. 


Confront them and they're won.' " 




See Appendix, Note C. « Ibid. Note D. ' Ibid. Note K 


What bid !t been, ','<aev, in the recent days 


^ MS. — '* Nor was one forward (botstep slopp'd. 


Of that great '.rinniph wb?n the open wound 
j4 


Though close beside a comrade dropp'd." 



50G 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Knglisb horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced :^heir resistless "way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds — 
As plies the eniith Iiis clanging trade/ 
A-gaiiisl the cuhass rang the blade ;* 
And wliilr anaid theh close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way,^ 
And while amid their scattered band 
Kaged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
Recoil'd in common rout and fear, 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot — a muigled host, 
Their leaders fali'n their stiindards lost. 

XIII. 
Then, Wellington ! thy piercing eye 
This crisis caught of destiny — 

The British host had stood 
That morn gainst charge of sword and lance* 
As their own oce:m rocks hold stance, 
But when thy voice had said, " Advance !" 

They were their ocean's flood. — 

Tliou, whose inauspicious aim 

Hath wrought thy host this horn* of shame, 
Think'st thou thy broken bands will bide 
The terrors of yon rushing tide ? 
Or will thy chosen brook to feel 
The British shock of levell'd steel,^ 

1 See Appendix, Note F. 

2 " I heard the hroadswords' deadly clang, 

As if an hundred anvils rang !" Lady of the Lake. 
' MS. — " Beneath thai storm, in full career, 
Raeh'd on the ponderous cuirassier, 
\ came with levell'd I 



The lancer \ 



:oucird his fatal 



J spear, 



Sworn S ^^^^ { to do or die ; 
( all \ 

But not an instant would they bear 

m, \ thunders / ^ , - > 
1 he < [of each serried square, 

( vollies J 

They halt, they turn, lliey fly ! 
Not even their choj^en brook to feel 
The British shock of levell'd steel ; 
Enough that through their close array 
The well-plieit cannon tore their way ; 
Enough that 'mid tlieir broken band 
The horsemen plied the bloody brand, 
Recoil'd," &c. 
* " The cuirassiers continued their dreadful onset, and rode 
u;i to the squares in the full confidence, apparently, of sweep- 
ing L-very thing before the impetuosity of their charge. Their 
onsrt and reee])tion was like a furious ocean pouring itself 
against a chain of insulated rocks. The British square stood 
unmoved, and never gave fire until the cavalry were wiihin 
ten yards, when men rolled one way, horses galloped another, 
und Uie cuirassiers were in every instance driven back." — Life 
i/ fu-napnrtc, vol. ix. p. 12. 
J See Appendix. Note G. 
" .MS. — " Or can thy memory fail to quote, 

Heard to tliy cost, the vengeful note 
Of Pru?*sia's trumpet tonel" 
" We observe a certain degree of similitude in some pas- 



Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming squadrous gleam afar, 
And fresher thunders wake the war, 

And other standards fly ? — 
Think not that m yon columns, file 
Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle — 

Is Blucher yet unknown ? 
Or dwells not in thy memory still 
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill), 
What notes of hate and vengeance thi^ill 

In Prussia's trumpet tone ? — -^ 
What yet remains? — shall it be tliine 
To head the rehcs of thy line 

In one dread effort more ? — 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved,' 
And thou canst tell what fortune proved 

That Chieftain, who, of yore, 
Ambition's dizzy paths essay'd. 
And with the glachators' aid 

For empire enterprised — 
He stood the cast his raslmess play'd. 
Left not the victims he had made. 
Dug his red grave with his own blade 
And on tlte field he lost was laid, 

Abhorr'd — but not despised.* 

XIV. 

But if revolves thy faiater thought 
On safety — howsoever bought, — 

sages of Mr. Scott's present work, to the compositions of Lord 
Byron, and particularly his Lordship's Ode to Bonaparte ; and 
we think that whoever peruses ' The Field of Waterloo,', with 
that Ode in his recollection, will be struck with this new re- 
semblance. We allude principally to such passages as that 
which begins, 

* The Roman lore thy leisure loved,' Stc. 
snd to such lines as, 

' Now, seest thoa aught in this loved scene. 
Can tell of that which late hath been V 
or, 

' So deem'st thon — so each mortal deems. 
Of that which is, from that which seems;' 

lines, by the way, of which we cannot express any very great 
admiration. This sort of influence, however, over even the 
principal writers of the day (whether they are conscious of the 
influence or not), is one of the surest tests of genius, and one 
of the proudest tributes which it receives." — ^Montfily tlcvitic. 
8 *' When the engiigement was ended, it evidently appeared 
with what undaunted spirit and re-olution Catiline's army had 
been fired : for the body of every one was found on that very 
spot which, during the battle, he had occupied ; those only ex- 
cepted who were forced from their posts by the Prajtorian co- 
hort ; and even they, though they fell a little out of their 
ranks, were all wounded before. Catiline himself was found, 
far from his own men, amidst the dead bodies of the enemy, 
breathing a little, with an air of that fierceness still in bis face 
which he bad when alive. Finally, in all his army there was 
not so much as one free citizen taken prisoner, either in the en- 
gagement or in flight ; for they spared their own lives as little 
as those of the enemy. The army of the republic obtained the 
victory, indeed, but it was neither a cheap nor a joyful one, for 
their bravest men were either slain in battle or dangerously 
wounded. As tliere were many, too, who wtnt to view the 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



507 



Tlien turn thy fearful rein and rule, 


XVI. 


Though twice ten thousand men have died 


List — frequent to the hurrying rout. 


On tliis eventful day, 


The stern pursuers' vengefid shout 


To gihl the militai-y fiime 


Tells, that upon their broken rear 


Which thou, for life, in trailic tame 


Rages the Prussitui's bloody spear. 


Wilt barter thus away. 


So fell a shriek was none. 


Shall future ages tell this tale 


When Beresina's icy flood 


Of inconsistence faint and frail ? 


Bedden'd and thaw'd with flame and bliod,' 


And art thou He of Lodi's bridge, 


And, pressing on thy desperate way. 


Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge ! 


R.aised oft and long their wild hurra, 


Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, 


The children of the Don. 


That, swell'd by winter storm and 


Thine e.ar no yell of horror cleft 


shower, 


So ominous, when, all bereft 


Rolls down m turbulence of power. 


Of aid, the valiant Polack left — ' 


A torrent fierce and wide ; 


Ay, left by thee — found soldier's grave' 


Reft of these aids, a rill obscure. 


In Leipsic's corpse-encumber'd wave. 


Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor. 


Fate, in those various perils past. 


Whose channel shows displ.ay'd 


Reserved thee still some futm-e cast , 


The wrecks of its impetuous course. 


On the dread die thou now hast thrown. 


But not one symptom of the force 


Hangs not a single field alone. 


By which these wrecks were made ! 


Nor one campaign — thy martial fame. 




Thy empire, dynasty, and name, 


XV. 


Have felt the final stroke ; 


Spm' on thy way ! — since now thine ear 


And now, o'er thy devoted head, 


Has brook'd thy veterans' wish to hear, 


The last stern vial's wnith is shed. 


Who, as thy flight they eyed. 


The last dread seal ia broke." 


Exclaim'd, — while tears of anguish came, 




Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and 


XVIL 


shame, — 


Since live thou wUt — refuse not now 


" 0, that he had but died 1"' 


Before these demagogues to bow, 


But yet, to sum this hour of ill. 


Late objects of thy scorn and hate. 


Look, ere thou leavest the fatal hill. 


Who shtiU thy once imperial fate 


Back on yon broken ranks — • 


Make wordy theme of vain debate. — 


Upon whose wild confusion gleams 


Or shall we say, thou stoop'st less low 


The moon, as on the troubled streams 


In seeking refuge from the foe. 


When rivers break their banks. 


Agamst whose heart, in prosperous life. 


And, to tlie ruin'd peasant's eye. 


Thine hand hath ever held the knife ? 


Objects half seen roll swiftly by. 


Such homage hath been paid 


Down the red current hurl'd — ■ 


By Roman and by Grecian voice. 


So muigle banner, wain, anil gun, 


And there were honor in the choice, 


Where the tumultuous flight rolls on 


If it were freely made. 


Of w;u"riors, who, when morn begun,^ 


Tlien safely come — in one so low, — 


Defied a banded world. 


So lost, — we cannot own a foe ; 


field, either out of curiosity or a desire of plunder, in turning over 


3 MS. — " Where in one tide of terror run, 


tile dead bodies, some found a friend, some a relation, and some 


The warriors that, when morn begun." 


a guest ; others there were likewise who discovered their ene- 


3 MS. — " So ominous a shriek was none. 


mio3 ; so that, through the whole army, there appeared a mix- 


Not even when Beresina's flood 


ture of gladness and sorrow, joy and mourning."— Sallcst. 


Was thawed by streams of tepid blood/' 


1 The .MS. adds. 


< For an account of the death of Poniatowski at Leipsic, see 


" That pang survived, refuse not then 


Sir Waller Scott's Life of Bonaparte, vol. vii. p. 40L 


To llumble thee before the men. 


s Mr-.—" Not such were heard, when', all bereft 


Late objects of thy scorn and hate. 


Of aid, the valiant Polack left- 


Who shall thy once imperial fate 


Ay, left by thee — found gallant grave." 


Make wordy theme of vain debate, 


" " I who with faith unshaken from the first. 


And chaffer for thy crown ; 


Even when the tyrant seem'd to touch the skies. 


As usurers wont, who suck the all 


Had look'd to see the high blown bubble burst. 


Of the fool-hardy prodig.al, 


And for a fall conspicuous as his rise, 


When on the giddy dice's fall 


Even in that faith had look'd not for defeat 


Ills latest hope has Hown. 


So swift, so overwhelming, so complete." 


But yet, to sum,*' S:c. 


South EY. 



508 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Though dear experience bid lis end, 


And, such was rightful Heaven's decree, 


In thee we ne'er can liail a friend. — 


Ne'er sheathed imless with victory !" 


Come, ho"wsoe'er — but do not hide 




Close in thy heart that germ of pride, 


XX. 


Erewliile, by gifted bard espied,' 


Look forth, once more, with soften'd heart, • 


Tliat " yet imperial hope ;'" 


Ere from the field of fame we part ;* 


Tliink not that for a fresh rebound, 


Triumph and Sorrow border near. 


To raise ambition from the ground, 


And joy oft melts into a tear. 


We yield thee means or scope. 


Alas ! what hnks of love that morn 


In safety come — but ne'er again 


Has War's rude hand asunder torn! 


Hold type of independent reigu ; 


For ne'er was field so sternly fought. 


No islet caUs thee lord. 


And ne'er was conquest dearer bought. 


We leave thee no confederate band. 


Here piled in common slaugliter sleep 


No symbol of thy lost conmiand. 


Those whom affection long sli.all weep : 


To be a dagger in the hand 


Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strain 


From which we wrench'd the sword. 


His orphans to his heart again ; 




The son, whom, on his native shore. 


XVIII. 


The parent's voice shall bless no more ; 


Yet, even in yon sequester'd spot. 


The bridegroom, who has hardly press'd 


May wortliier conquest be thy lot 


His blusliing consort to his breast ; 


Than yet thy life has known ; 


The husband, whom through many a year 


Conquest, unbought by blood or harm. 


Long love and mutual faith endear. 


That needs nor f(»reign aid nor arm, 


Thou canst not name one tender tie, 


A triumph all tlime own. 


But here di.ssolved its relics lie ! 


Such waits thee when thou shalt control 


! when thou see'st some mourner's veil 


Tliose passions wild, that stubborn soUl, 


Shroud her thin form and visage pale. 


That marr'd thy prosperous scene : — 


Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears 


Hear tliis — from no uimioved heart. 


Stream when the stricken drum she liears; 


Which siglis, comparing what tuou .ikt 


Or see'st how manlier grief, sui)i:)ress'd. 


With wliat tliou micht'st have been !' 


Is laboring in a father's brea.st, — ■ 




With no enquiry vain pursue 


XIX. 


The cause, but think on Waterloo ! 


Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renew'd 




Bankrupt a nation's gratitude. 


XXL 


To thine owu noble heart must owe 


Period of lionor as of woes. 


More tlian tlie meed slie can be.stow. 


What bright careers 'twas thine to close ! — 


For ufit a people's just acclaim. 


Mark'd on thy roll of blood what names 


N<it the full hail of Europe's fame. 


To Briton's memory, and to Fame's, 


Thy Prince's smiles, thy State's decree. 


Laid there their last immortal claims 1 


Tlie ducal rank, the garter'd knee. 


Thou saw'st m seas of gore expire 


Not these such pure dehght afford 


Redoubted Picton's soul of fire — 


As that, when hanging up thy sword, 


Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie 


Well may'st thou think, " Tliis honest steel 


All that of PoNsoNBY could die — 


Was ever drawn for public weal; 


De Lancey change Love's bridal-wreatli. 


' MS. " but do not hitle 


And now thou art a nameless tbing ; 


Once more that secret germ of pride. 


So abject — yet alive ! 


Whicti erst yon gifted bard espied." 


Is this the man of thousand thrones, 


■J '• Tlie De^olater desolate ! 


Wiio sirew'd our earth with hostile bones, 


Tbe Victor overtnrowL . 


Ami can he thus survive ? 


The Arbiter of others' fate 


Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star, 


A Suppliant for his own I 


Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far." 


Ts it some yet imperial hope. 


Bvron's Ode to J^apoleon 


That with such cbange can calmly cope ? 


4 " We left the field of battle in such mood 


Or dread of death alone ? 


As human hearts from thence should bear away ; 


To die a prince — or live a slave — 


And, musing thus, our purposed route pursued. 


Thy choice is most ignobly brave ?" 


Which stilt through scenes of recent blooilshed lay 


Byron's Ode to JVapi'ffn. 


Where Prussia late, with strong and stern delight. 


3 " 'Tis done— bat yesterday a King 1 


Hung on her fated foes to persecute their flight." 


And arm'd with Kings to strive — 


SOUTUKV 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



509 



For laurels from the liaiul of Death — ' 
Saw'st gallant MilleuV failing eye 
Still bent where AUjion's baiuiers fly, 
And C.oiEuoN,' in the shock of steel, 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel ; 
And generous Goeuon,* 'mid the strife, 
Fall wliile he wateh'd his leader's life. — 
Ah ! though her guardian angel's shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the field, 
Fate not the less her power made known, 
Through his fi'iends' hearts to pierce his own ! 

XXII. 

Forgive, brare Dead, the imperfect lay I 
AVho may your names, your numbers, say ! 
What high-strung harp, what lofty line. 
To each the dear-earn'd praise assign, 
From high-born chiefs of nuntial fame 
To the poor soldier's lowlier name ? 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day. 
From your cold couch of swamp and clay. 
To fill, before the sun was low. 
The bed that morning cannot know. — 
Oft may the tear the green sod steep. 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep, • 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne'er beside theu' noble grave. 
May Briton pass and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave 

Wlio fought with 'Wellington ! 

xxin. 

Farewell, sad Field ! whose blighted face 
■Wears desolation's withering trace ; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shatter'd huts and trampled grain. 
With every mark of martial wrong, 
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont !' 
Yet though thy garden's green arcade 



1 The Poet's friend, Colonel Sir William De Lancey, mai^ 
ried tiie be.iQtifal daugliter of Sir James Hall, Bart., in April 
l81o. and received his mortal wound on the 18tli of June. 
See Captain B. Hall's affecting narrative in the first series of 
liis " Fragments of Voyajjes and Travels," vol. ii, p. 369. 

3 Colonel Miller, of tlie Guards — son to Sir William Miller, 
Lord Glenlee, When mortally wounded in the attack on the 
Bois de Bossu, he desired to see the colors of the regiment 
once more ere he died, Tliey were waved over his head, and 
the expiring officer declared himself satisfied. 

3 " Colonel Cameron, of Fassiefern, so often distingnished 
in Lord Wellington's despatches from Spain, fell in the action 
at Quafre Bras (16th June, 1815), while leading the 92d or 
Gordon Highlanders, to charge a hody of cavalry, supported by 
infantry." — Paulas Letters, p. 91. 

* Colonel the Honorable Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to 
the Earl of Aberdeen, who hxs erected a pillar on the spot 
where he fell by the side of the Duke of Wellington. 

^ " Beyond these points the fight extended not, — • 
Small theatre for such a tragedy ! 
Its breath scarce more, from eastern Popelot 



The marksman's fatal post was made, 
Though on thy sliatter'd beeches fell 
The blentleii rage of shot and i<hell. 
Though from thy blaeken'd portals torn. 
Their fall tliy blighted fruit-trees mourn. 
Has not such havoc bought a name 
Immortal in tlie rolls of fame ? 
Yes — Agincourt may be forgot, 
And Cressy be an tinknown spot. 

And Blenheim's name be new ; 
But still in story and in song, 
For many an age remember'd long. 
Shall live the towers of Hougomont, 

And Field of Waterloo. 



CONCLUSION. 

Stern tide of htmian Time ! that knov.-'st not rest. 
But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, 
Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast 
Successive generations to their doom ; 
While thy capacious stream has equal roor.i 
For the gay bark where Pleasure's streamer.^ 

sport. 
And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, 
Tlie tishcr-skiff, and barge that Ijears a court, 
Still wafting onward all to oue d.trk sUent port , — 

Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious 
change [driven I 

Of hope and fear have our frail barks been 
For ne'er before, vicissitude so strange 
Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. 
And siu'C such varied change of sea and heaven, 
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe. 
Such fearful strife as that where we have 

striven. 
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know, [flow ! 
Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to 



To where the groves of Hougomont on high 
Rear in the west their venerable head. 
And cover with their shade the countless dead 

" But wouldst thou tread this celebrated ground, 
And trace with understanding eyes a scene 
Above alt other fields of war renown'd. 

From western Hougomont thy way begin ; 
There was our strength on that sitle, and there first 
In all its force, the slorni of battle burst." 

SotiTHEY 

Mr. Southey adds, in a note on these verses : — '■ So impoft 
ant a battle, perlia|is, was never before fought within so small 
an extent of ground. I computed the distance between Hou- 
gomont and Po[>elot at three miles ; in a straight line it might 
probably not exceed two and a half. Our guide was very 
much disple;i-sed at the name which the battle had obtained 
in England,— ' Why cnll it the battle of W;iterIoo V he said ; 
' Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye Samte, call it Popelot— 
anv thing but Waterloo.' " — Pi/ffrimt^re to tVatcrloo. 



>10 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"Well hast thou stood, my Country ! — tbe brave 
fight [iU ; 

Hast -well maintam'd through good report and 
In thy just cause and m thy native might, 
And in Heaven's grace and justice coustant still ; 
Wliethor the banded prowess, strength, and skill 
Of half the world against thee stood array'd, 
Or when, ■with better views and freer will, 
Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, 
Eaoli emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. 

Well art thou now repaid — thougli slowly rose, 
And struggled long with mists thy blaze of 

fame, 
Wliile hke the dawn that in the orient glows 
Ou the broad wave its earlier lustre came ;^ 
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, 
And Maida's myrtles gleam'd beneath its ray, 
AVhere first the soldier, stung with generous 

shame, 
Rivall'd the heroes of the wat'ry way, [away. 
And wasli'd in foemeu's gore unjust reproach 

1 MS. — " On the broad ocean first its lustre came." 
- In the Life of i?ir W. Scott, vol. v., pp. 99-104, the reader 
will find a curious record of minute allerationa on tliia poem, 
BUgfjested, while it was proceeding through tlie press, by the 
jirinter and the bookseller, with the autlior's good-natured 
replies, sometimes adopting, sometimes rejecting what was 
proposed . 

3 " ' The Field of Waterloo' was published before the end 
of October, in 8vo ; the profits of the first edition being the 
author's contribution to the fund raised for the relief of tlie 
widows and children of tlie soldiers slain in the battle. This 
piece appears to have disappointed those most disposed to sym- 
pathize with the author's views and feelings. The descent 
is indeed lieavy from liis Bannockburn to his Waterloo; the 
jiresence, or all but visible reality of what his dreams chei^ 
ished, seems to have overawed his imagination, and tamed it 
into a weak pomposity of movement. Tlie burst of pure na- 
tive enthusiasm upon tlie Scottish heroes that fell around the 
Duke of Wellington's person, bears, however, the broadest 
marks of ' The Mighty Minstrel :'— 

' Saw gallant Miller's fading eye 

Still bent where Albion's standards fly. 
And Cameron, in the shock of steel. 
Die like tbe offspring of Lochiel,' &c. — 

ajid this is far from being the only redeeming passage. There 



Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high. 
And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, 
Gallant Saint George, the flower of Cliivah-y, 
For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe. 
And rescued innocence from overthi-ow, 
And trampled down, like him, tyranni: Tois-ht. 
And to the gazing world may'st proudly show 
The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, 
WIio quell'd devouring pride, and "vindicitcd right 

Yet 'mid the confidence of jast renown, 
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquu'ed. 
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down: 
'Tis not alone the heart w^lth valor fired, 
Tlie disciphne so di'eaded and admired, 
In many a field of bloody conquest known ; 
• — Such may by fame be lui*ed, by gold be hired — 
'Tis constancy in the good cause alone, 
Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won.^ 



END OF THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 

is one, indeed, in which he illustrates what he then thooght 
Buonaparte's poorness of spirit Jn adversity, which always 
struck me as pre-eminently characteristic of Scott's manner 
of interweaving, both in jirose and verse, the moral energies 
with analogous natural description, and combining thought 
with imagery : — 

' Or is thy soul like mountain tide, 
Tliatswetl'd by winter storm and shower, 
Rolls down in turbulence of power, 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of tlit'se aids, a rill obscure, 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, 

Whose channel shows display'd 
The wrecks of its impetuous course, 
But not one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made !* 

" The poem was the first tipon a subject likely to be snffi 
ciently hackneyed ; and, having the advantage of coming out 
in a small cheap form — (prudently imitated from Murray's in- 
novation with the tales of Byron, which was the deathblow 
to the system of verse in quarto) — it attained rapidly a meas- 
ure of circulation above what had been reached either by 
Rokeby or the Lord of tlie Isles.*' — Lockuart — Life oj 
Scott, vol. v. pp. 106-107 



APPENDIX TO THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



511 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
The peasant, at his labor blithe, 

Plies the hook'd staff and shortened scythe.— V. 503. 
The rMper in Flanflers carries in liis left liand a stick with 
an iron liook, with which he collects as much grain as he can 
cut al one sweep with a short scythe, which he holds in his 
riglit liarul. They carry on this ilouble process witii yreat 
iptrit aud dexterity. 



Note B. 

Pole Brussels! then what thoughts were thine.— P. 504. 

It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had 
promised his army, in case of victory, twenty-four hours' plun- 
der of tlie city of Brussels. 



Note C. 

*' On! On!** was still his stern exclaim. — P. 505. 

The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was never more 
fully displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope 
will prove the last of his fields. He would listen to no ad- 
vice, and allow of no obstacles. An eye-wirness lias given 
the following account of his demeanor towards the end of the 
action : — 

'* It was near seven o'clock ; Bonaparte, who till then had 
remained upon the ridge of tlie hill whence lie could best 
behold wliat passed, contemplated witli a stern countenance, 
tlie sci'iie of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles 
•eemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to in- 
crease. He became indignant at these unforeseen difficul- 
ties ; and, far from fearing to posh to extremities an army 
whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to 
iiour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward — 
to charge with the bayonet — to carry by storm. He was 
repeatedly informed, from difterent points, thai the day went 
against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered ; to 
which he only replied, — * Kn-avant ! En-nvant !' 

" One general sent lo inform the Emperor that he was in a 
position which he could not maintain, because it was com- 
manded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same 
time, in what way he should protect bis division from the 
murderous fire of the English artillery. 'Let him storm the 
•.attery,' rpplied Bonaparte, and turned his hack on the aide- 
ae-camp who brought the message. "^iif/a(!on dc la Bnttnillc 
de Jilont-St-Jean. Par un Tenioin Oculaire. Paris, 1815, 
5vo p. 51. 



Note D. 
The fate their lender shunn'd to share. — P. 505. 
It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of 
his guards , at the last period of this dreadful conflict. This, 
however, is not accurate. He came down indeed to a hollow 
part of tlie high road, leading to Charleroi, within less than a 
quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, one of tlie 
noinis most fiercely disputed. Here he harangued the guards, 
and informed them that his preceding operations bad destroyed 
the British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to 
support the fire of the artillery, wliich they were to attack 
with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts 
of Five Empereur^ which '."ere heard over all our line, and 



led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. But thi 
guards were led on by Ney ; nor did Bonaparte approach 
nclircr the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, 
which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all 
such balls as did not come in a straight line. He witnessed 
tlie earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, par^ 
ticularly from an observatory which had been placed there by 
the King of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the pur- 
pose of surveying the country.! It is not meant lo infer from 
these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that memorable 
occasion, the least deficiency in personal courage ; on tho con- 
trary, he evinced the greatest composure and jircscnce of mind 
during the whole action. But it is no less true that n-port h:u 
erred in ascribing to him any desperate elforts of valor for re- 
covery of the battle; aud it is remarkable, that during tho 
whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed or wounded, 
whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington's personal 
attendants escaped unliurt. 



Note E. 
England shall tell the fight!— V. 505. 
In riding up to a regiment which was hard pressed, the Duko 
called to tiie men, " Soldiers, we must never be beat,— what 
will they say in England 1" It is needless to say Iiow this ap- 
peal was answered. 



Note F. 
^s plies the smith his clanging trade.— V. 506. 
A private soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sound 
which took place immediately upon the British cavalry min- 
gling witli those of the enemy, to "a thousand tinkeis at 
work mending pots and kettles." 



Note G. 
The British shock of lev elVd steel.— V. 506. 
No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French 
troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The Imperial 
Guards, in particular, hardly stood till the British were within 
thirty yards of them, although the French author, already 
quoted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, 
*' The Guards never yield— they die." The same author has 
covered the plateau, or eminence, of St. Jean, which Ibrmcd 
the Briliali position, with redoubts and retrenchments which 
never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many 
respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was proha^ 
bly deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch wlucn ruu 
along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticisinL' 
this work, that the writer mentions the Ciiateau of Hougo- 
mont to iiave been carrieil by the French, althuugli it was rv<- 
olutely and successfully defended during the whole action. 
The enemy, indeed, |)ossessed themselves of the wood by 
wliich it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the iiouso it- 
self ; but the British (.i detachment of the Guards, under the 
command of Colonel .Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel 
Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by their 
desperate resistance, the post which covered the retara of the 
Duke of Wellington's right flank. 

1 The mistakes conwrnrnj; this obeervatcry hnve been mutunl. TUo 
English supposed it wiu crocte<l for the uae of Booapitrtu : nnd ii KrcucU 
writer affirms it was constructed by the Duke of Wulliogtoa. 



512 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



i^aroU tl)c Slauntlcss: 



\ POEM,' IN SIX CANTOS. 



" Dpim another occasion," says Sir Walter, " I sent up another of these trifes, which, like schoolhois' 
kites, served to show how the wind of popular taste was setting. The maimer was svpposcd to be that of 
a rude minstrel, or Scald, in opposition to ' The Bridal of Triermaiyi,' which was designed to belong rather 
to the Italian school. This jiew fugitive piece was called ^Harold the Dauntless ;' and I am still aston- 
ished at my having coinmitted the gross error of selecting the very iianie ivhich Lord Bijron had made so 
famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingeniotis friend, Mr. James Hogg, had puhlished, 
about the same time, a work called the ' Poetic Mirror^ containing imitations of the principal living 
poets. There was in it a very good imitation of my own style, which bore such a resemblance to ' Harold 
the Dauntless^ that there was no discovering tJte original from tlie imitation; and I believe that many 
who took the trouble of thinking upon the subject, were rather of opinion that my ingenious friend was 
the true, and not the fctitious Simon Pure'' — Intkoduchon to the Loud of the Isles. 1830.° 



§avoli( tijc Jl'auutlcs'; 



INTRODUCTION. 

There is a mood of mind, we all liare known 
On drowsy eve, or dark and low'ring day, 
Wlien the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone, 
And naught can chase the lingering horn's away. 
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray. 
And wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain. 
Obscured the pauiting seems, mistuned the lay. 
Nor dare we of our Ustless load complain. 
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell 
of pain ? 



' Published by Constable and Co., January, 1817, in 12mo. 
7». OJ. 

- "Within less than a inoiitli. the Black Dwarf anil Old 
Mortality were followed by ' Harold tile Dauntless, by the au- 
tlior of the Bridal of Triennain,' This poem had been, it ap- 
pears, begun several years back ; nay, part of it bad been ac- 
tually printed before the appearance of Cliilde Harold, though 
that circumstance had escaped the author's remembrance when 
he penned, in 1830, his Introduction to the Lord of the Isles ; 
for he there says, ' I am still astonished at my having commit- 
ted the gross error of selecting the very name which Lord By- 
ron had made so famous.' The volume was published by 
Messrs. Constable, and had, in those booksellers' phrase, ' con- 



The jolly sportsman knows such di'earihood. 
When bmsts in deluge the autumnal rain, 
Clouding that morn which threats the heath- 
cock's brood ; 
Of such, in svmimer's drought, the anglers plain, 
"Who hope the soft mild southern shower iu vain ; 
But, more than aU, the discontented fair, 
"Wliom father stern, and sterner aunt, restrain 
From county -ball, or race occurring rare, 
While all her friends around their vestments gay 
prepare. 

Ennui ! — or, as our mothers call'd thee, Spleen ! 
To tliee we owe fuU many a rare device ; — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween, 
Tlie rolling bilUard-ball, the rattling dice. 



siderable success.' It has never, however, been placed on a 
level with Triermain ; and, though it contains many vi^jorous 
pictures, and splendid verses, and here and there some liapjiy 
humor, the confusion and harsh transitions of the fable, and 
the dim rudeness of character and manneis, seem sufficient to 
account for this inferiority in public favor. It is not surprising 
that the author should have redoubled his aversion to the notion 
of any more serious performances in verse. He had seizcl on 
an instrument of wider comjiass, and which, handled with 
whatever rapidity, seemed to reveal at every touch treasures 
that had hitherto slept unconsciously within him. He had 
thrown off his fetters, and mi^Iil well go forth rejoicing in the 
native elasticity of his strength." — I.ifc of Scoit, vol. i . p. 181. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



513 



The tui-ning-lathe for framing gimcrack nice ; 
The amateur's blotcli'd pallet thou mayst claim, 
Retort and air-pump, threatening frogs and 

mice 
(Murders disguised by philosophic name), 
And much of trifling grave and much of buxom 

game. 

Tlien of tlie books, to catch thy drowsy glance 
Compiled, what bard tlie catalogue may quote ! 
Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ; — 
But not of such the tale fiiir Edgeworth wrote. 
That bears thy name, and is thine antidote ; 
And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, 
Delicious di'eams iuspning by his note, 
Wliat time to Indolence his harp he strung; — 
! might my lay be rank'd that happier list 
among !' 

Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 
For me, I love my study-fii"e to trun. 
And con right vacintly some idle talc, 
Displaying on the (ouch each listless limb. 
Till on the drowsj- page the lights grow dim. 
And doubtful slumber half suppUes the 

theme ; 
'UTiUe antique shapes of Icnight and giant grim. 
Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam, 
nd the Romancer's tale becomes the Reader's 

dream. 

'Tis thus my malady I well may bear, 
Albeit outstrctcli'd, like Pope's own Paridel, 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ; 
And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell 
In old romaunts of errantry that tell. 
Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, 
Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell, 
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-wing'd Roc, 
Thougli taste may blush and frown, and sober rea- 
son mock. 

Oft at such season, too, will rliymes unsought 
Arrange tlicmselves in some i-omantic lay ; 
The which, as things unfitting graver thought, 
Aj-e burnt or blotted on some wiser day. — 
These few smwive — and proudly let me say, 
Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his 

frown ; 
Tliey weU may serve to while an hour away, 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown, 
Tlian Ennui's yawning smile, wliat time she drops 

it down. 



» The dry Iiumor, and sort of half Spenserian cast of these, 

an well as all the other introductory stanzas in the poem, we 

tliink excellent, and scarcely oatdone hy any thing of the kind 

wfl know of; and there are few parts, taken separately, that 

05 



i^itrolb tl)c DiauntUs0. 



CANTO FlttST. 



List to the valorous deeds that were done 

By Harold the Daimtless, Count Witikind's son '. 

Count Witikind came of a regal strain, [m.t-.i!. 

And roved witlt Ills Norsemen the land and tl;j 
"Woe to the realms wliich he coasted ! for tliere 
Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair. 
Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest, 
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast : 
When he hoisted his standard black. 
Before liim was battle, behind hun wTack, 
And he burn'd the churches, that heathen Dane, 
To light his band to their bai-ks again. 

II. 
On Erin's shores was his outrage known, 
The winds of France had his banners blown ; 
Little was there to plunder, yet still 
His pirates had foray d on Scottish hill : 
But upon merry England's coast 
More frequent he sail'ti, for he won the most. 
So wide and so far his ravage they knew. 
If a sail but gleam'd white 'gainst the welkin blue. 
Trumpet and bugle to arms did call, 
Burghers hasten'd to man the wall, 
Peasants fled inland his fury to 'scape. 
Beacons were hghted on headland and cape. 
Bells were toll'd out, and aye as they rung 
Fearful and faintly the gray brothers sung, 
" Bless us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire. 
From famine and pest, and Count Witikiud's ire !" 

IIL 

He hked the wealth of fan- England so well. 

That he sought in her bosom as native to dwell. 

He enter'd the Humber in fearful hour, 

And disembark'd with his Danish power. 

Three Earls came against him with all their train ; 

Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. 

CouTit Witikind left the Humber's rich strand, 

And he wasted and warr'd in NorthtmiberlancL 

But the Saxon King was a sire in age. 

Weak in battle, in council sage ; 

Peace of that heathen leader he sought. 

Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought ; 

And the Coimt took upon him tlie peaceable style 

Of a vassal and liegeman of Britam's broad isle. 



have not something attractive to the lover of natural poetry 
while any one page will show how extremely like it is to tht 
manner of Seott.** — BlackwooiV s Magazine 1817 



514 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I. 



IV. 
Time will rust the sharpest swor J, 
Time vrill consume the strongest cord ; 
That which moulders hemp and steel, 
Mortal arm and nerve must feel. 
Of the Danish band, whom Count Witikiud led, 
Many wax'd aged, and many were dead : 
Himself found liis armor full weighty to bear, 
Wrinkled his brows grew, and hoary his hau' ; 
He lean'd on a staff, when his step went abroad. 
And patient his palfrey, when steed he bestrode. 
As he grew feebler, his wildness ceased, 
He made liimself peace with prelate and priest, — 
Made his peace, and, stooping his head. 
Patiently listed the counsel they said : 
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy and grave, 
Wise and good was the counsel he gave. 



" Thou hast murder'd, robVd, and spoU'd, 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoil'd ; 
Priests didst thou slay, and chiu'ches burn. 
Time it is now to repentance to turn ; 
Fiends hast thou worshipped, with fiendish rite. 
Leave now the darkness, and wend into light ; 
! while life and space are given, 
Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven !" 
That stern old heathen his head he raised. 
And on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed ; 
" Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, 
My faith I wUl leave, and I'll cleave unto thine." 

VI. 
Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and Wear, 
To be held of the clim*cli by bridle and speai" ; 
Part of Monkweannouth, of Tynedale part, 
To better liis will, and to soften his heart : 
Count Witikind was a joyful man. 
Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. 
The high church of Durham is dress'd for the day. 
The clergy are rank'd ua their solemn array : 
There came the Count, in a beai'-skin warm. 
Leaning on Hilda liis concubine's arm. 
He kneeld before Samt Cuthbert's shrine, 
AVith patience unwoute4 at rites divine ; 
He abjured the gods of heathen race. 
And he bent his head at the font of grace. 
But such was the grisly old proselyte's look, 
That the priest who baptized him grew pale and 

shook ; 
And the old monks mutter'd beneath theii' hood, 



VIL 

Up then arose that grim convertite. 
Homeward he liied him when ended the rite 
The Prelate in honor will with liim ride. 
And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side. 



Banners and banderols danced in the wind. 
Monks rode before them, and speajmen behind ; 
Onward they pass'd, till faii'ly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne ; 
And fuU in front did that fortress lower, 
In darksome strength with its buttress and tower : 
At the castle gate was young Harold there. 
Count Witikind's only offspring and heir. 

VIIL 
Yoxmg Harold was fear'd for his hardihood, 
His strength of frame, and liis fm-y of mood. 
Rude he waa and wild to behold. 
Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold, 
Cap of vair nor rich array, 
Such as should grace that festal day : 
His doublet of buU's hide was all unbraced, 
Uncover'd his head, and his sandal unlaced : 
His shaggy black locks on liis brow hung low. 
And his eyes glanced through them a swai'thy glow ; 
A Danish club in his hand he bore. 
The spikes were clotted with recent gore ; 
At his back a she-wolf, and her wolf-cubs twain, 
In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 
Rude was the greeting his father he made. 
None to the Bishop, — wliUe thus he said: — 

IX. 

" What priest-led hypocrite art thou. 
With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow, 
Lilve a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow ? 
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known, 
Royal Eric's fearless son. 
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord. 
Who won his bride by the axe and sword ', 
From the shrine of St. Peter the chalice who tore, 
And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor; 
With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the skull, 
Before Odin's stone, of the Moimtain BuU ? 
Then ye worshipp'd with rites that to war-goda 
belong, [strong ; 

With the deed of the brave, and the blow of the 
And now, in thine age to dotage sunk, 
Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven monk,— 
Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothuig of hair, — 
Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou bear f 
Or, at best, be admitted in slotliful bower 
To batten with priest and with paramour? 
Oh ! out upon thine endless shame ! 
Each Scald's high harp shall blast thy fame, 
And thy son wiU refuse thee a father's name 1' 

X. 

Ireful wax'd old Witikind's look. 

His faltering voice with fury .shook : — 

" Hear me, Harold of harden'd heart 1 

Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. 

Thine outrage msane I command thee to cease. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



51B 



Fear my wratli and remain at peace : — 
Just is tlie debt of repentance I've paid, 
Ridily tlie church lias a recompense made, 
And tlio truth of her doctrines I prove with my 

blade. 
But reckoniug to none of my actions I owe. 
And least to my sou such accounting will show. 
Why speak I to thee of repentance or truth, 
Who ne'er from thy childhood knew reason or ruth ? 
Hence ! to the wolf and the bear in her den ; 
These are thy mates, and not rational men." 

XI. 

Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly repUed, 

" 'We must honor our sii'es, if we fear when they 

chide. 
For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made, 
I was rock'd in a buckler and fed from a blade ; 
An infant, was taught to clasp hands and to shout 
From the roofs of the tower when the flame had 

broke out ; 
In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip. 
And tinge with its purple my cheek and my Up. — 
"Tia thou know'st not truth, that hast barter'd in eld. 
For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors 

held. [plain, — 

When this wolf," — and the carcass he flung on the 
" Shall awake and give food to her nm'sUngs again. 
The fiice of his father will Harold review ; 
Till then, aged Heathen, young Christian, adieu !" 

XII. 

Priest, monk, and prelate, stood aghast, 

As through the pageant the heathen pass'd. 

A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flvmg, 

L:ud his hand on the pommel, and into it sprung. 

Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. 

When the holy sign on the earth was thrown ! 

The fierce old Count unsheathed his brand, 

But the calmer Prelate stay'd his hand. 

" Let him pass free ! — Heaven knows its hour, — 

But Ije must own repentance's power. 

Pray and weep, and penance bear. 

Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the Wear." 

Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone 

Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. 

xin. 

High was the feasting in Witikind's hall, 
ReveU'd priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; 
And e'en the good Bishop was fain to endure 
The scandal,which time and instruction might cure : 
It were dangerous, he dcem'd, at the first to re- 
strain. 
In his wine and his wassail, a half-christen'd Dane. 
The mead flow'd around, and the ale was drain'd 

dry, 
WUd was the laughter, the song, aniJ the cry ; 



With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in 
The war-songs of Danesmen, Nonveyan, and Finn, 
Till man after man the contention gave o'er, 
Outstretch'd on the rushes that strew'd the hall 
floor ; [rout. 

And the tempest with'm, having ceased its wild 
Gave place to the tempest that thunder'd without. 

XIV. 
Apart from the wassail, in turret alone, 
Lay fiaxen-hair'd Gunnar, old Ermcngarde's son ; 
In the train of Lord Harold tliat Page was the 

first. 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed ; 
And grieved was yoimg Gunnar his master should 

roam. 
Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plasliing of rain, 
He saw the red hghtcing through shot-hole and 

pane ; 
" And oh !" said the Page, " on the shelterless wold 
Lord Hai'old is wandering in darkness and cold ! 
What though he was stubborn, and wayward, and 

wUd, [child, — 

He endured me because I was Ermengirrde's 
And often from dawn tUl the set of the sun, 
In the chase, by liis stuTup, unbidden I run ; 
I woiild I were older, and knighthood could bear, 
I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the 

Wear : [breath. 

For my mother's command, with her last parting 
Bade me follow her nuisUng in life and to deatk 

XV. 

" It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. 
As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain I 
Accursed by the Church, and expell'd by his sire. 
Nor Christian nor Dane give him shelter or fire. 
And this tempest what mortal may houseless en- 
dure? 
Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor 1 
WTiate'er comes of Gmmar, he tarries not here." 
He leapt from his couch and he grasp'd to his 
spear ; [tread. 

Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturb'd by his 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead : 
" Ungi'ateful and bestial !" his anger broke forth, 
" To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of the 
North ! [store, 

And you, ye cowl'd priests, who have plenty in 
Must give Gunnar for ransom a jjalfrey and ore." 

XVL 
Then, heeding full little of ban or of cm'se. 
He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaux's purse : 
Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning has miss'd 
His mantle, deep furr'd from the cape to the wrist 
The Seneschal's keys from liis belt he has ta'en 



516 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I. 



(Wull dreucli'J on that eve was old Hildebrand's 

brain). 
To the stable-yard lie made his way, 
And mounted the Bishop's palfrey gay, 
Castle and hamlet beliind liim h.as cast, 
And right on his "way to the moorland has pass'd. 
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face 
A weather so wild at so rash a pace ; 
So long he snorted, so loud he neigh'd. 
There answer'd a steed that was bound beside. 
And the red flash of lightning show'd there where 

lay 
His master, Lord Harold, outstretch'd on tlie clay. 

XVII. 

Up he started, and thundcr'd out, " Stand !" 
And raised the club in his deadly hand. 
The flaxon-hair'd Gunnar liis purpose told, 
Show'd the p.alfrey and protfer'd the gold. 
" Back, back, and home, thou sijnple boy ! 
Thou canst not share my grief or joy : 
Have I not mai'k'd thee wail and cry 
When thou hast seen a sparrow die ? 
And canst thou, as my follower should. 
Wade ankle-deep through foeman's blood. 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods above, the fiends below. 
And man on earth, more hateful stUl, 
The very fountain-head of ill ? 
Desperate of life, and careless of death. 
Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe. 
Such must thou be with me to roam, 
And such thou canst not be — back, and home !" 

xvin. 

Yoimg Gunnar shook Uke an aspen bough, [brow. 
As he heard the harsh voice and beheld the dark 
And half he repented his pm'pose and vow. 
But now to draw back were bootless .shame, 
And he loved his master, so urged his claim : 
" Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak. 
Bear witli me a while for old Ermengarde's sake ; 
ISTor deem so lightly of Gunnar's faitli, 
As to feai- he would bre.ak it for peril of death. 
Have I not risk'd it to fetch tliee this gold, 
Tliis surcoat and mantle to fence tliee from cold ? 
And, did I bear a baser mind, 
"WTiat lot remains if I stay beliind i 
The priests' revenge, thy father's wi'ath, 
A dungeon, and a shameful death." 

XIX 

With gentler look Lord Harold eyed 
The Page, then tmn'd his head aside ; 

■ '* It may be worthy of notice, that in Harold the Daunt- 
less there is a wise and good Eustace, as in the Monasters', and 
a Prior of Jorvaux, who is robbed (ante, stanza xvi.) as in 



And either a tear did Iiis eyelash stain, 

Or it caught a drop of the passing raiu. 

" Art tliou an outcast, then ?" quoth he ; 

" The meeter page to follow me." 

'Twere bootless to tell wliat climes they sought, 

Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; 

How oft with few, how oft alone, 

Fierce Harold's arm the field hath won. 

Men swore his eye, that flasii'd so red 

When each other glance was quench'd with dread. 

Bore oft a fight of deadly flame, 

That ne'er from mortal courage came. 

These limbs so strong, that mood so stern, 

That loved the couch of heath and fern. 

Afar from hamlet, tower, and town. 

More than to rest on driven down ; 

Tliat stubborn frame, that sullen mood, 

Men deem'd must come of aught but good , 

And they whisper'd, the great Master Fiend waa 

at one 
With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikhid's son. 

XX. 

Years after years liad gone and fled. 

The good old Prelate Ues lapp'd in lead ; 

In the chapel still is shown 

His sculjjtiued form on a marble stone. 

With staff and ring and scapulau-e, 

And folded hands in the act of prayer. 

Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now 

On the haughty Saxon, bold Alduigar's brow ; 

The power of his crozier he loved to extend 

O'er whatever would break, or whatever would 

bend ; 
And now hath he clothed liim in cope and in pall. 
And the Cliapter of Durham has met at 1ft call. 
" And hear ye not, brethren," the j>roud Bishop 

said, [dead i 

" That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind's, 
All his gold and his goods hath he given 
To holy Church for the love of Heaven, 
And hath founded a chantry' with stipend and 

dole, [soul : 

Tliat priests and that beadsmen may pray for his 
Harold his son is wandering abroad, 
Dreaded by ni.an and abhorr'd by God ; 
Meet it is not, that such should heir [Wear, 

The lands of the church on the Tyne and I lie 
And at her pleasure, her hallow'd liands 
May now resume these wealthy lands." 

XXL 

Answer'd good Eustace,' a canon old, — 
" Harold is tameless, and fm'ious, and bold ; 

Ivanhoe." — ADOLPHtTs' Letters on the.^uthor of Waverley, 
1822, p. 281. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



517 



Ever Renown blows a note of fame, 

And a note of fenr, when she sounds Ws name : 

ilucli of bloodshed anil much of scathe 

Have been their lot who have waked liis wrath. 

Leave him these hmds and lordships still, 

Heaven in its hour may change his will ; 

But if reft of gold, and of living bare, 

An evil counsellor is despair." 

lloie liad he said, but the Prelate frown'd, 

.Vnd murmur'd liis brethren who sate around, 

,\nd with one consent have they given their doom, 

'I'liat tlie Church should the lands of S;uut Cuth- 

bert resume. 
So will'd the Prelate ; and canon and dean 
Gave to his judgment their loud amen. 



(garolb tl)c Dauntless. 



CANTO SECOND. 



I. 

'Tis merry in greenwood, — thus runs the old lay, — 
In the gladsome month of lively May, 
When the wild birds' song on stem and spray 

Invites to forest bower ; 
Tlien rears the ash his airy crest, 
Then shines the birch in silver vest. 
And the beech in ghstening leaves is drest, 
And dark between shows the oak's proud breast, 

Like a cliieffain's frowning tower ; 
Though a thousand branches join then- screen. 
Yet the broken sunbeams glance between, 
And tip the leaves with lighter green, 

With brighter tints the flower : 
Dull is the heart that loves not then 
Tlie deep recess of the wildwood glen, 
V\Tiere roe and red-deer find sheltering den, 

Wlieu the sun is in his power. 

XL 

Less meiTy, perchance, is the fading leaf 
That follows so soon on the gather'd sheaf, 

Wlien the gieenwood loses the name ; 
Silent is then the forest bound, 
Save the redbreast's note, and the rustling sound 
Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round. 
Or the deep-mouth'd cry of the distant bound 

That opens on his game : 
Yet then, too, I love the forest wide. 
Whether the sun in splendor ride, 
Anil gild its many-color'd side ; 
Or whether the soft and silvery haze, 



In vapory folds, o'er the landscape str.aya, 
And half involves tlie woodland maze, 

Like an early widow's veil, 
Where wimpling tissue from the gaze 
The form half hides, and half betrays, 

Of beauty wan and pale. 

III. 

Fair Metelill was a woodland maid, 
Her father a rover of gi-eenwood shade, 
By forest statutes undismay'd, 

Wlio lived by bow and quiver; 
Well known was Wulfstane's archery. 
By merry Tyne both on moor .and lea. 
Through wooded Weardale's glens so free, 
Well beside Stanhope's wildwood tree, 

And well on Ganlesse river. 
Yet free though he trespass'd on woodland 

game. 
More known and more fear'd was the wizard 

fame 
Of Jutta of Rookliope, tlie Outlaw's dame ; 
Fear'd when she frown'd was her eye of flamt, 

More fear'd when in wrath she laugh'd ; 
For then, 'twas said, more fatal true 
To its dread aim her spell-glance flew. 
Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew 

Sprung forth the gray-goose shaft. 

IV. 
Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair, 
So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ; 

None brighter crown'd the bed. 
In Britain's bounds, of peer or prince. 
Nor hath, perchance, a loveUer since 

In tliis fair isle been bred. 
And naught of fraud, or ire, or ill, 
Was known to gentle Metelill, — 

A simple maiden she ; 
The spells in dimpled smile that lie, 
And a downcast blush, and the darts that fly 
With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye, 

Were her arms and witchery. 
So young, so simple was she yet. 
She scarce could cliildhood's joys forget. 
And stiU she loved, in secret set 

Beneath the greenwood tree. 
To plait the rushy coronet. 
And braid with flowers her locks of jet. 

As when in infancy ; — 
Yet could that heart, so simple, prove 
The early da«Ti of stealing love : 

Ah ! gentle maid, beware 1 
The power who, now so mild a guest. 
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest 
To the calm pleasures of thy breast, 
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest, 

Let none his empire share. 



518 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n. 


V. 


vni. 


One morn, in kirtle green array'd, 


Secured within liis powerful hold. 


Deep in the wood the maiden stray'd, 


To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 


And, where a fountain sprung, 


Was all the maiden might ; 


She sate her down, unseen, to thread 


And " Oh ! forgive," she fiiintly saitl, 


The scarlet berry's mimic braid. 


" The terrors of a shnple maid. 


And while the beads she strung, 


If thou art mortal wight ! 


Like tlie bUtlie lark, whose carol gay 


But if — of such strange tales are told — 


Gives a good-morrow to the day, 


Unearthly warrior of the wold. 


So lightsomely she sung. 


Thou coniest to chide mine accents bold. 




My mother, Jutta, knows the spell. 


VI. 


At noon and midnight pleasing well 




The disembodied ear ; 


Sons. 


Oh ! let her powerful charms atone 


"Lonn "William was born in gdded bower, 


For aught my rashness may have done. 


The heir of Wilton's lofty tower ; 


And cease thy grasp of fear." 


Tet better loves Lord Wdham now 


Then laugh'd the Knight — liis laughter's sound 


To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow ; 


Half in the hollow hehnet drown'd ; 


And 'William has Uved wliere ladies 


His barred visor then he raised, 


fair 


And steady on the maiden gazed. 


"With gawds and jewels deck then- hair, 


He smooth'd his brows, as best he might. 


Yet better loves the dew-di-ops still 


To the dread calm of autumn night. 


That pearl tie locks of Metelill 


When sinks the tempest roar ; 




Yet still the cautious fishers eye 


" The pious Palmer loves, I wis. 


The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky, 


Saint Cuthbert's hallow'd beads to kiss ; 


And haul their barks on shore. 


But I, though simple gu-1 I be, 




Might have such homage paid to me ; 


IX. 


For did Lord WiUiam see me suit 


" Damsel," he said, " be wise, and learc 


This necklace of the bramble's fruit, 


Matters of weight and deep concern: 


He fain — but must not have his will — 


From distant realms I come. 


Would kiss the beads of Metelill. 


And, wanderer long, at length have plann'd 




In this my native Northern land 


" My nm-se has told me many a tale. 


To seek myself a home. 


How vows of love are weak and fr.ail ; 


Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; 


My mother says that courtly youth 


She must be gentle, soft, and meek, — 


By rustic maid means seldom sooth. 


No lordly dame for me ; 


What should they mean ? it cannot be. 


Myself am something rough of mood, 


Tliat such a warning's meant for me. 


Aid feel the fire of royal blood. 


For naught — oh ! naught of fraud or ill 


And therefore do not hold it good 


Can Wilham mean to Metelill !" 


To match in my degree. 




Tlien, since coy maidens say my face 


VIL 


Is harsh, my form devoid of grace. 


Sudden she stops — and starts to feel 


For a fair lineage to provide. 


A weighty hand, a glove of steel. 


'Tis meet that my selected bride 


Upon her shrijiking shoulders laid ; 


In lineaments be fair ; 


Fearful she turn'd, aud saw, dismay'd. 


I love thine well — till now I ne'er 


A Knight in plate and mail array'd, 


Look'd patient on a face of fear. 


His crest and bearing worn .and fray'd. 


But now that tremulous sob and tear 


His surcoat soil'd and riven. 


Become thy beauty rare. 


Form'd like that giant race of yore, 


One kiss — nay, damsel, coy it not I — 


Whose long-continued crimes outwore 


And now go seek thy parents' cot, 


The sufferance of Heaven. 


And say, a bridegroom soon I come. 


Stern accents made his pleasure known. 


To woo my love, and bear her home." 


Though then he used his gentlest tone : 




" Maiden," he said, " sing forth thy 


X. 


glee. 


Home sprung the maid without a pause. 


Start not — sing on — it pleases me." 


As leveret 'scaped from greyhound's jaws ; 



CAKTO 11. HAROLD THE 


DAUNTLESS. 510 


But stiU she lock'd, howe'er distress' d, 


xin. 


The secret ill her boding breast; 


App.all'd a while the parents stood, 


Dreading her sii-e, who oft forbade 


Then changed t)ieir fear to angry mood, 


Her steps should stray to distant glade. 


And foremost fell their words of ill 


Night came — to her accnstoni'd nook 


On unresisting Metohll : 


Her distaft' aged Jutta took, 


Was she not caution'd and forbid, 


And b_v the lamp's imperfect glow, 


Forcwarn'd, implored, accused and chid, 


Rough Wulfstane trunm'd his sliafts .and 


And must she stdl to greenwood roam, 


bow. 


To marshal such misfortune home ? 


Sudden and clamorous, from the ground 


" Hence, minion — to thy chamber hence — 


Upstarted slumbermg braeh and hound ; 


There prudence le.arn, and penitence." 


Loud knoekhig next the lodge alarms. 


She went — her lonely couch to steep 


And Wulfst.ane snatches at his arms, 


In tears wliich absent lovers weep ; 


■ttHien open flew the yielding door, 


Or if she g.ain'd a trtiubled sleep. 


And that grim "Warrior press'd the floor. 


Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme 


XI. 

" All peace be here — What ! none replies ? 


And terror of her feverish dream. 


XIV. 


Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 


Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire 


'Tis I— that Maid hath told my tale,— 


Upon each other bent their ire ; 


Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? 


" A woodsman thou, and hast a spear, 


It recks not — it is I demand 


And couldst thou such an msult beiir ?" 


Fair lletelill in marriage band ; 


SuUen he said, " A man contends 


Harold the Dauntless I, whose name 


With men, a witch with sprites and fiends ; 


Is brave men*s boast and caitiff's shame.'* 


Not to mere mortal wight belong 


The parents sought each other's eyes. 


Yon gloomy brow and fi-ame so strong. 


With awe, resentment, and surprise : 


But thou^is this thy promise fair, 


Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began 


Tliat yoiu- Lord WilUam, wealthy heu- 


Tlie striinger's size and thewes to scan ; 


To Ulrick, Baron of Wit ton-le- Wear, 


But as he scann'd, his courage sunk. 


Should Jletelill to altar bear ? 


And from unequal strife he shrunk. 


Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine 


Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies 


Serve but to slay some peasant's lane. 


The harmful cm-se from Jutta's eyes ; 


His grain in autumn's storms to steep, 


Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell 


Or thorough fog and fen to sweep, 


On Harold innocently fell ! 


And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep i 


And disappointment and amaze 


Is such mean mischief worth the fame 


Were m the witch's wilder'd gaze. 


Of sorceress and witch's name ? 




Fame, which with aU men's wish conspires, 


XII. 


With thy deserts and my desires, 


But soon the wit of woman woke. 


To danm thy corpse to penal fires ? 


And to the Warrior mdd she spoke : 


Out on thee, witch ! aroint 1 aroint ! 


" Her child was all too young." — " A toy, 


What now shall put thy schemes m joint ? 


Tlie refuge of a maiden coj'." — 


■Wliat save this trusty arrow's point, 


Again, " A powerful baron's heir 


From the dark dmgle when it flies. 


Claims in her heart an interest fair." — 


And he who meets it gasps and dies." 


" A trifle — wliisper in liis ear, 




That Harold is a suitor here !" — 


XV. 


Baffled at length she sought deUy : 


Stern she replied, " I will not wage 


" Would not the Knight till morning stay ? 


War with thy folly or thy rage ; 


Late was the hour — he there might rest 


But ere the morrow's sun be low. 


Till morn, their lodge's honor'd guest." 


Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know. 


Such were her words, — her craft might 


If I can venge me on a foe. 


cast. 


Believe the wliile, that whatsoe'er 


Her honor'd guest should sleep his last : 


I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, 


" No, not to-night — but soon," he swore, 


It is not Harold's destiny 


" He would return, nor le.avo them more." 


Tlie death of pilfer'd deer to die. 


Tlie tlu-eshold then his huge stride rrost. 


But he, and tliou, and yon pale moon 


And soon he was m darkness lost. 


(That shall be yet more pallid soon. 



520 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n. 



Before she sink lieliind the dell), 


The cloudless moon grows dark and dim, 


Thou, she, and Harold too, sliall tell 


And bristling hair and quaking Umb 


Wliat Jiitta kno"^s of charm or spell." 


Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, — 


Thus muttering, to the door she bent 


Those who view his form shall die ! 


Her -wayward steps, and forth she went, 


Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; 


And left alone the moody sire, 


Thou who ridest the tempest dread, 


To cherish or to slake lus ire. 


Shaking hill and rending oak — 


XVI. 


Spare me ! spare me ! Zernebock. 


Far faster than belong'd to age 


" He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay 


Has Jutla made her pilgrimage. 


Thy votaress at her need repay ? 


A priest has met her as she pass'd. 


Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend ? — 


And cross'd himself and stood aghast : 


Let others on thy mood attend 


She traced a hamlet — not a cur 


With prayer and ritual — Jutta's arms 


His throat would ope, liis foot would stir ; 


Are necromantic words and charms ; 


By croucli, by trembling, and by groan, 


Mine is the speU, that utter'd once. 


They made Iier hated presence known! 


Shall wake Thy Master from his trance, 


But when she trode the sable fell. 


Shake Ms red mansion-house of pain. 


"Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — 


And burst his seven-tiuies-twisted chain !^ 


For far was heard the fox's yell, 


So ! com'st thou ere the speU is spoke ? 


The black-cock waked and faintly crew. 


I own thy presence, Zernebock." — 


Scream'd o'er the moss the scared curlew : 




Wliere o'er the cataract the oak 


XVIIL 


Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; 


" Daughter of dust," the Deep Voice said. 


The mountain-cat, wliich sought liis prey, 


— Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, 


Glared, scream'd, and started from her way. 


Rock'd on the base that massive stone. 


Such music cheer'd her journey lone 


Tlie Evil Deity to own,— 


To the deep dell and rocking stone ; 


" Daughter of dust ! not mine the power 


There, with uuhallowd hymn of praise, 


Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hom-. 


She called a God of heathen days. 


'Twist heaven and hell there is a strife 




Waged for his soul and for liis Ufe, 


XVII. 


And fam would we the combat win. 


l-niiocatton. 


And snatch him in his horn* of sin. 
There is a star now rising red. 


" Fkom thy Pomeranian throne, 


That threats liim with an influence dread : 


Hewn in rock of living stone. 


Woman, thine arts of mahce whet. 


Where, to thy godhead faithful yet, 


To use the space before it set. 


Bend Estiionian, Finn, and Lett, 


Involve him with the chm'ch in strife. 


And then- swords in vengeance whet. 


Push on adventurous chance his life ; 


That shall make thine altars wet. 


Om'self will in the hour of need. 


Wet and rea for ages more 


As best we may thy counsels speed." 


With the Cliristians' hated gore, — 


So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues round 


Hear me ! Sovereign of the Rock, 


Each hamlet started at the sound ; 


Hear me ! mighty Zernebock I 


But slept agam, as slowly died 




Its thunders on the hiU's blown side. 


" Mightiest of the mighty known. 




Here thy wonders have been shown ; 


XIX 


Hundred tribes in various tongue 


" And is this all," said Jutta stern, 


Oft have here thy praises sung : 


" That thou canst teach and I can learn ? 


Down that stone with Runic seam'd. 


Hence ! to the land of fog and waste. 


Hundred victims' blood hath stream'd! 


There fittest is thine influence placed. 


Now one woman comes alone. 


Thou powerless, sluggish Deity I 


And but wets it with her own. 


But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee 


The l.ast, the feeblest of thy flock,— 


Again before so poor a god." 


Hear — and be present, Zernebock ! 


She struck the altar with her rod ; 




Slight was the touch, as when at need 


" Hark ! he comes ! the night-blast cold 


A damsel stirs her tardy steed ; 


Wilder sweeps along the wold ; 


But to the blow the stone gave place. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



521 



And, startinn; from its balanced base, 
lioU'd thiiiulering down the moonlight dell,- 
Jle-ccho'd nioorlaml, roc]<, and fell ; 
Into the moonlight tarn it dash'd, 
Their shores the sounding surges lash'd, 

And there was ripple, rage, and foam ; 
I'ut on that lake, so dark and lone, 
J'lacid and pale the moonbeam shone 

As Jutta hied her home. 



<5arolb tl)c JUauntlcBH. 



CANTO THIKD. 



Gkav towers of Durham ! there was once a tune 
I view'd your battlements with such vague hope, 
As brightens life in its first dawuing prime; 
Not that e'en then came within fancy's scope 
A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope ; 
Yet, gazing on the venerable hall. 
Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope 
Some reverend room, s(»me prebendary's stall, — 
And tluis Hope me deceived as she deceiveth all.' 

AVt'U yet I love thy miVd and massive piles. 
Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, 
And long to roam these venerable aisles. 
With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; 
There might I share my Surtees'^ happier lot, 
Who leaves at will his patrimonial field 
To ransack every crypt and hallow'd spot. 
And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield. 
Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly 
shield. 

Vain Is the wish — since other cares demand 
Each vacant horn", and in another clime ; 
But still that northern harp invites my hand, 
Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time ; 
And fain its numbers would I now command 
Tc paint the beauties of that dawning fair, 
When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 
Upon the western lieights of Beaurepaire, 
Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding 
Weai-. 



' In tills stanza occun one of many touches by which, in 
tlie intra luclory passage-i of Ilarolil the Dauntless as of Trier- 
main, Sir Walter Scott betrays his half-purpose of identifying 
iIlo author with his friend William Erskine. That gentleman, 
the son of an Episcopalian clergyman, a stanch churchman, 
and a man of the gentlest habits, if he did not in early life de- 
■i?n to follow the paternal profession, might easily be sop- 
66 



II. 

Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams 

danced, 
Betraying it beneath the woodland b.ink, 
And fair between the Gothic tmTcts glanceil 
Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and Hank, 
Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank, 
And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, 
And from their circuit pcal'd o'er bush and bank 
The matin bell with summons long and deep, 
And echoanswer'd still with long resounding sweej 

ni. 

Tile morning mists rose from the ground, 
Each merry bird awaken'd round, 

As if in revelry ; 
Afar the bugles' clanging sound 
Call'd to the chase the lagging hound; 

The gale breathed soft and free, 
And seem'd to linger on its way 
To catch fresh odors from the spray, 
And waved it in its wanton play 

So light and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams reveal, 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
In all their fragrance round hini steal. 
It melted HaroUl's heart of steel. 
And, hardly wotting why. 
He doff'd his helmet's gloomy pride. 
And hun^- it on a tree beside. 

Laid mace and falchion by, 
And on the greensward sate him down, 
And from his dark habitual frown 

Relax'd his rugged brow — 
Wlioever hath the doubtful task 
From that stern Dane a boon to ask, 

Were wise to ask it now. 

IV. 
His place beside young Gunnar took. 
And mark'd his master's softening look, 
And in liis eye's dark mirror sjjied 
The gloom of stormy thoughts subside. 
And cautious watch'd the fittest tide 

To speak a w.irning word. 
So when the torrent's bUlows shrink, 
Tlie timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and sulk. 

Ere he dare brave the ford, 
And often, after doubtful pause, 
His step advances or withdraws : 



posed to have nourished sucli an intention — one whiuh no one 
could ever have dreamt of ascribing at any period of his dayi 
to Sir Walter Scott himself. 

5 Robert Surtees of M-ainsforlh, Esq., F. 9. A., authoi of 
"The History and Antiquities of the County Talatine of fl ir 
nam." 3 vols, folio, 1816-20-23. 



S22 aCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ni. 1 


Fearful to move the slumbering ire 


" What carea disturb the mighty dead? 


Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire, 


Each honor'd nte was didy pajd ; 


Till Harold raised his eye, 


No daring "nand thy htlm unlaced, 


Tliat glanced as when athwart the shroud 


Thy sword, thy sliifcld, were near thee placed, — 


Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 


Thy fimty couch no tear profaned. 


The bursting sunbeams fly. 


Without, with hostile blood was stain'd ; 




Within, 'twas lined with moss and fern, — 


V. 


rhen rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn ! — 


" Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, 




Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 


"He may rest not: from realms afar 


Take harp, and greet this lovely prime 


Come voice of battle and of war. 


With some high strain of Runic rhyme, 


Of conquest wrought with bloody hand 


Strong, deep, but powerful ! Peal it 


On Carmel's cUffs and Jord.an's strand. 


round 


"When Odin's warlike son could daunt 


Like that loud bell's sonorous sound. 


The turban'd race of Termagaunt." 


Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 




Of bird and bugle hail the day. 


VII. 


Such was my grandsire Eric's sport, 


" Peace," said the Knight, " the noble Scald 


■Wlien dawn gleam'd ou liis martial court. 


Our warlike fathers' deeds recall'd, 


Heyraar the Scald, with harp's high sound. 


But never strove to soothe the son 


Summon'd the chiefs who slept around ; 


With tales of what himself had done. 


Couch'd on the spoils of wolf and bear. 


At Odin's board the bard sits high 


Tliey roused like lions from their lair, 


Whose harp ne'er stoop'd to flattery ; 


Then rush'd in emulation forth 


But highest he whose daring lay 


To enhance the glories of the North. — 


Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." 


Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race. 


With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed 


Where is thy shadowy resting-place ? 


His master's looks, and naught replied — 


In wild Valhalla hast thou quaff 'd 


But well that smile his master led 


From foeman's skull metheglin draught, 


To construe what he left unsaid. 


Or wanderest wliere thy caii-n was piled 


'* Is it to me, thou timid youth. 


To frown o'er oceans wide and wUd ? 


Thou fear'st to speak imwelcome truth ? 


Or have the milder Christians given 


Mv soul no more thy censure grieves 


Thy refuge in theu- peaceful heaven ? 


Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves 


Where'er thou art, to thee are known 


Say on — and yet — beware the rude 


Our toils endm-ed, our tropliies won, 


And wild distemper of my blood; 


Our wars, our wanderings, and our wo2S." 


Loth were I that mine ire should wrong 


He ceased, and Gunnar's soug arose. 


The youth that bore my shield so long, 




And who, in service constant still. 


VI. 


Tliough weak in frame, art strong in will" — 


£ HQ. 


" Oh !" quoth the page, " even there depends 


My counsel — there my warning tends — 


" Hawk and osprey scream'd for joy 


Oft seems as of my master's breast 


O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, 


Some demon were the sudden guest ; 


Crimson foam the beach o'erspread. 


Then at the first misconstrued word 


Tlic heath was dyed with darker red. 


His hand is on the mace and sword, 


When o'er Eric, Inguar's son. 


From her firm seat his wisdom driven. 


Dane and Northman piled the stone ; 


His Ufe to countless dangers given. — 


Singing wild the war-song stem. 


! would that Gunnar could suffice 


'Rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn!' 


To be the fiend's last sacrifice. 




So that, when glutted with my gore. 


" Wrere eddying currents foam and boil 


He fled and tempted thee no more !" 


By Bersa's burgh and Grosmsay's isle. 




'I'lie seaman sees a martial form 


VIII. 


Half-mingled with the mist and storm. 


Then waved his hand, and shook his head 


In anxious awe he bears away 


The impatient Dane, while thus he said : 


To moor his bark in Stromna's bay, 


" Pre fane not. youth — it is not thine 


And murmurs from the bounding stem, 


To judge the spirit of our line— 


■ Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn !' 


Tlie bold Berserkar's rage divine, 



CANTO III. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



52ft 



Tliront;Ii whose inspiring, deeds are wrought 

Past human strengtli and Iniman thought. 

When full upon his gloomy soul 

The cliampion feels the influence roll, 

lie swims the l.ake, he leaps the wall — 

tloeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall — 

LTnsliielded, mail-less, on he goes 

Singly against a host of foes ; 

Their spears he holds like wither'd reeds, 

Their mail like maiden's silken weeds ; 

One 'gainst a hundi'ed will he strive, 

Take countless wounds, and yet survive. 

Then rush the eagles to his cry 

Of slaughter .and of victory, — 

And blood lie quaffs like Odin's bowl, 

Deep drinks his sword, — deep drinks his 

soul ; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ; 
Then, like gorged hon, seeks some den. 
And couches till he's man agen. — 
Tliou kuow'st the signs of look .and limb, 
When 'gins that rage to overbrim — - 
Thou know'st when I am moved, and why ; 
And when thou see'st me roll mine eye. 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot, 
Regard thy safety and be mute ; 
But else spo.ak boldly out whate'er 
Is fitting that a knight should he.ir. 
I love thee, youtli. Thy lay has power 
TJpon my dai'k and sullen hour ; — 
So Christian monks are wont to say 
Demons of old were charm'd away ; 
Tlien fear not I will rashly deem 
HI of thy speech whate'er the theme." 

IX. 
As down some strait in doubt and dread 
Tlie w.itchful pilot di'ops the lead. 
And, cautious in the midst to steer, 
Tlie shoaling channel sounds with fear ; 
So, lest on dangerous ground he swerved. 
The Page liis m<aster's brow observed, 
Pausing at mtervals to fling 
His hand o'er the melodious strmg. 
And to his moody breast apply 
The sootliing charm of harmony, 
"^liile liinted half, and half exprest. 
This warning song convey'd the rest. — 

Sono- 
1. 
" ni fares the bark with tackle riven, 
And ill when on the breakers driven, — 
lU when the storm-sprite shrieks in air. 
And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; 
But worse when on her helni the hand 
Of some false traitor holds command. 



" III fares the fainting Palmer, placed 

'Mid Hebron's rocks or Rana's waste, — 

HI when the scorching sun is high. 

And the expected font is dry, — 

Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath. 

The barbarous Copt, has plann'd his death. 



" 111 fares the Knight with buckler cleft, 
And ill when of his helm bereft, — 
111 when his steed to earth is flung. 
Or from his grasp his falchion wrung ; 
But worse, if instant ruin token. 
When he lists rede by woman spoken." — 



" How now, fond boy ? — Canst thou think ill 
S.aid Harold, " of fair Metelill ?"— 
" She may be fair," the Page replied. 

As through the strings he ranged, — 
" She may be fau' ; but yet," he cried. 

And then the strain he changed, 

Song. 
1. 
" She may be fair," he sang, " but yet 

Far fairer have I seen 
Tlian she, for all her locks of jet. 

And eyes so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish knight in arms, 

As one d.ay I may be. 
My heart should own no foreign charms,— 

A Danish maid for me. 



*' 1 love my fathers' northern land. 

Where the dark pine-trees grow. 
And the bold Baltic's echoing strand 

Looks o'er each grassy oe.^ 
I love to mark the lingering sun. 

From Denmaik loth to go. 
And leaving on the billows bright. 
To cheer the short-lived summer night, 

A path of ruddy glow. 



" But most the northern maid I love. 

With breast like Denmark's snow, 
And form as fair as Denmark's pine. 
Who loves with pmple heath to twine 

Her locks of sunny glow ; 
And sweetly blend that shade of gold 

With the cheek's rosy hue. 
And Faith might for her mirror hold 

That eye of matchless blue. 

' Oe— Wand. 



524 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" 'Tis hers the manly sports to love 

That southern maidens fear, 
To beud tlie bow by stream and grove, 

And Uft the hunter's spear. 
Slie can her chosen champion's flight 

With eye undazzled see. 
Clasp him victorious from the strife, 
Or on his corpse yield up her life, — 

A Danish maid for me !" 

XI. 

Then smiled the Dane — " Thou canst so well 

The virtues of our maidens tell. 

Half could I wish my choice had been 

Blue eyes, and hair of golden slieen. 

And lofty soul ; — yet what of ill 

Hast thou to charge on JletcliU ?"— 

"Nothing on her,"' young Gunnar said, 

" But her base su'e's ignoble trade. 

Her mother, too — the general fame 

Hatli given to Jutta evil name. 

And in her gray eye is a flame 

Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame. — • 

That sordid woodnuiu's peasant cot 

Twice have thine honor'd footsteps sought. 

And twice return'd with such iU rede 

As sent thee on some desperate deed." — 

xri. 

" Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said, 

He that comes suitor to a maid, 

Ere link'd in marriage, sliould provide 

Lands and a dwelling for liis bride — 

My father's, \>y the Tyne and Wear, 

I have reclaim'd." — " 0, all too dear. 

And all too dangerous the prize, 

E'en were it won," young Gunnar cries; — 

"And then this Jutta's fresli device, 

Tliat tliou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, 

From Durham's priests a boon to gain, 

When thou hast left their vassals slain 

In their own halls !" — Flash'd Harold's eye, 

lliuuder'd Iiis voice — " False Page, you lie ! 

The castle, liaU and tower, is mine, 

Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 

Tlie wild-cat will defend liis den, 

eights for lier nest the timid wren ; 

And think'st thou I'll forego my right 

' " Nothing on her," is the reading of the interleavetl copy 
H' 1831 — " On her nanght," in all the former editions. 

'^ " All is huslrd, and still as death — 'tis dreadful ! 
IIow reverend is the face of this tall pile. 
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads 
To bear aloft its arch'd and ponderous roof, 
By its own weight made stedfast and immovable, 
Looking tranquillity I It strikes an awe 
And terror on my aching sight. The tombs 



For dread of monk or monifid' knight 1 — 
Up and away, that deepeuing bell 
Dotli of the Bisliop's conclave tell. 
Thitlier will I, in luaiiuei" due. 
As Jutta bade, niy claim to sue ; 
And, if to riglu, nie they are loth. 
Then woe to church and chapter both !" 
Now shift tn«j scene, and let the curtain fall, 
And our next entry be Saint Cuthbert's hall. 



i^arolb tl)e Hanutlcss. 



CANTO rOtJKTH. 



Full many a bard hath .simg the solemn gloom 
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribb'd roof, 
O'er-canopying shrine and gorgeous tomb. 
Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof, 
And blending with the shade — a matchless proof 
Of high devotion, wliich hath now wax'd cold ;' 
Yet legends say, that Lu.\ury'a brute hoof 
Intruded oft within such sacred fold, [of old.' 
Like step of Bel's false priest, track'd in his fane 

W^ell pleased am I, howe'er, tliat when the route 
Of our rude neighbors whilome deign'd to come, 
Uncall'd, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
To cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, 
They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom 
.To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own. 
But .spared the martyr'd saint and storied tomb, 
Thougli papal miracles had graced the stone. 
And though the aisles still loved the organ's swel- 
ling tone. 

And deem not, though 'tis now my part to paint 
A Prelate sway'd by love of power and gold. 
That all who wore the mitre of our Saint 
Like to ambitious Aldingar I liold ; 
Suice both in modern times and days of old 
It sate on those whose virtues might atone 
Their predecessors' frailties trebly told : 
Mattliew and Morton we as sucli m:xy own — 
And such (if fame speak truth) tlic honor'd Bar- 
rington.' 

And monumental caves of deatL look cold, 
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart," 

Conoreve's Mourning Bride, Act ii. Scene 1. 
See also Joanna BaiUie's " Do Montfort." Acts iv, and v, 

3 See, in tlie Apocryphal Books, " The History of Bel and 
the Dragon," 

4 See, for the lives of Bishop Matthew and Bishop Morton, 
here alluded to. Mr, Surtees's History of the Bishopric of Dur- 
ham : the venerable Shute Barrington, their honored successor, 
ever a kind friend of Sir Walter Scott, died in 1826. 



CANTO IV. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



526 



II. 

But now to earlier and to ruder times, 

As subject meet, I tune my rugged rhymes, 

Telling how fairly the chapter was met. 

And rood anil books in seemly order set ; 

Huge brass-clasp'd volumes, wliidi the hand 

Of studious priest but rarolj- scann'd. 

Now on fiiir carved desk display 'd, 

'Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. 

O'erliead with many a scutdieon gi'aced, 

And quaint devices interlaced, 

A labyrinth of crossing rows. 

The roof in lessening arches shows ; 

Beneath its shade placed proud and high, 

With footstool and with canopy, 

Sate Aldingar, — and prelate ne'er 

More haughty graced Samt Cuthbert's chair ; 

Canons and deacons were placed below, 

In due degree and lengthen'd row. 

Umuoved and silent each sat there, 

Like image in liis oaken chau- ; 

Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirr'd, 

Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; 

And of their* eyes severe alone 

The twinkle show'd they were not stone. 

III. 

The Prelate was to speech addi'ess'd. 
Each head sunk reverent on each breast ; 
But ere his voice was heard — without 
Arose a wild tumultuous shout, 
Offspring of wonder mix'd with fear. 
Such as in crowded streets we hear 
Hailing the flames, that, bursting out. 
Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 
Ere it had ceased, a giant hand 
Shook oaken door and iron band. 
Till oak and iron both gave way, 
Clash'd the long bolts, the hinges bray, 
And, ere upon angel or saint they can call, 
Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the halL 

IV. 

" Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and rood. 
From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! 
For here stands Count Harold, old Witikmd's son, 
Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors 
won." [eye, 

Tile Prelate look'd round him with sore troubled 
Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; 
Wliile each Canon and Deacon who heard the 

Dane speak. 
To be safely at home would have fasted a week : — 
Tlien Aldingar roused him, and answer'd again, 
" Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not ob- 
tain ; 
Tlic Church hath no fiefs for an unchristen'd Dane. 
Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath given. 



That the priests of a chantry migjit hymn him to 

heaven; L'l"^! 

And tlie fiefs which whilome he possess'd as his 
Have lapsed to the Church, and been granted 

anew 
To Anthony Conyers and Alberie Vere, 
For the service Saint Cuthbert's bless'd banner lo 

bear, [Wear; 

When the bands of the North come to foray tlie 
Then disturb not our conclave with wrangling or 

blame, [came." 

But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye 

V. 
Loud laugh'd the stern Pagan, — " They're free from 

the care 
Of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere, - 
Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, 
A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead. — 
Ho, Gunnar ! — the tokens ;" — and, sever'd anew, 
A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 
Tlien shudder'd with terror both Canon and Monk, 
They knew the glazed eye and the countenance 

shrunk, 
And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair, 
And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberie Vere. 
Tliere was not a churchman or priest that was there, 
But grew pale at the sight, and betook hmi to 

prayer. 

VL 
Count Harold laugh'd at their looks of fear : 
" Was this the hand should your banner bear. 
Was that the head should wear the casque 
In b.attle at the Church's task ? 
Was it to such you gave the place 
Of Harold with the he.avy mace ? 
Find me between the Wear and Tyne 
A knight will wield this club of mine, — 
Give him my fiefs, and I will say 
There's wit beneath the cowl of gray." 
He raised it, rough with many a stain, 
Caught from crush'd skuU and spoutuig brain ; 
He wheel'd it that it shriUy sung. 
And the aisles echo'd as it swung, 
Tlien dash'd it down with sheer descent. 
And spUt King Osric's monument. — 
" How like ye this music ? How trow ye the hand 
That can wield sucli a mace may be reft of its land ! 
No answer ? — I sp.ire ye a space to agree. 
And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a .saint if he be. 
Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on 

your bell. 
And again I am with you — grave fathers, farewell. " 

vn. 

He turn'd from their presence, he clash'd the oaK 
dour, 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Anil tlie clang of liis stride died away on the floor ; 
And liis head from his bosom the Prelate uprears 
With a ghost-seer's look when the ghost disappears. 
" Ye priests of Saint Cuthbert, now give me your 

rede, 
For never of counsel had Bishop more need! 
Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and in bone, 
Tjje language, the look, and the laugh were hi? 

own. 
In the bounds of Saint Cuthbert there is not a 

knight 
Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight ; 
Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 
'Tis unlawful to grant, and 'tis death to deny." 

VIII. 

On Ten'son and malmsie that morning had fed 
The Cellarer Vinsauf — 'twas thuy that he s;ud : — 
" Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's reply ; 
Let the feast be spread fau, and the wine be 

pour'd high : 
If he's mortal he tlrinks, — if he drinks, he is ours — 
His bracelets of iron, — his bed in our towers." 
This man had a laughing eye, 
Trust not, friends, when such you spy ; 
A beaker's depth he well could di'ain, 
j Revel, sport, and jest amain — • 

The haunch of the deer and the grape's bright dye 
Never bard loved them better than I ; 
But sooner than Vinsauf fiU'd me my wine, 
Pass'd me his jest, and laugh'd at mine, 
Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bourdeaux 

the vine, 
With the dullest hermit I'd rather dine 
On an oaken cake and a draught of the Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn the leech spoke next — he knew 
Each plant that loves the sun and dew, 
But special those whose juice can g;iin 
Dominion o'er the blood and brain ; 
The peasant who saw him by pale moonbeam 
Gathering such herbs by bank and stream, 
Deem'd liis tlun form and soundless tread 
Were those of wanderer from the dead. — 
" Vinsauf, thy wine," he said, " hath power, 
Om' gyves are heavy, strong our tower; 
Yet tlu-ee drops from this flask of mine, 
More strong than dungeons, gyves, or wine, 
ShaU give him prison under ground 
More dark, more narrow, more profound. 
Short rede, good rede, let Harold have — 
A dog's death and a heathen's grave." 
I have lain on a sick man's bed, 
Watchuig for hours for the leech's tread. 
As if I deem'd that his presence alone 
Were of power to bid my pain begone ; 
1. have listed liis words of comfort given 



As if to oracles from heaven ; 
I have counted his steps from my chamber door. 
And bless'd them when they were heard no more ; 
But sooner than Walwayn my sick couch should 

nigh. 
My choice were, by leech-craft unaided, to die. 

X. 
"Such service done in fervent zeal. 
The Church m.ay pardon and conceal," 
The doubtful Prelate said, " but ne'er 
The counsel ere the act should hear. — 
Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now. 
The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow ; 
Tliy days, thy nights, in cloister pent, 
Are still to mystic learnmg lent ; — 
Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my hope. 
Thou well mayst give counsel to Prelate or Pope." 

XI. 

Answer'd the Prior — " 'Tis wisdom's use 

Still to delay what "we dare not refuse ; 

Ere granting the boon he comes hither to ask, 

Shajje for the giant gigantic task ; 

Let us see how a step so sounding can tread 

In paths of darkness, danger, .and dread ; 

He may not, he will not, impugn om' decree. 

That calls but for proof of his chivalry ; 

And were Guy to retiu-n, or Su- Bevis the Strong, 

Our -wilds have adventure might cumber them 

long — [no more ! 

The Castle of Seven Shields" " Kind Anselm, 

The step of the Pagan approaches the door." 
The churchmen were hush'd. — In his mantle of sldn, 
With his mace on his shoidder, Coimt Hai'old strode 

in. 
There was foam ou liis lips, there was fire in his eye. 
For, chafed by attendance, his fmy was nigh. 
" Ho ! Bishop," he said, " dost thou grant me my 

clahn ? 
Or must I assert it by falchion and flame !" — 

XIL 

" On thy suit, gallant Harold," the Bishop replied. 
In accents which trembled, " we may not decide. 
Until proof of your strength and yom- valor wo 

saw — 
'Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the law." — 
" And would you, Su- Prelate, have Harold make 

sport [court ! 

For the cowls and the shavelmgs that herd in thy 
Say what shall he do ? — From the shrine shaU he 

tear 
The lead bier of thy patron, and heave it in air. 
And through the long chancel make Cuthbert take 

wing, [shng ?" — 

With the speed of a buUet dismiss'd from the 
" Nay, spare such probation," the Cellarer said. 



jANro IV. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



527 



" From tile mouth of oiu* mmstrels thy tii^k sliuU 

be read. 
While the wine sparkles high iu the goblet of gold, 
And the revel is loudest, thy task shall be told ; 
And thyself, giillant H;irold, shall, hearing it, tell 
That the Bishop, liis cowls, and his shavelings, 

meant well." 

XIII. 
Loud revell'd the guests, and the goblets loud rang. 
But louder the minstrel, Hugh Jleneville, sang ; 
And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul. 
E'en when verging to fury, owa'd music's control. 
Still bent ou the hai'per liis broad sable eye. 
And often vmtasted the goblet pass'd by ; 
Thau wine, or than wassail, to liini was more dear 
Tlie minstrel's high tale of enchantment to hear ; 
And the Bishop that daj' might of Vinsauf complain 
That his art had but wasted his wine-casks in vain. 

XIV. 
Cijc ffinstlc of tijc Sc\)cii SljiclB.?. 

A BALLAD. 

Tile Druid Uiien had daughters seven. 
Their skill could cidJ the moon from heaven ; 
So fair thth forms and so high then' fame. 
That seven proud kings for theh suitors came. 

King Mador and Rhys came from Powis and Wales, 
Unshorn was theh hair, and mipruned were their 
nails ; [lame. 

From Strath-Clwyde was Ewain, and Ewain was 
And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchback'd from youth ; 
Duumail of Cumbria had never a tooth ; 
But Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland's heu-, 
"Was gay and was gallant, was young and was fair. 

There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one 

would have 
For husband ICing Adolf, the gallant and brave ; 
And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to blows, 
'WTien the firm earth was cleft, and the Arch-fiend 



He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil — 
They swore to the foe they would work by liis wiU. 
A spindle and distaff to e.ach hath he given, 
" Now hearken my spell," said the Outcast of 
heaven. 

"* Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, 

1 " The wonl ' peril' Is continually used as a \-erb by bolb 
>vriteis : — 

' Nor peril aufjlit for me agen.' 

Lady of the Lake. Canto ii. stanza 26. 
' I perill'd tiius the helpless child.' 

Lord of the Isles. Canto v. stanza 10. 



Anu for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong shall 

have power. 
And there .shall ye dwell with your paramotu'." 

Beneath the pale moonlight they sate on the wohl. 
And the rhymes which they chanted must never 

be told ; 
And as the black wool from the distaff they sped. 
With blood fro*., their bosom they moisten'd the 

thread. 

[gleam, 
Aa Ught danced the spindles beneath the cold 
The castle arose like the birth of a dream — ■ 
The seven towers ascended like mist from the 

ground. 
Seven portals defend them, seveu ditches surromid. 

Within that dread castle seven monarehs were wed. 
But six of the seven ere the morning lay dead ; 
Witli then- eyes all on fire, and theh daggers all red, 
Seveu damsels surromid the Northmiibrian's bed. 

" Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done, 
Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won, 
.Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do. 
Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandless too." 

Well chanced it that Adolf the night when hewed 
Had confess'd and had eaind him ore boune to his 

bed ; [drew, I 

He sprung from the couch and his broadsword he 
And there the seven daughters of Urien he slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted and seal'd. 
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a shield ; 
To the cells of Saint Dunstan then wended his way. 
And died in his cloister !lu anchorite gray. 

Seven monarehs' wealth in that castle lies stow'd, 
Tlie foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad. 
Wlioever shall guesten these chambers within, 
From cm'few tUl matins, that treasiu'e shall win. 

But manhood grows faint as the world waxes old ' 
There Uves not in Britain a champion so bold. 
So daimtless of he.art, and so prudent of brain. 
As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shaU wave with the rye. 
Before the rude Scots shall Nortlnmiberland fly. 
And the flint chfts of Bambro' shall melt in the sun 
Before that adventure be perill'd and won.' 

' Were the blood of all my ancestors in my veins, I would 
have perilled it in this quarrel.' — JVaverley. 

' I were undeserving his grace, did I not peril it for bis good 
— Ivanhoe. 
&c. &c." — AdolpuUs' Letters on the Author of Waverlcy 



52S 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XV. 

' And i3 tliis my probation ?" •wild Harold he said, 
" Within a lone castle to press a lone bed ? — 
Good even, my Lord Bishop, — Saint Cuthbert to 
boiTOw, [roTT." 

The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to-mor- 



iliarolb tl)e Pauntlcss. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 

Denmakk's s.ige courtier to her princely youth. 
Granting his cloud an ouzel or a wh,ale,' 
Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth; 
For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. 
The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale. 
Of tlie swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze. 
Are but the ground-work of the rich detail 
Which Fantsay with pencil wild portrays. 
Blending what seems and is, in the wrapt muser's 
gaze. 

Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 
Less to the Sorceress's empire given ; 
For not with unsubstantial hues alone, 
Caught from the varying surge, or vacant 

heaven. 
From bursting sunbeam, or from flashing levin. 
She liimis her pictures : on the cartli, as air, 
Arise her castles, and her car is driven ; 
And never gazed the eye on scene so fair, 
But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the 

share. 

n. 

XT]) a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, 
Hugh Meneville, the adventure of tliy lay ; 
Gunuar pursued liis steps in faith and love, 
Kver companion of his master's wav. 
Midward their path, a rock of granite gray 
From the adjoining cliff had made descent, — 
A barren mass — yet with her drooping spray 
Had a young birch-tree crown'd its battlement, 
Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw 
and rent. 

This rock and tree could Gunuar's thought 

engage 
Till Fancy brought the tear-di-op to his eye, 

I " Hamltl. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape 
«f a camel ? 
Polonius. Ey llie mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed I 
Ham. MetJiidks, it is like a weasel. 



And at Iiis master ask'd the timid Page, 
" Wliat is the emblem that a bard shou'd spy 
In that rude rock and its green canopy ?" 
And Harold said, " Like to tlie helmet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems to he. 
And tliese same drooping boughs do o'er it wave 
Not all imlike the plume his lady's favor gave." — 

" Ah, no !" replied the Page ; " the iU-starr'd love 
Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown. 
Whose fates are with some hero's interwove, 
And rooted on a heart to love unknown : 
And as the gentle dews of heaven alone 
Nourish those drooping boughs, and as the 

scathe 
Of the red lightning rends both tree and stone, 
So fares it with her unrequited faith, — 
Her sole rehef is tears — her only refuge death." — ■ 

IIL 

" Thou art a fond fantastic boy," 
Harold replied, " to females coy, 

Yet pi-atiog still of love ; 
Even so amid the clash of war 
I know thou lovest to keep afar, 
Though destined by thy evil star 

With one like me to rove. 
Whose business and whose joys are found 
Upon the bloody battle-ground. 
Tet, fooUsh trembler as thou art. 
Thou hast a nook of my rude heart. 
And thou and I will never part ; — 
Harold would wrap the world in flame 
Ere injury on Gunnar came !" 

IV. 

• 

The grateful Page made no reply. 
But turn'd to Heaven his gentle eye. 
And clasp'd liis hands, as one who said, 
" My toils — my wanderings are o'erpaid 1" 
Then in a gayer, hghter straiu, 
Compell'd himself to speech again ; 

And, as they flow'd along, 
His words took cadence soft and slow, 
And hquid, like dissolving snow, 

They melted into song. 



"What thougli througli fields of carnage witle 
I may not foUow Harold's stride. 
Yet wlio with faithful Gunnar's pride 

Lord Hai'old's feats can see ? 
And dearer than the couch of pride. 
He loves the bed of gray wolf's hide, 

Pal. It is backed like a weasel. 
Ham. Or, like a whale 1 
Pot. Very like a whale." 



CANTO V. HAROLD THE DAUNTJ.KSS. 529 


Wlicn slumbering by Lord Harold's side 


Tlie fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. 


lu forest, field, or lea." — 


In this tliiiie hour, yet turn and hear 1 


VI. 


For life is brief and judgment near." 


" Break off !" said Harold, in a tone 


IX. 


Where luirrr and surprise were showD, 


Then ceased Tho Voice. — The Dane replied 


Witli some slight touch of fear,— 


In tones where awe and inborn pride 


" Breali off, we are not here ;iloue ; 


For mastery strove, — " In vain ye chide 


A Palmer form comes slowly on ! 


The wolf for ravaging the flock, 


By cowl, and staff', and mantle known, 


Or with its hardness taunt the rock, — 


5Iy monitor is near. 


I am as they — my Danish strain 


Now mark likn, Gunnar, heedfuUy ; 


Sends streams of fire through every vem. 


He pauses by the blighted tree — 


Amid thy realms of goule and ghost, 


Dost see him, youth ? — Tliou couldst not see 


Say, is the fame of Eric lost, 


■fl^hen iu the vale of GaUlee 


Or Witikind's the Waster, known 


I first beheld Ids form, 


Where fame or spoil was to be won ; 


Ifor when we met that other while 


Whose galleys ne'er bore off' a sliore 


In Cephalonia's rocky isle, 


They left not black with flame ?— 


Before the fearful storm, — 


He was my su-e, — and, sprung of liim. 


Dost see him now i " — The Page, distraught 


That rover merciless and grim. 


With terror, answer'd, " I see naught, 


Can I be soft and tame ? [ine, 


And there is naught to see. 


Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid 


Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling down 


I am that Waster's son, and am but what he made 


Upon the path a shadow brown. 


me." 


That, like a pdgrim's dusk}' gown, 




Waves with the waving tree." 


X. 




The Phantom groan'd; — the moimtain shook 


VII. 


around, 


Count Harold gazed upon the oak 


The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound. 


As if his eyestrings woidd have broke. 


The gorse and fern did wildly round thera wave. 


And then resolvedly said, — • 


As if some sudden storm the mipulse gave. 


" Be what it will yon phantom gray — 


" AU thou hast said is truth — Yet on the head 


Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say 


Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid. 


That for their shadows from his way 


That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace. 


Count Harold tm'n'd dismay'd : 


From grave to cradle ran the evil race : — 


I'll speak him, though his accents fill 


Relentless in his avarice and ire. 


ily heart with that unwonted thrill 


Churches and towns he gave to sword and file 


AVliich vulgar niuids call fear.^ 


Shed blood like water, wasted every land, 


I will subdue it !" — Forth he strode, 


Lil;e the destroying angel's burning brand ; 


Paused where the blighted o.ak-tree shoVd 


Fulfill'd whate'er of ill might be invented, 


Its sable shadow on the road. 


Yes — all these things he did — he did, but he 


And, folding on his bosom broad 


llEPENTED ! 


His arms, said, " Speak — I hear." 


Perchance it is part of his punishment still. 




That liis ofl'spring pursues his example of dL 


vin. 


But thou, when thy tempest of wi-ath shall ne.vt 


The Deep Voice" said, " wild of will, 


shake thee, [thee ; 


Furious tliy purpose to fulfil — 


Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awake 


Heart-sear'd and unrepentant stiU, 


If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted soever. 


How long, Harold, shall thy tread 


The gate of repentance shall ope for thee never !" — 


Disturb the slumbers of the dead ? 




Each step in thy wild way thou makest, 


XI. 


The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; 


" He is gone," said Lord Harold, and gazed as ho 


And shout m triumph o'er thy path 


spoke ; 


1 " I'll spe.-ik to it, though hell iUelf shonlil gape." 


Thou aged carle, so stern and gray 1 


Hamlet. 


— — — — 




' Know'st thou not me V the Deep Voice cried." 


' "Why sit'st thoti hy that ruin'd hall, 
67 


H'accrletj A'ovcls—.lntiijuartj, vol. v. p. 145. 



530 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v. 


"There is naught on the path but the shade of the 


And pleased revenge and mahce high 


oak. 


Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye. 


He is gone, -whose strauge presence my feeling 


On dangerous adventure sped. 


opprcss'd, [breast. 


Tlie witch deem'd Harold with the dead, 


Like the niglit-hag that sits on the slumberer's 


For thus that morn her Demon said : 


My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread, 


" li^ ere the set of sun, be tied 


And cold dews drop from my brow and my 


The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride. 


head. — 


The Dane shall have no power of iU 


Uo ! Gunuai*, the flasket yon almoner gave ; 


O'er Wilham and o'er MeteliU." 


He said that three drops "would recall from the 


And the pleased witch made answer, " Tlien 


grave. [has power. 


Must Harold hare pass'd from the paths <if 


For the first tune Count Harold owns leech-craft 


men ! 


Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower !" 


Evil repose may liis sphit have, — 


The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had 


May hemlock and manchake find root m his 


fill'd [distUl'd— 


grave, — 


With the juice of wild roots that liis art had 


May his death-sleep be dogged by di-eams o) 


So baneful their influence on all that had breath, 


dismay. 


One di'op had been phrensy, and two had been 


And his wakmg be worse at the answering day.' 


death. 




Harold took it, but drank not ; for jubUee shrill. 


XIV. 


And music and clamor were heard on the hill. 


Such was their various mood of glee 


And down the steep pathway, o'er stock and o'er 


Blent in one shout of ecstasy. 


stone, 


But still when Joy is brmnning highest. 


The train of a bridal came bUthesomely on ; 


Of Sorrow and Misfortune nighest, 


There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, 


Of Terror with her ague cheek. 


and stHl 


And lurking Danger, sages sj)eak : — • 


The bm-den was, " Joy to the fah MeteUll !'' 


These haunt each path, but chief they lay 




Then- snai-es beside the prinu'ose way. — 


XII. 


Thus found that bridal band theii' path 


Harold might see from his high stance, 


Beset by Harold in liis wi'ath. 


Himself unseen, that train advance 


Trembling beneath liis maddening mood, 


With mirth and melody ; — 


High on a rock the giant stood ; 


On horse and foot a mingled throng. 


His shout was like the doom of death 


Measurmg then- steps to bridal song 


Spoke o'er their heads that pass'd beneath. 


And bridal minstrelsy ; 


His destined victims might not spy 


And ever when the bhthesome rout 


The reddening terrors of his eye,— 


Lent to the song their choral shout. 


The frown of rage that writhed his face, — 


Rcdoubhng echoes roU'd about. 


The hp that foam'd Uke boar's in chase ; — 


While echoing cave and cHff sent out 


But all could see — and, seeing, all 


The answering symphony 


Bore back to shun the threaten'd fall — 


Of aU those mimic notes which dwell 


The fragment which their giant foe 


In hollow rock and sounding dell. 


Rent from the clitf and heaved to throw. 


XIIL 


XV. 


Joy shook his torch above the band, 


Backward they bore ; — yet are there two 


By many a vai-ious passion fann'd ; — 


For battle who prepare : 


As elemental sparks can feed 


No pause of dread Lord William knew 


On essence pure and coarsest weed, 


Ere his good blade was bare ; 


Gentle, or stormy, or refined, 


And Wulfstane bent his fetal yew, 


Joy takes the colors of the mind. 


But ere the silken cord he drew. 


Lightsome and pure, but um-epress'd. 


As hurl'd from Hecla's thunder, flew 


He fired the bridegroom's gallant breast ; 


That ruin through the air ! 


More feebly strove with maiden fear. 


Full on the outlaw's front it came, 


Yet stiU joy gUmmer'd through the tear 


And all that late had human name. 


On the bride's blusliing cheek, that shows 


And human face, and human frame. 


Like dew-drop on the budding rose ; 


That lived, and moved, and had free will 


While Wulfstano's gloomy smile declared 


To choose the path of good or Ul, 


The glee that selfish avarice shared. 


Is to its reckoning gone ; 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



531 



And naught of TViilfstane rests behind, 

Save that beneath that stone, 
Ualf-buried ill file dinted clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay 
Of mingled flesh and bone 1 

XVI. 

As from the bosom of the sky 

The eagle dai'ts amain, 
Thi'ee bounds from yonder summit high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 
As the scared ■wild-fowl scream and fly, 

So fled the bridal train ; 
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might 
The noble falcon dares the fight, 

But dares the tight in vain. 
So fought the bridegroom ; from his hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand, 
Its guttering fragments strew the sand. 

Its lord lies on the plain. 
Now, Heaven ! taie noble WiUiam's part. 
And melt that yet unmelted heart. 
Or, ere his bridal hour depart. 

The hapless bridegroom's slain 1 

XVII. 

Count Hai'old's phi'ensied rage is high, 

There is a death-fii'e in big eye. 

Deep furrows on his brow are trench'd, 

His teeth are set, his hand is clench'd. 

The foam upon his Up is white. 

His deadly arm is np to smite ! 

But, as the mace aloft he swung. 

To stop the blow young Guunar sprung, 

Ai'ound his miister's knees he clung, 

And cried, " In mercy spai-e 1 
O, think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis he foretold is here, — 

Grant mercy,— or despau' !" 
This word suspended Harold's mood. 
Yet stiU with arm upraised he stood, 
And visage Uko the headsman's rude 

That pauses for the sign. 
" niaik thee with the blessed rood," 
The Page implored ; " Speak word of good. 
Resist the fiend, or be subdued !" 

He sign'd the cross divine — 
Instant his eye hath human light. 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright ; 
His brow relax'd the obdurate frown. 
The fatal mace sinks gently down, 



He turns and strides away ; 
Yet oft, like revellers who leave 
Unfinish'd feast, looks back to grieve, 
As if repenting the reprieve 
He granted to liis prey. 
Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given. 
And fierce Witikuid's son made one step towai'da 
heaven. 

XVIII. 
But though Ills di'eaded footsteps part. 
Death is behind and shakes liis dart ; 
Lord William on the plain is lying. 
Beside him MeteliU seems dying ! — 
Bring odors — essences in haste — 
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pouring it for those she loves — 
Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted. 
For when three drops the hag had tasted. 

So dismal was her yeU, 
Each bird of evU omen woke, 
The raven gave liis fatal croak, 
And shriek'd the night-crow from the 

oak, 
The screech-owl from the tliicket broke, 

And flutter'd down the deU ! 
So fearful was the sound and stern. 
The slumbers of the fuU-gorged erne 
Were startled, and from furze and fern 

Of forest and of fell. 
The fox and fimiish'd wolf replied 
(For wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side), 
From mountain head to mountain head 
The unliaUow'd somids around were sped ;' 
But when their latest echo fled. 
The sorceress on the gi'ound lay dead. 

XIX. 
Such was the scene of blood and woes, 
With which the bridal morn arose 

Of WiHiam and of Metelill ; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread. 
The summer morn peeps dim and red 

Above the eastern hill. 
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road 
The ICing of Splendor walks abroad ; 
So, when this cloud had pass'd away. 
Bright was the noontide of their day. 
And aU serene its setting ray. 

' See a note on the Lord of the Isles, Canto v. st. 31, p. 454, 
ante. 



632 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ijarolb tl]c Dauntless. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



I. 

Well do I hope that this my minstrel t.ale 
Will tempt DO traveller from southern fields, 
Whether in tilbmy, barouche, or mail, 
To view the Castle of these Seven Proud Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 
To Meneville's high laj', — No towers are seen 
On the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds. 
And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with 
green, [been. 

Is naught remains to tell of what may there have 

And yet grave authors, with the no smaU waste 
Of their grave time, have dignified the spot 
By theories, to prove the fortress placed 
By Roman bands, to cm'b the invading Scot. 
Hutchinson, Horsley, Camden, I might quote. 
But rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who, origin of things forgot, 
Refer still to the origin of evil, [fiend the Devil. 
And for their master-mason choose that master- 

II. 
Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers 
That stout Count Harold bent his wondering 

gaze, 
AVTien evening dew was on the heather flowers, 
And the last sunbeams m.ide the mountain 

blaze, 
And tinged the battlements of other days 
With the bright level light ere siukmg down. — 
Illumined thus, the Countless Dane surveys 
The Seven Proud Shields that o'er tlie portal 

frown, [renown. 

And on their blazons traced high marks of old 

A wolf North Wales had on liis armor-coat. 
And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant stag ; 
Strath-Clwyd's strange emblem was a stranded 

boat, 
Donald of Galloway's a trotting nag ; 
A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodou's brag ; 
A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; 
Northmnbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 
Surmounted by a cross — such signs were borne 
Upon these antique shields, all wasted now and 
worn. 

m. 

These scann d. Count Harold sought the castle- 
door, 
Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; 



Tet till that hour adventurous laught forbore 
The unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strong than armed warders in array, 
And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar. 
Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, 
While Superstition, who forb.ade to war 
With foes of other mould tlian mortal clay. 
Cast spells across the gate, and bair'd the onward 
way. 

Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy clank 
The feebly-fasten'd gate was inwai'd pusli'd. 
And, as it oped, through that emblazon'd rank 
Of antique shields, the wind of evening rush'd 
With sound most like a groan, and then was 

hush'd. 
Is none who on such .spot such soimds could hear 
But to his heart the blood liad faster rush'd ; 
Tet to bold Harold's breast that throb was dear- 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. 

IV. 

Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced 
Within the castle, that of danger show'd ; 
For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, 
As thi'ough their precmcts the adventurers trode. 
The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and 

broad, 
Each tower presenting to their scrutiny 
A hall in wliich a king might make abode. 
And fast beside, garnish'd both proud and high. 
Was placed a bower for rest in wliich a king might 
lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had been, 
Deck'd stood the table in each gorgeous hall ; 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween. 
Since date of that unhallow'd festival. 
Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all 
Of f arnish'd gold, or silver nothing clear. 
With throne begilt, and canopy of pall, [sear — 
And tapestry clothed the waUs with fragments 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof appear. 



In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung 
A dusky crimson curtain o'er the bed. 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung 
The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; 
Barbaric ornaments around were spread, [stone. 
Vests twined with gold, and ch;uns of precious 
And golden cnclets, meet for monarcli's head ; 
While grmn'd, as if in scorn amtjng.st them tlu-own. 
The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust be- 
strewn. 

For these were they who, drunken with delighi 
On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head. 



;anto VI. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



533 



For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow .and light, 
Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread. 
For human bliss iind woe in the frail thread 
Of liuman life ai'e all so closely twined, 
That till the shears of Fate the texture slu'ed. 
The close succession cannot be disjoin'd, 
Not dare we, from one horn', judge that which comes 
behind. 

VI. 

But where the work of vengeance had been done, 
In tiiat seventh chjimber, was a sterner sight ; 
There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, 
.Still in the postm-e as to death when dight. 
For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright ; 
And that, as one who struggled long in dying; 
One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; 
One bent on flesUess knees, as mercy crying ; 
One lay across the door, as kill'd in act of flying.' 

The stern Dane smiled tliis charnel-house to see,— 
For his chafed thought return'd to MeteUH ; — 
And " Well," he said, " hath woman's perfidy, 
Empty as air, as water volatile. 
Boon here avenged — The origin of ill 
Thi-ough woman rose, the Chi-istian doctrine 

saith : 
Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy mmstrel skill 
C;m show example where a woman's breath 
H.ath made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept 

her faith." 

VII. 
Tlie minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh'd, 
jVnd liis half filling eyes he diied. 
And said, " The theme I should but wrong. 
Unless it were my dying song 
(Our Scalds have said, in dying hoiu' 
The Northern harp has treble power). 
Else could I tell of woman's faith, 
Defying danger, scorn, and death. 
Firm was that faith.^as diamond stone 
Pure and unflaw'd, — her love imknown. 
And unrequited ; — firm and pure. 
Her stainless faith could all endure ; 
From clime to clime, — from place to place, — 
Through want, and danger, and disgrace, 
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace. — 
All this she did, and guerdon none 
Rcquii-ed, save that her burial-stone 
Should make at length the secret known, 
' Thus hath a fiiithful woman done.' — 



' " In an invention like this we are hardly to look for prob- 
aliilitiea, but all these preparations and ornaments are not quite 
consistent with the state of sociL-ty two hundred years hefore 
the Danish Invasion, as far as we know any thing of it. In 
these matters, however, the aullior is never very scrupulous, 
and has too little resarded propriety in the minor circumstan- 



Not in each breast sucli truth is laid, 
But Eivir was a Danisli maid." — 

VIII. 
" Tliou art a wild enthusiast," said 
Count Harold, " for thy Danish maid ■ 
And yet, young Gunnar, I will own 
Hers were a faith to rest upon. 
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone, 
And all rcsembUiig her are gone. 
What maid e'er show'<i such constancy 
In plighted faith, like tliine to me ? 
But couch thee, boy ; the darksome .shade 
Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd 

Because the dead are by. 
Tliey were as we ; our little day 
O'erspent, and we shall be as they. 
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid, 
Thy couch upon my mantle raaile. 
That thou mayst think, should fear invade, 

Thy master slumbers nigh." 
Thus couch'd they in that dread abode. 
Until the beams of dawning glow'd. 

IX. 

An alter'd man Lord Harold rose. 
When he beheld that dawn imclose — 

There's trouble in his eyes. 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and wonder speak : 

" My page," he said, " arise ; — 
Leave we this place, my page." — No more 
He utter'd till the castle door 
They cross' d — but there he paused and s;ud, 
" My wildness hath awaked the dead — 

Distiu'b'd the sacred tomb ! 
Methought this night I stood on high. 
Where Hecla roars in middle sky. 
And in her cavern'd gulfs cotdd spy 

The centr-al place of doom ; 
And there before my mortal eye 
Soids of the dead came fUtting by. 
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry, 

Bore to that evil den I 
My eyes grew dizzy, and ray brain 
Was wilder'd, as the elvish train, 
With shriek and howl, dragg'd on amain 

Those who had late been men. 



" With haggard eyes and streaming hair, 
Jutta the Sorceress was there, 

ces ; thus Harold is clad in a kind of armor not worn until soma 
hundred years after the era of the poem, and many of the 
scenes described, like that last quoted (stanzas iv. v. Ti.\ be- 
long even to a still later period. At least this defect is not aa 
imitation of Mr, Scott, who, being a skilful antiquary, is ex- 
tremely careful as to niceties of this sort." — Critical Review^ 



634 SCOTT'S POETICAL WOUKS. canto vi 


And there pasa'd Wulfstane, lately slain, 


Methought wliile thus my sire did teach. 


All crush'd and foul with bloody stain. — 


I caught the meaning of his speech. 


More had I seen, but that uprose 


Yet seems its purport doubtful now." 


A whirlwiDd wild, and swept the snows ; 


His hand then sought his thouglitful brow - 


And with such sound as when at need 


Then first he mark'd, that in tlie tower 


A cliampion spurs his horse to speed. 


His glove was left at waking hour. 


Tliree arm'd knights rush on, who lead 




Oaparison'd a sable steed. 


XII. 


Sable their harness, and there came 


Ti-embling at first, and deadly pale. 


Tlirough their closed vizors sparks of flame. 


Had Gunnar lieard the vision'd tale ; 


Tlie first proclaim'd, in sounds of feai", 


But when he learn'd the dubious close. 


' Harold the Dauntless, welcome here !' 


He blush'd Uke any opening rose. 


The next cried, ' Jubilee ! we've won 


And, glad to hide liis tell-tale cheek, 


Count Witikind the Waster's son I' 


Hied back that glove of mail to seek 


And the tlu'rd rider sternly spoke. 


When soon a shi-iek of deadly dread 


' Mount, in the name of Zerneboek ! — 


Summon'd his master to his aid. 


From us, Harold, were thy powers, — 




Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are ours ; 


XIII. 


Nor think, a vassal tliou of hell. 


What sees Count Harold in that bowe 


With hell can strive.' The fiend spoke true ! 


So late his resting-place ? — 


My inmost soul the summons knew, 


The semblance of the Evil Power, 


As captives know the knell 


Adored by all his race ! 


That says the headsman's sword is bare, 


Odin in living form stood there. 


And, with an accent of despair. 


His cloak the spoils of Polar bear ; 


Commando them quit their cell. 


For plumy crest a meteor shed 


I felt resistance was in vain, 


Its gloomy radiance o'er his head. 


My foot had that fell stirrup ta'en, 


Yet veil'd its haggard majesty 


My hand was on the fatal mane. 


To the wild lightnmgs of his eye. 


Wlien to my rescue sped 


Such height was his, that wlien in stone 


Tliat Palmer's visionary form. 


O'er Upsal's giant altai- shown : 


And — like the passing of a storm— 


So flow'd Iiis hoary beard ■,'. 


The demons yell'd and fled ! 


Such was his lance of mountain-pine. 




So did his sevenfold buckler shine ; — 


XI. 


But when his voice he rear'd. 


" His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd 


Deep, without harshness, slow and strong, 


The features it before conceaVd ; 


The powerful accents roU'd along, 


And, Gunnar, I could find 


And, while he spoke, his hand was laid 


In him whose counsels strove to stay 


On captive Gunnar's shi'inking head. 


So oft my course on wilful way, 




My father Witikind ! 


XIV. 


Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for mine, 


" Harold," he said, " what rage is thmt, 


A wanderer upon earth to pine 


To quit the worship of thy Une, 


Until liis son shall turn to grace. 


To leave thy Warrior-God ? — 


And smooth for liim a resting-place. — 


With me is glory or disgrace. 


Gunnar, he must not hunt in vain 


Sline is the onset and the chase. 


Tliis world of wietcliedness and pain : 


Embattled hosts before my face 


I'll tame my wilful heart to live 


Are wither'd by a nod. 


In peace — to pity and forgive — 


Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat 


And thou, for so the Vision said, 


Deserved by many a dauntless feat. 


Must in thy Lord's repentance aid. 


Among the heroes of thy line, 


Tliy mother was a prophetess. 


Eric and fiery Tliorarme ? — 


He said, who by her skill could guess 


Thou wilt not. Only I can give 


How close the fatal textures join 


The joys for which the valiant live. 


Which k|iit thy thread of life with mine ; 


Victory and vengeance — only I 


Tlien, dark, he hinted of disguise 


Can give the joys for which they die. 


She framed to cheat too curious eyes, 


The immortal tilt — tlie banquet full. 


Tliat not a moment might divide 


The brimming draught from foeman's 


Tliy fated footsteps from my side. 


skviU. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



035 



Mine art flimi, witness tliis thy glove, 


Upon her brow and neck he threw, 


The faitliful pledge of vassal's love." 


And mttrk'd how life with rosy hue 




On her pale chuck revived anew. 


XV. 


And glimnier'd in her eye. 


" Tempter," said Harold, firm of heart, 


Inly he said, " That silken tress, — 


" I charge thee Iience ! whate'er thou art. 


What bhndness miue that could not guess I 


I do defy thee — and resist 


Or how could page's rugged dress 


The kiinUing phrensy of my breast, 


That bosom's pride belie ? 


W.ikod by thy words ; and of my mail. 


0, dull of he.irt, through wild and wave 


Nor glove, nor buckler, spluut, uor nail, 


In search of blood and death to rave, 


Shall rest with thee — that youth release, 


With such a partner nigh !'" 


And God, or Demon, part in peace." — 




"Eivir," the Shape repfied, "is mine. 


XVIII. 


JIark'd in the birth-horn" with my sign. 


Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd. 


Think'st thou that priest with drops of spray 


Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard. 


Could wash that blood-red mark away^ 


The stains of recent conflict cleai''d, — 


Or that a borrow'd se.'c and name 


And thus the Champion proved. 


Can abrogate a Godhead's claim !" 


That he fears now who never fear'd. 


Tlu-iird tliis strange speech through Harold's 


And loves who never loved. 


brain, 


And Eivir — Ufe is on her cheek, 


He clench'd his teeth in high disdain, 


And yet she will not move or speak. 


For not liis new-born faith subdued 


Nor will her eyelid fully ope ; 


Some tokens of his ancient mood. — - 


Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye. 


" Now, by the Iiope so lately given 


Through its long fringe, reserved and shy, 


Of better trust and purer heaven, 


Affection's opening dawn to spy : 


I will assail thee, fiend !" — -Then rose 


And the deep blush, which bids its dye 


His mace, and with a storm of blows 


O'er eheek, and brow, and bosom fly, 


The mortal and the Demon close. 


Speaks shame-facedness and hope. 


XVI. 


XIX. 


Smoke roll'd dbove, fire flash'd around, 


But vainly seems the Dane to seek 


Darken'd the sky and shook the ground 


For terms his new-born love to speak, — 


But not the artillery of hell. 


For words, save those of wrath and wrong. 


Tlie bickering lightning, nor the rock 


Till now were strangers to his tongue ; 


Of turrets to the earthquake's shock. 


So, when he raised the blushing maid, 


Could Harold's courage queU. 


In bltmt and honest terms he said 


Sternly the Dane his purpose kept. 


('Twere well that maid.s, when lovers woo. 


And blows on blows resistless lieap'd. 


Heard none more soft, were all as true). 


Till quail'd that Demon Form, 


*' Eivu' ! since thou for many a day 


And — for his power to hurt or kill 


Hast foUow'd Harold's wayward way. 


"Was bounded by a higher wUl — 


It is but meet that in the line 


Evanish'd in the storm. 


Of after-life I follow thine. 


Nor paused the Champion of the North, 


To-morrow is Samt Cuthbert's tide. 


But raised, and bore his Eivii- forth, 


And we will grace his altar's side, 


From that wild scene of fiendish strife, 


A Christian knight and Christian bride ; 


To light, to liberty, and life ! 


And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be said. 




That on the same morn he was christen'd and 


XVII. 


wed," 


He placed her on a bank of moss. 




A silver runnel bubbled by. 






And new-born thoughts his soul engross, 




And tremors yet unlniown across 


CONCLUSION. 


His stubborn sinews ily, 


And now. Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid * 
And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow f 


The while with timid hand the dew 


' Mr Adolphas, in his Letters on the Author of Waverley, 


son in the Irish orphan of ' Rokeby,' and the conversion of 


p 230, remarks on the coincidenee between " the catjLitropho 


Harold's page into a female,"— all wliich he calls "specimens 


nf 'The Black Dwarf,' the recosnition of Mortham's lost 


of nnsQcccssfut contrivance, at a gr^at expense of pivhability." 



536 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



No nued to turn the page, as if 'twere lead, 
Or fling aside the volume till to-moiTow. — 
Be cheer'd — 'tis ended — and I -will not borrow. 
To try thy patience more, one anecdote 

I " ' Harold the Danntless,' like ' The Bridal of Triermain,' 
I tolerably successful imitation of some parts of the style of 
Mr. Walter Scott ; but like all imitations, it is clearly distin- 
guishable from the prototype ; it wants the life and seasoning 
of originality. To illustrate this familiarly from the stage : — 
We have all witnessed a hundred imitations of popular actors — ■ 
of Kenible, for instance, in which the voice, tlie gesture, and 
BOraewhat even of the look, were copied. In externals the re- 
semblance might be sufficiently correct; but where vv-as the 
"nforming soul, the mind that dictated the action and expres- 
sion ? Who could endure the tedium of seeing the imitator go 
through a whole character 1 lu ' Harold the Dauntless,' the 
imitation of Mr. Scott is pretty obvious, but we are weary of 
it before we arrive near the end. The author has talent, and 
considerable facility in versification, and on this account it is 
eomewhat lamentable, not only that he should not have se- 
lected a better model, bat that he should copy the parts of that 
model which are least worthy of study. PerJiaps it was not 
easy to equal the energy of Mr. Scott's line, or his picturesque 
descriptions. His peculiarities and defects were more attaina- 
ble, and with these the writer of this novel in verse has gener- 
ally contented himself; he will also content a certain number 
of readers, who merely look for a few amusing or surprising 
incidents. In these, however, ' Harold the Dauntless' does 
not abound so much as ' The Bridal of Triermain.* They 
are, indeed, romantic enough to satisfy all the parlor-boarders 
'ladies* schools in England ; but they want that appearance 
,-if probability wliich should give thera interest." — Critical Re- 
view, April, 1817. 



" We had formerly occasion to notice, with considerable 
praise, The Bridal of Triermain. We remarked it as a pretty 
close imitation of Mr. Scott's poetry ; and as that great master 
seems, for the present, to have left his lyre unstrung, a substi- 
tute, even of inferior ^lue, raay be welcomed by the public. 
It appeared to us, however, and still does, that the merit of the 
present author consists rather in the soft and wildly tender 
passages, llian in those rougher scenes of feud and fray, through 
which the poet of early times conducts his reader. His war- 
horse follows with somewhat of a hobbling pace the proud and 
imjietuous courser whom he seeks to rival. Unfortunately, as 
it appears to us, the last style of poetical excellence h rather 
more aimed at here than in the former poem ; and as we do 
not discover any improvement in the mode of treating it, Ha- 
rold the Dauntless scarcely appeals to us to equal the Bridal of 
Triermain. It contains, indeed, passages of similar merit, but 
not quite so numerous ; and such, we suspect, will ever be the 
case while the author continues to follow after this line of 
poetry,"— Scofs Mag. Feb. 1817. 



"This is an elegant, sprightly, and delightful little poem, 
written apparently by a person of taste and genius, but who 
either possesses not the art of forming and combining a plot, 
or regards it only as a secondary and subordinate object. In 
this we do not widely differ from him, but are sensible, mean- 
time, that many others will ; and that the rambling and un- 
certain nature of the story will be the principal objection 
urged against the poem before us, as well as the greatest bar 
to lis extensive popularity. The character of Mr. Scott's ro- 
mances has effected a material change in our moile of esti- 
mating poetical compositions. In all the estimable works of 
t>iir former poets, from Spenser down to Thomson and Cowper, 
'.he plot seema lo have been regarded as good or bad, only in 
■ 1 



Frora BarthoUnc, or Perinskiold, or Snorro, 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, "who hath "nrote 
A Tale six cantos long, yet scoru'd to add a 
note.' 

proportion to the advantages which it furnished for poetical 
description ; but, of late yeai-s, one half, nt least, of the merit 
of a poem is supposed to rest on tJie interest and management 
of the tale. 

" We speak not e.Tclusively of that numerous class of read- 
ers who peruse and estimate a new poem, or any poem, with 
the same feelings, and precisely on the same princijdes, as they 
do a novel. It is natural for such persons to judge only by the 
effect produced by the incidents; but we have often been 
surprised that some of our literary critics, even those to whose 
judgment we were most disposed lo bow, should lay so much 
stress on the probability and fitness of every incident wliich 
the fancy of the poet may lead him to embellish in the course 
of a narrative poem, a great proportion of which must neces- 
sarily be descriptive. The author of Harold the Dauntless 
seeuis to have judged differently from these critics ; and in 
the lightsome rapid strain of poetry which he nas chosen, we 
feel no disposition to quarrel with him on account of the easy 
and careless manner in which he has arranged his story. In 
many instances he undoubtedly shows the hand of a [nar.ttr, 
and has truly studied and seized the essential character of the 
antique — his attitudes and draperies are unconfined, and va- 
ried witii derai-tints, possessing much of the lustre, freshness, 
and spirit of Rembrandt. The airs of his heads have grace, 
and his di-^tances something of the lightness and keeping of 
Salvator Rosa. The want of harmony and union in the car- 
nations of his females is a slight objection, and there is like- 
wise a meagre sheetiness in his conlrssls oC chiaroscuro ; but 
these are all redeemed by the felicity, execution, and master 
traits distinguishable in his grouping, as in a Murillo or Carra- 
veggio. 

But the work has another quality, and though its leading 
one, we do not know whether to censure or approve it. It is 
an avowed imitation, and therefore loses part of its value, if 
viewed as an original production. On the other hand, regarded 
solely as an imitation, it is one of the closest and most success- 
ful, without being either a caricature or a parody, that perhaps 
ever appeared in any language. Not only is the general man- 
ner of Scott ably maintained throughout, but the very structure 
of the language, the associations, and the train of thinking, 
appear to be precisely the same. It was once alleged by some 
writers, that it was impossible to imitate Mr. Scott's style; 
but it is now fully proved to the worid that there is no style 
more accessible to imitation ; for it will be remarked (laying 
parodies aside, which any one may execute), that Mr. David- 
son and Miss Halford, as well as Lord Byron and Wordsworth, 
each in one instance, have all, without we believe intending 
it, imitated him with considerable closeness. The author of 
the Poetic Mirror has given us one specimen of his most pol- 
ished and tender style, and another, still more close, of his 
rapid and careless manner ; but all of thevi fall greatly short 
of the Bridal of Triermain, and the poem 7iojb before us. 
We are sure the author will laugh heartily in his sleeve at our 
silliness and want of perception, when we confess to him that 
we never could open either of these works, and peruse his pages 
for two minutes with attention, and at the same time divest 
our minds of the idea that we were eng.nged in an eariy or 
experimental work of that great master. That they are gene- 
rally inferior to the works of Mr. Scott in vigor and interest, 
admits no* of dispute ; still they have many of liis wild and 
softer beauties; and if they fail to be read and admired, we 
shall not on that account think the better cf the taste of the 
^i«e.*'— Black ivood's Magazine, April, 1817. 

END OF HAROLD THE DAUNl'LESS. 



3 11 1 r ii u c 1 r 13 U c in a r k 8 * 



Popular pnctrn, 

AND OX THE 

VARIOUS COLLECTIONS OF BALLADS OF BRITALN" PARTICULARLY THOSE 

OF SCOTLAND. 



The Introduction originally prefixed to " Tlie 
Hinstrelsy of tbe Scottish Border," was rather of 
I liistorical than a hterary nature ; and the re- 
tnnrks Tvliich foUo'n' liave been added, to afford the 
general reader some information upon the cliarac- 
ter of Ballad Poetry. 

It would be throwing away words to prove, 
wliat all must admit, the general taste and pro- 
pensity of nations in their early state, to cultiv.ate 
some species of rude poetry. 'When the organs 
and faculties of a primitive race have developed 
themselves, each for its proper and necessary use, 
there is a natural tendency to employ them in a 
more refined and regulated manner for purposes 
of amusement. The savage, after proving the ac- 
tivity of Ills limbs in the chase or the battle, trains 
them to more measured movements, to dance at 
the festivals of his tribe, or to perform obeisance 
before the altars of his deity. From the same im- 
pulse, he is disposed to refine the ordinary speech 
which forms the vehicle of social communication 
betwLvt him and his brethren, until, by a more or- 
nate diction, modulated by certain rules of rhythm, 
cidence, assonance of termination, or recurrence of 
sound or letter, he obtains a dialect more solemn 
in expression, to record the laws or exploits of his 
tribe, or more sweet in sound, in which to plead 
his own cause to his mistress. 

This primeval poetry must have one general 
eliaracter in all nations, both as to its merits and 
its imperfections. The earlier poets have tlie ad- 
vantage, and it is not a small one, of having the 
first choice out of the stock of materials which are 
proper to the art; and thus they compel later au- 
thors, if they would avoid slavi-shly imitating the 
fathers of verse, into various devices, often more 

1 These remirks were firel appended to the edition of the 
' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," 1830. — Ed. 

2 Sir Walter Scott. a.s this paragraph intimates, never doabt- 



ingenious than elegant, that they may establish, if 
not an absolute claim to originahty, at le;ist a visi- 
ble distinction betwi.xt themselves and their pre- 
decessors. Thus it happens, that early poets al- 
most uniformly display a bold, rude, original cast 
of genius and expression. They have walked at 
fi'ee-will, and with unconstrained steps, along the 
wilds of Parnassus, while their followers move 
with constramed gestures and forced attitudes, in 
order to avoid placing their feet where their pre- 
decessors have stepped before them. The first 
bard who compared his hero to a lion, struck a 
bold and congenial note, though the simile, in a 
nation of hunters, be a very obvious one ; but 
every subsequent poet who shall use it, must 
either struggle hard to give, his Uon, as heralds 
say, with a difference, or Ue mider the imputation 
of being a servile imitator. 

It is not probable that, by any researches of 
modem times, we shall ever reach back to an ear- 
her model of poetry than Homer ; but as there 
lived heroes before Agamemnon, so, tuiquestiona- 
bly, poets existed before the immort.al Bard who 
gave the King of Iriugs his fame ; and he whom all 
civilized nations now acknowledge as the Father 
of Poetry, must have himself looked back to an 
ancestry of poetical predecessors, and is only held 
original because we know not from whom he copied. 
Indeed, though much must be ascribed to the riclie^ 
of his own individual genius, the poetry of Homer 
argues a degree of perfection in an art which prac- 
tice had already rendered regular, and concerning 
which, his frequent mention of the bards, or chant- 
ers of poetry, indicates plainly that it was studied 
by many, and known and admired by all." 

It is indeed easUy discovered, that the qualities 

ed that tlie Iliad and Odyssey were sobstantially the works of 
one and the same individual. He said of the Woltian hypo- 
thesis, that it was the most irreligious one lie had Iieard of, 
and could never be believed in by any ^oct. — Ed. 



538 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



necessary for composing such poems are not the 
portion of every man in the tribe ; that the bard, 
to reach excellence in his art, must possess some- 
thing more than a full commanil of "words and 
phrases, and the knack of arranging them in such 
form as ancient examples have fixed upon as the 
recognized structure of national verse. The tribe 
speedily become sensible, that besides this degree 
t)f mechanical facility, which (Hke making "what 
are called at school nonsense verses) may be at- 
tained by dint of memory and practice, nmch 
liigher quaUfications are demanded. A keen and 
active power of observation, capable of perceiv- 
ing at a glance the leading circumstances from 
wliich the incident described derives its charac- 
ter; quick and powerful feelings, to enable the 
bard to comprehend and delineate those of the 
actors in Iiis piece ; and a command of language, 
alternately soft and elevated, and suited to express 
the conceptions which he had formed in liis mind, 
are all necessary to eminence in the puetical art. 

Above all, to attain the highest point of liis pro- 
fession, the poet must have that original power of 
embodying and detailing circumstances, wliicli can 
jilace before the eyes of others a scene which only 
c.vists m Ms own imaguiation. This last high and 
creative faculty, namely, that of impressing the 
mind of the hearers with scenes and senthnents 
having no existence save through their art, has 
procured for the bards of Greece the term of 
noii)7i;{, which, as it singularly happens, is literally 
translated by the Scottish epithet for the same 
class of persons, whom they termed the Makers. 
Tlio French phrase of Trouveurs, or Troubadours, 
namely, the Finders, or Inventors, has the same 
reference to the quality of original conception and 
invention proper to the poetical art, and without 
wliich it can hardly be said to exist to any pleas- 
ing or useful purpose. 

The mere arrangement of words into poetical 
rhytlim. or combining them according to a tech- 
nical rule or measure, is so closely connected with 
till- art of music, tliiit an alliance between these 
two tine arts is very soon closely formed. It is 
fruitless to inquire which of them has been first 
inveifted, since doubtless the precedence is acci- 
dental ; and it signifies little whether the musician 
adai)ts verses to a rude time, or whether the pri- 
nuiive poet, in reciting his productions, falls natu- 
rally into a chant or song. With this additional 
accomplishment, the poet becomes aoiio^, or the 
in:in of song, and his character is complete when 
the additional accompaniment of a lute or harp is 
added to his vocal performance. 



1 The " roema del Cid" (of which Mr. Frere has translated 
FOme ''pecimena) is, however, considered by every lii.^Iorian of 
Spani&li literature, as the w*ork of ooe hand ; and i& e^Menlly 



Here, therefore, we have the history of early 
poetry in all nations. But it is evident that, 
though poetry seems a plant proper to almost all 
sods, yet not only is it of various kinds, according 
to the chmate and country in which it has its ori- 
gin, but the poetry of different nations differs still 
more widely in the degree of excellence which iL 
attains. This must depend in some measure, no 
doubt, on the temper and mamiers of the people, 
or their proximity to those spirit-stirring events 
which are naturally selected as the subject of 
poetry, and on the more comprehensive or ener- 
getic character of the language spoken by the 
tribe. But the progress of the art is fur more de- 
pendent upon the rise of some highly gifted indi- 
vidual, possessing in a pre-eminent and imconunon 
degree the powers demanded, whose talents in- 
fluence the taste of a whole nation, and entail on 
their posterity and language a character almost 
mdelibly sacred. In this respect Homer stands 
alone and unrivalled, as a light from whose lamp 
the genius of successive ages, and of distant na- 
tions, has caught fire and illumination ; and who, 
though the early poet of a rude age, has purchased 
for the era he has celebrated, so much reverence, 
that, not daring to bestow on it the term of bar- 
barous, we distinguish it as the heroic period. 

No other poet (sacred and inspired authoi's ex- 
cepted) ever did, or ever will, possess the same 
influence over posterity, in so many distant lands, 
as has been acquired by the blind old man of 
Chios ; yet we are assured that his works, collected 
by the pious care of Pisistratus, who caused to be 
united into their present form those divine poems, 
would otherwise, if preserved at all, have ap- 
peared to succeeding generations in the humble 
state of a collection of detached bidlads, connected 
only as referring to the same age, the same gene- 
ral subjects, and the same cycle of heroes, Uke the 
metrical poems of the Cid in Spaui,' or of Eobin 
Hood in England. 

In other countries, less favored, either in lan- 
guage or in picturesque incident, it cannot be sup- 
posed that even the genius of Homer could have 
so:^'ed to such exclusive cmmence, .since he must 
at once have been deprived of the subjects and 
themes so well adapted for his muse, and of the 
lofty, melodious, and flexible language in which lie 
recorded them. Other nations, during the forma- 
tion of their ancient poetry, wanted the genius of 
Homer, as well as liis picturesque scenery and 
loftv language. Yet the investigation of the early 
poetry of every nation, even the rudest, carries 
with it an object of curiosity and interest. It is a 



more ancient than the detached ballads on ihe Adventnres of 
the Canipeador. which are included in the Caneioncros. — 
El) 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



539 



chapter in tlie liistory of the childhood of society, 
and its resemblance to, or dissimilarity from, the 
pojjidar rliymes of other nations in the same stage, 
must needs illustrate the ancient history of states ; 
their slower or swifter progress towards civiliza- 
tion ; theh gradual or more rapid adoption of man- 
ners, sentiments, and religion. The study, there- 
fore, of lays rescued from the gulf of oblivion, must 
in every case possess considerable interest for the 
moral pliilosopher and general historian. 

The liistorian of an individual nation is equally 
or more deeply interested in the researches into 
popuhxr poetry, since he must not disdain to ga- 
tlier from the tradition conveyed in ancient ditties 
and ballads, the information necess:u'y to confirm 
or correct intelligence collected from more certain 
sources. And although tlie poets were a fabhug 
race from the very beginning of time, and so much 
addicted to exaggeration, that their accounts are 
seldom to be relied on without corrobor.ative evi- 
dence, yet instances frequently occur where the 
statements of poetical tradition are unexpectedly 
contirmed. 

To the lovers and admirers of poetry as an art, 
it cannot be uninteresting to have a glimpse of the 
National lluse in her cradle, or to hear her bab- 
bling the earliest attempts at the formation of the 
tuneful sounds with which she was afterwards to 
cliarm posterity. And I may venture to add, th.".t 
among poetry, which, however rude, was a gift of 
Nature's first fruits, even a reader of refined taste 
will find his patience rewarded, by passages in 
which the rude minstrel rises into sublimity or 
melts into pathos. These were the merits which 
induced the classical Addison' to write an elabo- 
rate commentary upon the ballad of Clievy Chase, 
and which roused, like the sound of a trumpet, the 
heroic blood of Sii' Pliilip Sidney.^ 

It is true that passages of this high character 
seldom occur ; for, during the infancy of the art of 
poetry, the bards have been generally satisfied 
with a rude and careless expression of their senti- 
ments ; and even when a more fehcitous expres- 
sion, or loftier numbers, have been dictated by the 
enthusiasm of the composition, the advantage came 
unsought for, and perhaps imnoticed, either by 
the minstrel or the audience. 

Another cause contributed to the tenuity of 
thought and poverty of expression, by which old 
ballads are too often distinguislied. The apparent 
simplicity of the ballad stanza carried with it a 
strong temptation to loose and trivial composition. 
The collection of rhymes, accumulated by the ear- 
liest of the craft, appear to have been considered 

1 See Tlie Spectatoi, Nos. 70 and 74. 



as forming a joint stock for the common use of the 
profession ; and not mere rhymes only, but verses 
and stanzas, have been used as common property, 
so as to give an appeanuice of sameness and cru- 
dity to the whole series of popular poetry. Such, 
for instance, is the salutation so often repeated, — 

*' Now Heaven thee save, thoa brave young knight. 
Now Heaven thee save and see." 

And such the usual expression for talcing coimso. 
with, 

*' Rede me, rede me, brother dear, 
My rede shall rise at tliee." 

Such also is the unvaried account of the rose and 
the brier, which are said to spring out of the grave 
of the hero and heroine of these metrical legends, 
with little effort at a variation of the expressions 
in which the incident is prescriptively told. The 
least acquaintance with the subject will recall a 
gi'eat number of commonplace verses, which each 
ballad-maker has unceremoniously appropriated to 
hunscif ; thereby greatly facilitating his own task, 
and at the same time degrading liis art by his 
slovenly use of over-scutched j^hrases. From the 
same indolence, the ballad-mongers of most nations 
have availed themselves of every opportunity of 
prolonging their pieces, of the same kind, without 
the labor of actual composition. If a message is 
to be delivered, the poet saves himself a little 
trouble, by using exactly the same words in whicli 
it was origiually couched, to seciu'e its being trans- 
mitted to the person for whose ear it was intended. 
The bards of ruder climes, and less favored lan- 
guages, may indeed claim the countenance of 
Homer for such repetitions; but wliilst, in the 
Father of Poetry, they give the reader an oppor 
tunity to pause, .and look back upon the enchanted 
ground over wliich the}" have travelled, they afford 
nothing to the modern bai-d, save IJicUitating the 
power of stupefying the audience witli stanzas of 
dull and tetlious iteration. 

Another cause of the flatness and insipidity, 
which is the gi'eat imperfection of ballad poetry, 
is to be a-scribed less to the compositions m their 
original state, when reheiused by their authors, 
than to the ignorance and errors of the reciters or 
transcribers, by whom they have been transmitted 
to us. The more popular the composition of an 
ancient poet, or Maker, became, the greater chance 
there was of its bemg corrupted ; for a poem 
transmitted tnrough a nmnber of reciters, like a 
book reprinted in a multitude of editions, mciu'.''. 
the risk of impertinent interpolations from the con- 
ceit of one rehearser, unintelligible blunders fron. 



foiinii not my heart moved more than with the sonnd o*" s 
trumiift ; and yet it is eiirif^ but by some blind crowder, witp 
a *' I never heard the old sons of Percie and Douglas, that 1 no rougher voice than rode style." — Sidnkv. 



540 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the stupidity of aaotlier, and omissions equally to be 
regretted, from the want of memory in a third. This 
Bort of injury is felt Tery early and the reader 
■will tind a curious instance in the Introduction to 
the Romance of Sir Tristrem. Robert de Brumie 
there complains, that though the Romance of Sir 
Tri.strem was the best which had erer been made, 
if it could be recited as composed by the autlior, 
Thomas of Ercekloune, yet that it was written in 
such an ornate style of language, and such a difK- 
cult strain of versification, as to lose all value in the 
mouths of ordinary minstrels, who could scarcely 
repeat one stanza without omitting some part of 
it, and marriui^, consequently, both the sense and 
the rhythm of the passage.^ This deterioration 
could not be limited to one author alone ; others 
must have suffered from the the same cause, in 
the same or a greater degree. Nay, we are au- 
thorized to conclude, that in proportion to the care 
bestowed by the author upon any poem, to attain 
what his age might suppose to be the highest 
graces of poetry, the greater was the damage wliich 
it sustained by the inaccuracy of reciter.s, or their 
desu'e to humble both the sense and diction of the 
poem to their powers of recollection, and the com- 
prehension of a vulgar audience. It camiot be ex- 
pected that compositions subjected in this way to 
mutihition and corruption, should continue to pre- 
seut their original sense or diction ; and the accu- 
racy of our editions of popular poetry, unless in 
the rare event of recovering original or early copies, 
is lessened in proportion. 

But the chance of these corruptions is incalcu- 
lably increased, when we consider that the ballads 
have been, not in one, but iuiunnerable instances 
of transmission, liable to similar alterations, through 
a long course of centuries, during which they have 
been luuided from one ignorant reciter to anotlier, 
each discarding whatever original words or phrases 
time or fasliion had, ui his opinion, rendered obso- 
lete, and substituting anachronisms by expres.'ions 
taken from the customs of his own day. And here 
it may be rem.arked, that the desire of the reciter 
to be intelhgible, however natural and laudable, 
has been one of the greatest causes of the deterio- 
ration of ancient poetry. The minstrel who en- 
ileavored to recite with fidelity the words of the 
author, might indeed fall into errors of sound and 
sense, and substitute corruptions for words he did 
not understand. But the ingenuity of a skilful 

1 " That thou may hear in Sir Tristrem : 
Over ge.stes it has the steeni, 
Over all that is or was. 
If men it sayil as made Tliom.is ; 
But I hear it no man so say — 
Butof some copple some is away," &c. 

9 An inst.in';e occurs in llie valuable old ballad, called Anld 



critic could often, m that case, revive and restore 
the original meaning ; while the corrupted words 
became, in such cases, a warrant lor the authen- 
ticity of tlie whole poem." 

In general, however, the later reciters appear 
to have been far less desirous to speak the author's 
words, tlian to introduce amendmeiits and new 
readhigs of their own, which have always produced 
the effect of modernizing, and usually that of de- 
grading and vulgarizing, the rugged sense and 
spirit of the antique minstrel. Thus, midergoing 
from age to age a gradual process of alteration 
and recomposition, our popidar and oral minstrelsy 
has lost, in a great measure, its original appear- 
ance ; and the strong touches by which it had 
been formerly characterized, have been generally 
smoothed down and destroyed by a process sUni- 
lar to that by which a coin, passing fi-om hand to 
hand, loses in circulation all the finer marks of the 
impress. 

The very fine ballad of Chevy. Chase is an ex- 
ample of this degrading species of alcliymy. by 
which the ore of antiquity is deteriorated and 
adulterated. While Addison, in an age which had 
never attended to popular poetry, wrote his clas- 
sical criticism on that balla-i, he naturally took for 
his text the ordinary stcll-copy, although he might, 
imd ought to have suspected, that a ditty couched 
in the languKge nearly of his own time, could not 
be the same with that which Su' I'liilip Sidney, 
more than one hundred years before, had spoken 
of, as being " evil apparelled in the dust and cob- 
webs of an uncivilized age." The venerable Bish- 
op Percy was the fii'st to correct this mistake, by 
producing a copy of the song, as old at least as 
the reign of Hciu-y VII., bearuig the name of the 
autlior or transcriber, Richard Sheale.° But even 
the Rev. Editor himself fell under the mistake of 
supposing the modern Chevy Chase to be a new 
copy of the original ballad, expressly modernized 
by some one later bard. On the contrary, the 
current version is now universally allowed to have 
been produced by the gradual .dterations of nu- 
merous reciters, during two centuiies, in the course 
of wliich the ballad has been gra*lu.ally moulded 
into a composition bearing only a general resem- 
blance to tile origin.al — expressing the same events 
and sentiments in much tmoothei limguage, and 
more flowing and easy versification ; but losing 
in poetical fire and v-nergy, and m the vigor and 

Maitland. The reciter repeated a ver^c, descriptive of the ae- 
lence of a castle, tlius : 

" With sprhig'Wall, stanes. and goads of aim, 
Among them fast he llirew." 
Spring'Wftll, is a corrnptioii of spvingald, a military engine 
for casting darts or stones ; the resloratioa of wJiicli reading 
gives a precise and clear sense to the lines 
3 See Percy's Reliques, vol. i. p. 2. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



541 



pithiness of the expression, a great deal more than 
it has gained in sua%'ity of diction. Thus ; — 

*' The Percy owt of Northomberland, 
And a vowe to God mayd lie, 
That tie wolde hunte in the inouiitaytis 

Oft' Cheviot witliiti dayes Uire, 

In the niaugcr of doughty Doiigle^, 

And a!I that ever with him be," 

*' The stout Earl of Northumberland 
A vow to God did make, 
His pleasure in the Scottish woods 
Three summer days to take," &c. 

From this, and other examples of the same kind, 
of tvliich many might be quoted, we must often 
expect to find the remains of Minstrel poetry, com- 
posed origiutilly for the courts of princes and lialls 
of nt)bles, disguised in the more modern and vul- 
gar dialect in which they have been of late sung 
to the frequenters of the rustic ale-bench. It is 
unnecessary to mention more than one other re- 
markable and humbling instance, printed in the 
curiotis collection entitled, a BaUiid-Bvok, where 
we fiml, in the words of the ingenious Editor,' a 
stupid ballad, printed as it was sung in Annandale, 
founded on tlie well-known story of tlie Prince of 
Salerno's daughter, but with the uncoutli change 
of Dysmal for Ghismonda, and Guiscard trans- 
formed into a greasy kitchen-boy. 

*' To what base uses may we not return !" 

Sometimes a still more material and systematic 
difference appears between the poems of antiqui- 
ty, as they were originally composed, and as they 
now exist. This occurs in cases where the longer 
metrical romances, which were in fashion during 
the middle ages, were reduced to shorter compo- 
sitions, in order that they might be chanted before 
an uiferior audience. A ballad, for example, of 
Thomas of Erceldoune, and his intrigues with the 
(iueen of Faery-Land, is, or has been, long current 
iu Teviotdale, and other parts of Scotland. Two 
ancient copies of a poem, or romance, on the same 
subject, and containing very often the same words 
and turns of expression, are preserved in the hbra- 
ries of the Cathedral of Lincoln and Peterborough. 
We are left to conjecture whether the originals of 
such ballads have been gradually contracted into 
tlieir modern shape by the impatience of later 
audiences, combined with the lack of memory 
displayed by more modern reciters, or whether, 
iu particular cases, some ballad-maker may have 

' Charles Kirkpatriek Sharpe, Esq. The Ballad-Book was 
printed in 1823, and inscribed to Sir Walter Scott ; the im- 
pression consisting of only thirty copies. 

3 These two ancient Romances are reprinted in a volume 
of " Early Metrical Tales," edited by Mr. David Laing, Edin- 
onrgh, 1826, small 8vo. Only 175 copies printed. 



actually set himself to work to retrench the old 
details of tlie minstrels, and regularly and sys- 
tematically to modernize, and if the phrase bo per- 
mitted, to balladize, a metrical romance. We ai'e 
assured, however, that " Roswtd and Lihau'' was 
sung through the streets of EtUnburgh two gene- 
rations siuce ; and we know tliat the romance o( 
" Sir Eger, Sir Grime, and Sir Greysteil,"^ liatl also 
its own particular chant, or tune. The stall-co])ies 
of both these romances, as they now exist, are very 
much abbreviated, and probably exhibit tliem 
when they were undergoing, or had nearly 
undergone, the process of being cut down into 
ballttds. 

Taking into consideration the various indirect 
chaimels by which the popular poetry of our an- 
cestors has been transmitted to tlieir posterity, it 
is nothing surprismg that it shoulil rcacli us in :i 
mutilated and degraded state, and that it sliould 
little correspond with tlie ideas we are apt to form 
of the first productions of national genius; n.iy, it 
is more to be wondered at that we possess so many 
ballads of considerable merit, than that the much 
greater number of them wliich must have once 
existed, should have perished before our time. 

Having given this brief accoimt of ballad poetry 
in general, the purpose of the present prefatory 
remarks wUl be accomplished, by shortly noticing 
the popular poetry of Scotland, and some of the 
efforts wliich have been made to collect and illus- 
trate it. 

It is now generally admitted that the Scots and 
Picts, however differing otherwise, were each by 
descent a Celtic race ; that they advanced in a 
course of victory someAvhat farther than the pres- 
ent frontier between England and Scotland, and 
about the end of the eleventh century subdued 
and rendered tributary tlie Britons of Strathcluyd, 
who were also a Celtic race like themselves. Ex- 
cepting, therefore, the provuices of Berwickshire 
and the Lothians, which were chiefly inlitxbited by 
ill! Anglo-Saxon popidation, the whole of Scotlaud 
was peopled by different tribes of the same abo- 
riginal race,' — a race passionately addicted to mu- 
sic, as appears from the kindred Celtic nations of 
Irish, "Welsh, and Scottish, preserving each to this 
day a style and character of music peculiar to their 
own country, though all three bear mtirks of gene- 
ral resemblance to each other. That of Scotland, 
in partictdar, is early noticed and extolled by 
ancient authors, and its remains, to wliich the na- 
tives are passionately attached, are stQl fountl to 

3 The anthor seems to have latterly modified his original 
opinion nn some rarts of this subject. In his revicwal of Mr. 
P. F. Tytler's History of Scotland ((iuart. Rev. vol. xli. p. 
328). he says, speaking of the period of the final subjugation 
of the Picts, " It would appear the Sc{iii(tiiniviftns had cola- 
nies along the fertile shores of Moray, and among the mouor 



nffurd pleasure even to those who cultivate the art 
iipuu a more rtfiued and varied system. 

This skill iu music did not, of course, exist "with- 
out a corresponding degree of talent for a species 
of poetry, adapted to the habits of the country, 
celebrating the victories of triumphant clans, pour- 
ing fortli lamentations over fallen heroes, and re- 
cording such marvellous adventures as were cal- 
culated to amuse individual families around their 
liousehold fires, or the whole tribe Avhen regaling 
iu tlie hall of the chief. It happened, liowever, 
singularlj enough, that while the music continued 
to be Celtic in its general measure, the language 
of Scotland, most commonly spoken, began to bo 
that of their neighbor.s, the English, introduced by 
the multitude of Saxons who thronged to the court 
of Malcolm Canmore and liis successors; by the 
crowds of prisoners of war, whom the repeated 
ravages of the Scots in Northumberland carried off 
as slaves to their country ; by the influence of the 
hiliabitants of the richest and most populous prov- 
inces in Scotland, Berwickshire, namely, and the 
Lothiaus, over the more mountainous ; lastly, by 
the superiority which a language like the Anglo- 
Saxon, considerably refined, long since reduced to 
writing, and capable of expressmg the wants, 
I wishes, and sentiments of the speakers, must h.ave 
possessed over the jargon of various tribes of Irish 
and British origin, limited and contracted in every 
varymg dialect, and differing, at the s.ime time, 
from each other. This superiority being consid- 
ered, and a fair length of time being allowed, it is 
no wonder that, while the Scottish people retained 
their Celtic music, and many of their Celtic cus- 
toms, together with their Celtic dynasty, they 
should nevertlieless have adopted, thro\ighout the 
Lowlands, the Saxon language, while in ihe High- 
lands they retained the Celtic dialect, along with 
the dress, arms, manners, and government of their 
fathers. 

There was, for a time, a solemn national recog- 
nizance that the Saxon language and poetry had 
not origmally been that of the royal family. For, 
at the coronations of the kings of Scotland, previ- 
ous to Alexander III., it was a part of the solem- 
nity, that a Celtic bai'd stepped forth, so soon as 
the king assumed his seat upon the fated stone, 
and recited the genealogy of the monarch in Celtic 
verse, setting forth his descent, and the right 
which he had by birth to occupy the place of sov- 
ereignty. For a time, no doubt, the Celtic songs 



tains of Sutlierland, wliose name speaks for itself, that it was 
given by the Norwefjians ; and probably they hatl also seUle- 
ments in Caitliness and the Orcades." In this essay, however, 
he adheres in the main to his Atlli-Pinkertoiliail doctrine, and 
Ireats the Picts as Celts. — Ed. 

1 A curious account of the reception of an Irish or Celtic 



and poems remained current in the Lowlands, 
while any remnant of the language yet lasted. 
The Gaelic or Irish bards, wc are al.so aware, oc- 
casionally strolled into the Lowlands, where their 
music miglit be received with favor, even after 
tlieir recitation was no longer understood. But 
though these aboriginal poets showed themselves 
at festivals and other jilaces of public resort, it 
does not appear that, as in Homer's time, thej 
were honored with high places at the board, ana 
savory morsels of the chine ; but they seem rather 
to have been accounted fit company for the feigned 
fools and sturdy beggars, with whom they were 
ranked by a Scottish statute.' 

Time was necessary wholly to eradicate one 
language and introduce another ; but it is remark- 
able that, at the death of Alexander the Tliird, 
the last Scottish king of the pure Celtic race, the 
popular lament for his death was composed in 
Scoto-English, and, tliough closely resembling the 
modern dialect, is the earliest example we have of 
that language, whether iu prose or poetry .° About 
the same time flourished the celebrated Thomas 
the Rhymer, whose poem, written in English, or 
Lowland Scottish, with the most anxious attention 
both to versification and alliteration, forms, even 
as it now exists, a very curious specimen of the 
early romance. Such compUcated construction 
was greatly too concise for the public ear, which 
is best amused by a looser diction, iu which nume- 
rous repetition.s, and prolonged descriptions, enable 
the comprehension of the audience to keep up with 
the voice of the singer or reciter, and supply the 
gaps which in general must have taken place, 
either through a failure of attention in the hear- 
ers, or of voice and distinct enunciation on the 
part of the minstreL 

The usual stanza which was selected as the 
most natural to the language and the sweetest to 
the ear, after the complex system of the more 
courtly measures, used by Thomas of Erceldoune, 
was laid aside, was that wliich, when origmally 
introduced, we very often find arranged in two 
lines, thus : — 

"Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, most hke a baron 
bold, 
Rode foremost of his company, whose armor shone like 
gold;" 

but which, after being divided into four, consti- 
tutes what is now generally called the ballad 
stanza, — 



hard at a festival, is given in Sir John Holland's Buke of the 
Houlat, Bannatyne edition, p. liii. 

2 •' Whan Alexander our king was ded. 
Wha Scotland led in luve and lee, 
Away was sons of ale and bred. 
Of wine and wax, of game and glee." &c. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



54« 



** Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, 
Most like a baron bold, 
Rode Ibreinost of liis ccMiipany, 
Whose armor slione like gold.*' 

The breaking of the lines contains a plainer in- 
timation how the stanza ought to be read, than 
every one could gather from the original mode of 
■writing out the poem, where the position of the 
ca'sura, or inflection of voice, is left to the iudivid- 
uul's own taste. Tliis was sometimes exchangoLl 
for a stanza of sbc Unes, the third and sixth rhym- 
ing together. For works of more importance and 
pretension, a more complicated versification was 
still retained, and may be found in the tale of 
Ralph Coilzear,' the Adventures of Arthur at the 
Tarn-Wathelyn, Sir Gawain, aud Sir Gologras, and 
other scarce romances. A specimen of this struc- 
ture of verse has been handed down to our times 
in the stanza of Christ Kirk on the Green, trans- 
mitted by King James I., to Allan Ranisay and 
to Bimis. The excessive passion for alliteration, 
which formed a rule of the Saxon poetry, was also 
retained in the Scottish poems of a more elevated 
cliaracter, though the more ordinary minstrels and 
ballad-makers threw oft" the restraint. 

The varieties of stanza thus adopted for popular 
poetry were not, we may easily suppose, left long 
unemployed. In frontier regions, where men are 
continually engaged in active enterprise, betwixt 
the task of defending themselves and amioying 
their neighbor.s, they may be .said to live in an 
atmosphere of danger, the excitation of which is 
peculiarly lavovable to the encouragement of po- 
etry. Hence, the expressions of Lesly the histori- 
an, quoted in the following Introduction," m which 
he paints the delight taken by the Borderers in 
their peculiar species of music, and the rhyming 
ballads in which they celebrated the feats of their 
ancestors, or recorded their own ingenious strata- 
gems in predatory warfare. In the same Intro- 
duction, the reader will find the reasons alleged 
why the taste for song was and must have been 
longer preserved on the Border than in the Ulte- 
rior of the country. 

Having thus made some remarks on early poe- 
trv in general, and on that of Scotland in particu- 
lar, the Editor's pm'pose is, to mention the fate of 
some previous attempts to collect ballad poetry, 
and the principles of selection and publication 
which have been adopted by various editors of 
learning and information ; and although the pres- 

1 This, and most of the other romances here referred to, 
may be found reprinted in a volume, entitled, " Seleet Re- 
mains of ttie Ar'jient Popular Poetry of Scotland" (Edin. 
J822. Small 4to.). Edited by I\Ir. David Laing, and inscribed 
•o Sir Walter Scott. 

" See Minstrelsy of the Scolt sh Border, vol. i. p. 213. 



ent work chiefly regards the Btillads of Scotland, 
yet the investigation must necessarily include 
some of the principal collections among the Eng- 
lish also. 

Of manuscript records of ancient ballads, very 
few have been yet discovered. It is probable 
that the minstrels, seldom knowing either how tc 
read or write, trusted to their well-exercised 
memories. Nor was it a difficult task to acquire 
a stilficient stock in trade for their purpose, since 
the Editor has not only known many persons ca- 
pable of retainilig a very Large collection of legend- 
ary lore of tliis kind, but there was a period in his 
own life, when a memory that ought to have been 
charged with more vtxluable matter, enabled him 
to recollect as many of these old sr.ngs as would 
have occupied several days m the rt citation. 

The press, however, at length superseded the 
necessity of such exertions of recollection, and 
sheafs of ballads issued from it weekly, for the 
amusement of the sojom-ners at the alehouse, and 
the lovers of poetry in gr.ange and hall, where 
such of the audience as could not read, had at 
least read unto them. These fugitive leaves, gen- 
erally printed upon broadsides, or in small mis- 
cellanies called Garlands, and circulating amongst 
persons of loose and careless habits — so far as 
books were concerned — were subject to destruc- 
tion from many causes ; and as the editions m the 
early age of printing were probably much hmited, 
even those published as ch.ap-books in the early 
part of the 1 Sth century, are rarely met with. 

Some persons, however, seem to have had what 
their contemporaries probably thought the bizarre 
taste of gathering and preserving collections of 
this fugitive poetry. Hence the great body of 
ballads in the Pepysian collection of Cambridge, 
made by that Secretary Pepys, whose Diary is so 
very amusing ; and hence the still more valuable 
deposit, in three volumes folio, in which the late 
Duke John of Roxburghe took so much pleasure, 
that he was often found enlarging it with fresh 
acquisitions, which he pasted in and registered 
with his own hand. 

The first attempt, however, to reprint a collec- 
tion of b.allads for a class of readers distinct from 
those for whose use the stall-copies were intended, 
was that of an anonymous editor of three r2mo 
volumes, which appeared in London, with engrav- 
ings. These volumes came out in various years, 
in the beginning of the 18th centuiy.* The editor 

3 " A CoTTection of Old Ballads, collected from the best and 
most ancient Copies extant, with Introductions, Historical and 
Critical, illustrated v;ith copper-plates." This anonymous 
collection, first published in 17^, was so well received, thai 
it soon p.a.ssed to a second edition, and two more volumes wer? 
added in 1"'23 and 17i!5. Tile third edition oi the first voluino 
is dated ]727.— En, 



;;44 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



n-rites with some flijjpancy, but -witli the au' of a 
person superior to the or Jiuury drudgery of a mere 
collector. His work appears to have been got up 
at considerable expense, and the general introduc- 
tions and historical illustrations which are prefixed 
to the various ballads, are written with an ac- 
curacy of which such a subject had not till then 
been deemed worthy. The principal part of the 
collection consists of stall-ballads, neither possess- 
ing nmch poetical merit, nor any particular rarity 
or curiosity. Still this original Miscellany holds a 
considerable value amongst collectors ; and as the 
three volimies — being pubhshcd at different times 
— are seldom fomid together, they sell for a high 
price when complete. 

Wo may now turn our eyes to Scotland, where 
the facihty of the dialect, whieli cuts off the con- 
sonants in the termination of the words, so as 
greatly to simplify the task of rhyming, and the 
habits, dispositions, and manners of the people, 
were of old so favorable to the composition of bal- 
lad-poetry, that, had the Scottish songs been pre- 
served, there is no doubt a ver\' curious history 
might have been composed by means of minstrelsy 
only, from the reign of Alexander III. in 1285, 
down to the close of the Civil Wars in l'74o. That 
materials for such a collection existed, cannot be 
disputed, since the Scottish historians often refer 
to oh] ballads as authorities for general tradition. 
But their regular preservation was not to be 
hoped for or expected. Successive garlands of 
song sprung, flourished, faded, and were forgotten, 
in their turn ; and the names of a few specimeus 
are only preserved, to show us how abundant the 
display of these wild flowers had been. 

Like the natural free gifts of Flora, these poeti- 
cal garlands can only be successfully sought for 
where the Iimd is uncultivated ; and civiUzation 
and increase of learning are sure to banish them, 
as the plough of the agriculturist boars down the 
mountain daisy. Yet it is to be recorded with 
some interest, that the earhest surviving specimen 
of tlie Scottish press, is a Miscellany of Millar- and 
Clia])man,' which preserves a considerable fund of 
Scottiish popular- poetry, and among otlier things, 
no bad specimen of the gests of Robin Hood, " the 
English ballad-maker's joy," and whose renown 
seems to have been as freshly preserved in the 
north as on the southern shores of the Tweed. 
Tliere were probably several collections of Scot- 
tish balUads and metrical pieces duruig the seven- 

' A facsimile reprint, in blurlc-Ietter, of llie Original Tracts 
U'liicli issued from tlie press of Walter Cliepnian and Andro 
Myllar at Edinburgh, in the year 1508, w.as published under 
•lie title of " The Knightly Tale of Golagrus and Gawane, 
and other Ancient Poems," in 1827, 4to. The " litil geste " 
of Robin Hood, referred to in the text, is a fragment of a 
piece contained in Ritson's Collection. — Ed. 



teenth century. A very fine one, belonging tc 
Lord Montagu, perished in the fire which con- 
sumed Dittou House, about twenty years ago. 

James Watson, in 1706, pubhshcd, at Edinburgh, 
a miscellaneous collection in three parts, contain- 
ing some ancient poetry. But the first editor who 
seems to have made a determined effort to pre- 
serve our ancient popular poetry was the well- 
known Allan Ramsay, in his Evergreen, containing 
chiefly extracts from the ancient Scottish Mttkers, 
whose poems have been preserved in ihe Bauna- 
tyne Maimscript, but exhibitmg amongst them 
some popular ballads. Amongst these is the 
Battle of JIarlau; apparently from a modernized 
copy, being probably the most ancient Scottish 
historical baUad of any length now m existence.^ 
He also inserted in the same collection, the genu- 
ine Scottish Border ballad of Johnnie Armstrong, 
copied from the recitation of a descendant of the 
unfortunate hero, in the sixth generation. This 
poet also included in the Evergreen, Hardyknute, 
which, though evidently modern, is a most spii-ited 
and beautifid imitation of the ancient ballad. In 
a subsequent collection of lyrical pieces, called the 
Tea-Table Miscellany, Allan Ramsay inserted sev- 
eral old ballads, such as Crxicl Barbara Allan, 
The Bonnie Earl of Murray, There came a Ghost 
to Jfarffarct's door, and two or three others. But 
his unhappy plan of writing new words to old 
tunes, without at the same tune preserving the 
ancient verses, led him, with the assistance of 
"some ingenious young gentlemen," to throw 
asiilc many originals, the preservation of which 
would have been much more interesting than any 
thing which has been substituted in their stead." 

In fine, the task of collecting and illustrating 
ancient popidar poetry, whether iu Enghmd or 
Scotland, was never executed by a competent 
person, possessing the necessary powers of selec- 
tion and aimotation, till it was undertaken by Dr. 
Percy, afterwards Bishop of Droraore in Ii-eland. 
This reverend gentleman, himself a poet, and rank- 
ing high among the htcrati of the day, command- 
ing access to the individuals and institutions Vidiich 
could best afi'ord him materials, gave the public 
the result of his researches in a work entitled 
" Reliques of Ancient Enghsh Poetry," in three 
volumes, published in London IT 65, which lias 
since gone through four editions.* The taste with 
which the materials were chosen, the e.ttremo 
fehcity with which they were illustrated, the dis- 

- See Appendi.v, Note A. 

•■ See Appendi.\, Note B. 

4 Sir Walter Scott corresponded frequently with the Bishop 
of Dromore, at the time when he was collecting the raateriaU 
of the " Border Minstrelsy." — En. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POl^'RY. 



64£ 



play at once of antiquarian knowledge and classi- 
cal rcailiny; which the collection indicated, render 
it ditHcult to imitate, and impossible to excel, a 
work wliii'li must always be held among the first 
of its class in point of merit, though not actually 
the foremost in point of time. But neither the 
high character of the work, nor the rank and re- 
spectability of the author, could protect Mm or 
his labors, from the invidious attacks of criticism. 

The most formidable of these were chrected by 
Joseph Ritson, a man of acute observation, pro- 
found research, and great labor. These valuable 
attributes were uuhai)pily combined with an eager 
u'ritability of temper, wliich induced him to treat 
antiquarian trifles with the same seriousness which 
men of the world reserve for matters of import- 
ance, and disposed him to drive controversies into 
personal quarrels, by neglecting in literary de- 
bate, the courtesies of ordinary society.' It ought 
to be said, however, by one who knew him well, 
that this u'ritability of disposition was a constitu- 
tional and physical infirmity; and that Ritson's 
extreme attachment to the severity of truth, cor- 
responded to the rigor of his criticisms upon the 
labors of others. He seems to have attacked 
Bishop Percy with the greater animosity, as bear- 
ing no good will to the liierarchy, in wliich that 
prelate held a distinguished place. 

Ritson's criticism, in wliich there was too mucb 
horse-play, was grounded on two points of accusa- 
tion. The first point regarded Dr. Percy's definition 
of the order and office of minstrels, which Ritson 
considered as designedly overcharged, for the sake 
of giving an undue importance to his subject. The 
second objection respected the hborties which Dr. 
Percy had taken with his materials, in adding to, 
retrenching, and improving them, so as to bring 
them nearer to the taste of his own period. 'W'e 
will take some brief notice of both topics. 

Fiml, Dr. Percy, m the first edition of his work, 
certainly laid himself open to the charge of having 
given an inaccurate, and somewhat exaggerated 
account of the English Minstrels, whom he defined 
to be an " order of men in the middle ages, who 
subsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and 
sung to the harp the verses which they themselves 
composed." The reverend editor of the Reliques 
produced in support of this definition many curious 
quotations, to show that in many instances the 
persons of these minstrels had been IiAiored and 
respected, their performances applauded and re- 
warded by the great and the courtly, and their 
craft imitated by princes themselves. 

Against both these propositions, Ritson made a 
determined opposition. He contended, and pro- 

1 See Appendix, Note C. 
09 



bably with justice, that the minstrels -n-ore not 
necessarily ]wets, or in the regular habit of com- 
posing the verses which they sung to the harp ; 
and indeed, that the word minstrel, in its ordinary 
acceptation, meant no more than musician. 

Dr. Percy, from an amended edition of his Essny 
on lluistrelsy, prefixed to the fourth edition of the 
Rehques of Ancient Poetry, seems to have b(H'ii, 
to a certain point, convinced by the critic's rea-;iir.- 
ing; for he has extended the definition impu'j-vied 
by Ritson, and the minstrels are thus descriiied 
as singing verses " composed by themselves tir 
others." This we apprehend to be a tenable po:-i- 
tion ; for, as on the one hand it seems too broad an 
averment to say that all minstrels were by pro- 
fession poets, so on tho other, it is extravagant to 
affirm, that men who were constantly in tin, habit 
of recituig verse, should not frequently havo ac- 
quired that of composing it, especially when their 
bread depended on giving pleasure ; and to have 
the power of producing novelty, is a great step 
towards that desirable end. No unprejudiced 
reader, therefore, can have any hesitation in adopt- 
ing Bishop Percy's definition of the minstrels, and 
their occupation, as qualified in the fourth editicii 
of his Essay, implying that they were sometunes 
poets, sometimes the mere reciters of the poetry 
of others. 

On the critic's second proposition, Dr. Percy sue 
cessfully showed, that at no period of history was 
the word minstrel applied to instrumental music 
exclusively; and he has produced sufficient evi- 
dence, that the talents of the profession were nn 
fi'equently employed in chanting or reciting po- 
etry as in pl.aying the mere tunes. There is ap- 
pearance of distinction being sometimes made be 
tweeu minstrel recitations and minstrelsy of music 
alone ; and we may add a curious instance, to those 
quoted by the Bishop. It is from the singulai 
baU.ad respectmg Tliomas of Erceldomie," wliich 
announces the proposition, that tongue is chief ot 
minstrelsy. 

"\Ve ni.ay also notice, that the word minstrel be 
ing in fact derived from the Minn^-singer of the 
Germans, means, in its primary sense, one wlio 
sin'js of love, a sense totally inapplicable to a mere 
instrumental musician. 

A second general point on wliich Dr. Percy was 
fiercely attacked by Mr. Ritson, was also one on 
which both the parties might claim a right to sing 
Te Denm. It respected the rank or status which 
was held by the minstrels in society during the 
middle ages. On this point the editor of the Re- 
liques of Ancient Poetry had produced the most 
satisfactory evidence, that, at the courts of the 



2 Select Remains of Popular Pieces of Poetry. EJinburgli 
163-3. 



346 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Anglo-Normau princes, tlie professors of the gay 
Bciencc were the favorite solacers of the leisure 
hours of princes, who did not themselves disdain 
to share their tuneful labors, and imitate their' 
compositions. Mr. Ritson replied to this with great 
ingenuity, arguing, that such instances of respect 
paid to French minstrels reciting in their native 
Lmguage iii the court of Norman monarchs, though 
lield in Britain, argued nothing in favor of English 
artists professing the same trade ; and of whose 
compositions, and not of those existing in the 
French language, Dr. Percy professed to form his 
collection. The reason of the distinction betwixt 
the respectability of the French minstrels, and the 
degradation of the same class of men in England, 
Mr. Ritson plausibly alleged to be, tliat the Eng- 
lish language, a mixed speech betwixt Anglo- 
Saxon and Norman-French, was not laiown at the 
court of the Anglo-Norman kings until the reign 
of Ed-n ai'd III. ;' and tliat, therefore, until a very 
late period, and when the lays of minstrelsy were 
going out of fashion, English performers in that 
capacity must have confined the exercise of their 
talents to the amusement of the vulgar. Now, as 
it must be conceded to Mi'. Ritson, that almost all 
the English metrical romances wliich have been 
preserved tiU the present day, ai'e translated fi'om 
tlie French, it may also be allowed, that a class of 
men employed chiefly in rendering mto Enghsh 
the works of others, could not hold so liigh a sta- 
tion as those who aspired to original composition ; 
and so far the critic has the best of the dispute. 
But Mr. Ritson has over-driven his argument, since 
there was assuredly a period in EngUsh liistory, 
when the national minstrels, writing in the nation- 
al dialect, were, in proportion to their merit in 
their calling, held in honor and respect. 

Thomas the Rhymer, for example, a min.strel who 
flourished in the end of the twelfth centurj"^, was 
not only a man of talent in liis art, but of some 
rank in society ; the companion of nobles, and him- 
self a man of landed property. He, and his con- 
temporary Kendal, "wi'ote, as we are assured by 
Robert do Brunne, in a passage ah'eady alluded 
to, a kind of English, which was designed for " pride 
and nobleye,"" and not for such inferior persons as 
Robert liimself addressed, and to whose compre- 
hension he avowedly lowered his language and 
structm'e of versification. There existed, there- 
fore, during the time of this historian, a more re- 

1 That monarch first used the vernacular English dialect in 
a molto which he displayed on his shield at a celebrated toui^ 
nament. Tlie legend which graced the representation cif a white 
■wan on the king's buckler, ran thus : — 

"Hal ha! the wliyte swan ! 
By Goddis soule I am thy man." 

1 The learned editor of Warton's History of English Poetry, 
is of opinion that Sir Wa.ter Scott misinterpreted the passage 



fined dialect of the English language, used by .such 
composers of popular poetry as moved in a higher 
circle ; and there can be no doubt, that while 
their productions were held in such high esteem, 
the autliors must have been honored in proportion. 

The education bestowed upon James I. of Scot- 
land, when brought up under the charge of Henry 
IV., comprehended both music and the art of ver- 
naculiU' poetry ; in other words. Minstrelsy in both 
branches. That poetry, of wliich the King left 
several specimens, was, as is well known, English ; 
nor is it to be supposed that a prince, upon whose 
education such sedulous care was bestowed, would 
have been instructed in an art which, if we are to 
beUeve Mr. Ritson, was degraded to the hist de- 
gree, and discreditable to its professors. The same 
argument is strengthened by the poetical exercises 
of the Duke of Orleans, in Enghsh, written during 
his captivity after the battle of Agincoiu-t.' It 
could not be supposed that the noble prisoner was 
to solace his hours of imprisonment with a degra- 
ding and vulgar species of composition. 

AVe could produce other instances to show that 
tliis acute critic lias carried. his argiunent consid- 
erably too far. But we prefer taking a general 
view of the subject, which seems to explain clear- 
ly liow contradictory evidence should exist on it, 
and why instances of great personal respect to 
individual minstrels, and a high esteem of the art, 
are quite reconcilable with much contempt tlirown 
on tlie order at large. 

All professors df the fine arts — all those who 
contribute, not to the necessities of hfe, but to the 
enjoyments of society, hold tlieu' professional re- 
spectabihty by the severe tenure of exliibitiug ex- 
cellence in theii' department. We are well enough 
satisfied with the tradesman who goes through his 
task in a workmanlike manner, nor are we dispi ised 
to look down upon the divine, the lawyer, or the 
physician, unless they display gross ignorance of 
their profession: we hold it enough, that if they 
do not possess the highest knowledge of their re- 
spective sciences, they can at least instruct us on 
the points we desire to know. But 

" mediocribna esse poetis 

Non di, non homines, non concessere colnmnie." 

The same is true respecting the professors of 
painting, of sculpture, of music, and the fine arts 
in general. If they exliibit paramount excellence, 

referred to. De Brunne, according to this author's text, says 
of the elder reciters of the metrical romance, 

" They said it for pride and nobleye, 
That non were soulk as they ;" 

7. f. they recited it in a style so lofty and noble, that none have 
since equalled them. — fVarton, edit. 1824, vol.i. p. 183. — Ed 
3 See the edition printed by Mr. Watson Taylor, for the 
Roxburghe Club. 



INTtlODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



no situation in society is too liigh for them which 
tlieir manners enable them to fill ; if they foil 
short of the highest point of aim, they degenerate 
into sign-painters, stone-cutters, common crowders, 
doggerel rhymers, and so forth, the most contempt- 
ible of mankind. The reason of this is evident. 
Men must be satisfied with such a supply of their 
•ictual wants as can be obtained in the cu'cum- 
etances, and should .an individual want a coat, he 
must employ the viUage tailor if Sfultze is not to 
be h.id. But if he seeks for dehght, the case is 
quite different ; and he that cannot hear Pasta or 
Sontag, would be little solaced for the absence of 
these sii'cus, by the strains of a crack- voiced bal- 
lad-singer. Nay, on the contrary, the offer of such 
inadequate compensation would only be regarded 
as an insult, and resented accordingly. 

The theatre affords the most appropriate exam- 
ple of what we mean. The first circles in society 
are open to persons eminently distinguished in the 
lU'ama ; and their rewards are, m proportion to 
those who profess the useful arts, incalculably 
higher. But those who lag in the rear of the di-a- 
matic art are proportionally poorer and more de- 
graded than those who are the lowest of a useful 
trade or profession. These instances will enable 
us readily to explain why the greater part of the 
minstrels, practising their profession in scenes of 
vulg.ar mirth and debauchery, humbling their art 
to please the ears of drunken clowns, and living 
with the dissipation natural to men whose preca- 
rious subsistence is, according to the ordinary 
phrase, from hand to mouth only, should fall mi- 
der general contempt, while the stars of the pro- 
fession, to use a modern plu-ase, looked down on 
them from the distant empyi-ean, as the planets 
do upon those shooting exhalations arising from 
gi'oss vapors in the nether atmosphere. 

The debate, therefore, resembles the apologue 
of the gold and silver shield. Dr. Percy looked 
on the minstrel in the palmy and exalted state to 
which, no doubt, many were elevated by their 
talents, like those who possess excellence in the 
fine arts in the present day ; and Ritson consid- 
ered the reverse of the medal, when the poor and 
wandering glee-man was glad to purchase his bread 
by singing liis ballads at the alehouse, wearing a 
fantastic habit, and latterly sinlting into a mere 
crowder upon an untimed fiddle, accompanying 
his rude strains with a ruder ditty, the helpless 
associate of drunken revellers, and marvellously 
afraid of the constable and parish-beadle." The 
difference betwixt those holding the extreme po- 
sitions of highest and lowest in such a profession, 
cannot surely be more marked than that which 
separated David Garrick or John Kemble from the 

* See Append!,^ Note D. | 



outcasts of a strolling company, exposed to penury, 
indigence, and persecution according to law." 

There was still another and more important 
subject of debate between Dr. Percy and his hos- 
tile critic. The former, as a poet and a man of 
taste, was tempted to take such freedoms with liia 
original ballads as nught enable him to please 3. 
more criticiil age than that in which they were 
composed. Words were thus altered, phrases inr- 
proved, and whole verses were inserted or omit- 
ted at pleasure. Such freedoms were especially 
taken with the poems published from a folio man- 
uscript in Dr. Percy's own possession, very curious 
from the miscellaneous nature of its contents, but 
unfortunately having many of the leaves mutila- 
ted, and injm-ed m other respects, by the gross 
carelessness and ignorance of the transcriber. 
Anxious to avail himself of the treasures which 
tliis manuscript contamed, the editor of the Re- 
liques chd not hesitate to repair- and renovate the 
songs which he drew from this corrupted yet cu- 
rious source, and to accommodate them with such 
emendations as might recommend them to tlie 
modern taste. 

For these liberties with liis subject, Ritson cen- 
sured Dr. Percy in the most uncompromismg terms, 
accused him, in violent language, of interpolation 
and forgery, and insinuated that there existea no 
such thing in rerum natura as that folio manu- 
.script, so often referred to as the authority of ori- 
ginals inserted m the Reliques. In this charge, 
the eagerness of Ritson again betrayed him far- 
ther than judgment and discretion, as well as cour- 
tesy, warranted. It is no doiibt highly desirable 
that the text of ancient poetry should be given 
untouched and uncorrupted. But this is a point 
which did not occur to the editor of the Reliques 
in 1765, whose object it was to win the favor of 
the public, at a period when the great difficulty 
was not how to secure the very words of old bal- 
lads, but how to arrest attention upon tha subject 
at all. That great and important service to na- 
tional literature would probably never have been 
attained without the work of Dr. Percy ; a work 
wliich first fixed the consideration of general read- 
ers on ancient poetry, and made it worth whUe to 
inquire how far its graces were really antique, of 
how far derived from the taste with which the 
pubhcation had been superintended and revised. 
The object of Dr. Percy was certainly intimated 
in several parts of his work, where he ingenuously 
acknowledges, that certain ballads have received 
emendations, and that others are not of pure and 
unmixed antiquity ; that the beguining of some 
and end of others have been suppUed ; and upon 
the whole, that he has, in many instances, deco 

2 See Appendix, Note E. 



548 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



i-ated the ancient ballads with the graces of a 
more refined period. 

This svstem is so distinctly intimated, that if 
"■here be any critic stUl of opinion, Uke poor Rit- 
son, whose morbid temperament led him to such a 
conclusion, that the crime of literary imitation is 
equal to that of commercial forgery, he ought to 
recollect that guilt, in the latter case, does not 
exist without a corresponding charge of uttering 
the forged document, or causing it to be uttered, 
as genuine, without whicli the mere imitation is 
not culpable, at least not criminally so. This qual- 
ity is totally awanting in the accusation so roughly 
brought against Dr. Percy, who avowedly indulged 
in such alterations and improvements upon liis 
materials, as might adapt them to the taste of an 
age not otherwise disposed to bestow its attention 
on them. 

We have to add, that, in the fourth edition of 
the Reliques, Mr. Thomas Percy of St. John's Col- 
lege, Oxford, pleading the cause of his uncle with 
the most gentlem.aulike moderation, and with 
every respect to Mr. Ritson's science and talents, 
has combated the critic's opinion, witliout any at- 
tempt to retort his injurious language. 

It would be now, no doubt, desirable to have 
had some more distinct accoimt of Dr. Percy's foUo 
manuscript and its contents ; and Mr. Thomas Per- 
cy, accordingly, gives the original of the marriage 
of Sir Gawaiu, and collates it with the copy pub- 
lished in a complete state by his uncle, who has 
on this occasion given entire rein to his own foncy, 
though the rude origin of most of liis ideas is to be 
found in the old ballad. There is also given a 
copy of that elegant metrical tale, " The Cliild of 
EUe," as it exists in the foho manuscript, which 
goes far to show it has derived all its beauties 
from Dr. Percy's poetical powers. Judging from 
these two specimens, we can easily conceive why 
the Reverend Editor of the "Reliques" should 
have declined, by the production of the folio man- 
uscript, to furnish his severe Aristarch with wea- 
pons against him, which he was sure would be un- 
sparingly used. Yet it is certain, the manuscript 
contains much that is reaUy excellent, though mu- 
tilated and .sophisticated. A copy of the fine bal- 
lad of " Sir Cauliu" is found in a Scottish shape, 
under the name of " King Malcolm and Sir Col- 
vin," in Buchan's North Country Ballads, to be 
presently mentioned. It is, therefore, unquestion- 
ably ancient, though possibly retouched, .and per- 
haps with the addition of a second part, of which 
the Scottish copy has no vestiges. It would 
be desu-able to know ex.actly to what extent 
Dr. Percy had used the Ucense of an editor, in 



1 Introduction to Ev.ins' 
larged, &c. 



Ballads, 1810. New edition, en- 



these and other cases ; and certainly, at this pe- 
riod, would be only a degree of justice due to hi." 
memory. 

On the whole, we may dismiss the " Reliques ol 
Ancient Poetry" with the praise and cen-ure con- 
ferred on it by a gentleman, himself a valuable la- 
borer in the vineyard of antiquities. " It is the 
most elegant compilation of the early poetry that 
has ever appeared in any age or country. But it 
must be frankly added, that so numerous are the 
alter;itions and corrections, that the severe anti- 
quary, who desires to see the old English ballads 
in a genuine state, must consult a more accmate 
edition than this celebrated work.'" 

Of Ritson's own talents as an editor of ancient 
poetry, we shall have occasion to spealc hereafter. 
The first collector who followed the example of 
Dr. Percy, was Mr. T. Evans, bookseller, f ithcr of 
the gentleman we have just quoted. His " Old 
Ballads, historical and narrative, with some of mod- 
ern date," appeared in two volumes, in 1*777, and 
were eminently successful. In 1784, a second edi- 
tion appeared, extending the work to four vol- 
umes. In this collection, many ballads found ac- 
ceptance, which Bishop Percy had not consideretl as 
possessing sufficient merit to cl.aim admittance into 
the Reliques. The 8vo. Miscellany of 17'23 yield- 
ed a great part of the materials. The collection of 
Evans contained several modern pieces of great 
merit, which are not to be found elsewhere, ami 
wliich are understood to be the productions of Wil- 
Uam Juhus Iffickle, translator of the Lusiad, thougli 
they were never claimed by him, nor received 
among his works. Amongst them is the elegiac 
poem of Cumnor Hall, wliich suggested the ficti- 
tious narrative entitled Kenilworth. The Red- 
Cross Knight, also by Mickle, which has furnished 
words for a beautiful glee, first occurred in the 
same collection. As Mickle, with a vein of great 
faciUty, united a power of verbal melody which 
might have been envied by bards of much greater 
renown,- he must be considered as very succ^ssfid 
in these efforts, if the ballads be regarded as 
avowedly modern. If they are to be judge t of 
as accurate imitations of ancient poetry, they have 
less merit ; the deception being only mainlaincd 
by a huge store of double consonants, strevveJ at 
random into ortUnary words, resembling the real 
fashion of antiquity as Uttle as the niches, turrets, 
and tracery of plaster stuck upon a modern front. 
In tlie ye.ar 1810, the four volumes of 1784 were 
repubUshed by Mr. R. H. Evans, the sou of the 
original editor, with very considerable alterations 
and additions. In tliis last edition, tlie more ordi- 
nary modern ballads were judiciously retrenched 

2 See Appen lis, Note F. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



54y 



in number, and large and valuable additions made 
to the ancient part of the collection. Being in 
some measure a supplement to the Keliques of 
Ancient Poetry, this miscellany cannot be dis- 
pensed witli on the shelres of any bibliomaniac 
who may choose to emulate Captain Cox of Co- 
ventry, the prototype of all collectors of pop jlar 
poetry. 

\\'hile Dr. Percy was setting the example of a 
classical publication of ancient English poetry, the 
late David Herd was, in modest retirement, com- 
piling a collection of Scottish Songs, which ho has 
happily described as " the poetry and music of the 
heart." The tirst part of his Miscellany contains 
heroic and historical ballads, of which there is a 
respectable and well-chosen selection. Mr. Herd,' 
an accountant, as the profession is called in Edin- 
burgh, was known and generally esteemed for his 
shi'ewd, manly common sense and antiquarian sci- 
ence, mixed with much good nature and great 
modesty. His hardy and antique mould of counte- 
nance, and his venerable grizzled locks, procm'ed 
him, amongst his acquaintance, the name of Gray- 
steil. His original collection of songs, in one vol- 
ume, appeai'ed in 1769 ; an enlarged one, in two 
volumes, came out in 1776. A publication of the 
same kind, being Herd's book still more enlarged, 
was printed for Lawrie and Symington in 1791. 
Some modern additions occur in this latter work, 
of which by far the most valuable were two fine 
imitations of the Scottish ballad by the gifted au- 
ihor of the " Man of FeeMng," — (now, alas 1 no 
more,) — called " Duncan" and " Kenneth." 

John Pinkerton, a man of considerable learning, 
and some severity as well as acuteness of disposi- 
tion, was now endeavoring to force himself into 
public attention ; and his collection of Select Bal- 
lads, London, 1783, contains sufficient evidence 
that he understood, in an extensive sense, Horace's 
maxim, quidlibet audcndi. As he was possessed of 
considerable powers of^poetry, though not equal 
to what he was wUUng to take credit for, he was 
resolved to eiu*ich his collection with all the nov- 
elty and interest which it could derive from a 
liberal insertion of pieces dressed in the garb of 
antiquity, but equipped from the w.ardrobe of the 
editor's imagination. With a boldness, suggested 
perhaps by the success of Mr. Maepherson, he in- 
cluded, within a collection amounting to only 
twenty-one tragic ballads, no less than five, of 
which he afterwards owned himself to have been 
altogether, or in great part, the author. The most 
remarkable ai'ticle in this Miscellany was, a second 

' D.iviJ HiTil was a native of St. Cyrua, in Kincardineshire, 
nnd tliougli olten termed a writer, lie was only a clerk in tlie 
office of .Mr. David Russell, accountant in EJinbnrgl). He 
died, ased 78, in 1610, and left a very curious library, which 
was dispersed by auction. Herd by no means merited the char- 



part to the noble ballail of Hardylcnute, which has 
some good verses. It labor.s, however, under this 
great defect, that, in order to append his own con- 
clusion to the origmal tale, Mr. Pinkerton found 
himself under the necessity of altering a leading 
circtimstance in the old ballad, which would have 
rendered his catastrophe mappUcable. With such 
Ucense, to write continuations and conclusions 
would be no difficult task. In the second volume 
of the Select Ballads, consisting of comic pieces, a 
list of fifty-two articles contained nine wi'ittcn en- 
tirely by the editor himself. Of the manner in 
which these supposititious compositions are exe 
cuted, it may be briefly stated, that thoy are the 
work of a scholar much better acquainted with an- 
cient books and manuscripts, than with oral tradi- 
tion and popular legends. The poetry smells of 
the lamp ; and if may be truly said, that il' ever a 
ballad had existed in such quaint language as the 
author employs, it coiUd never htxve been .so jiopu- 
lar as to be preserved by oral tradition. The 
glossary displays a much greater acquauitance 
with learned lexicons thtm with the famihar dia- 
lect still spoken by the Lowland Scottish, and it 
is, of course, full of errors.' Neither was Mr. 
Pmkerton more happy in the way of conjectural 
illustration. He chose to fix on Su- John Bruce of 
liinross the paternity of the ballad of Hardyknute, 
and of the fine poem called the Vision. The tirst 
is due to Mrs. Halket of Wardlaw, the second to 
Allan Ramsay, although, it must be owned, it is of 
a character superior to his ordinary poetry. Sir 
.John Bruce was a brave, blunt soldier, who made 
no pretence whatever to Uterature, though his 
daughter, Mrs. Bruce of Arnot, had much talent, 
a circumstance which may perhaps have misled 
the antiquary. 

ilr. Pinkerton read a sort of recantation, in a 
List of Scottish Poets, prefixed to a Selection of 
Poems from the Maitland Manuscript, vol. i. 1786, 
in which he acknowledges, as Iiis own composition, 
the pieces of spurious antiquity included in his 
" Select Ballads," with a coolness which, when his 
subsequent invectives against others who had taken 
similar liberties is considered, infers as much au- 
dacity as the studied .ind labored defence of ob- 
scenity with which he disgraced the same pages. 

In the mean time, Joseph Ritson, a man of dili- 
gence and acumen equal to those of Pinkerton, but 
of the most laudable accuracy and fidelity as an 
editor, was engaged in various ptiblications re- 
specting poetical antiquities, in which he employed 
profoimd research. A select collection of English 

aeter given him by Pinkerton, of " an illiterate aud injudicious 
CO npiler." — Ed. 

3 Baitslcrs, for example, a word generally applied to the men, 
on a harvest field, who bind the sheaves, is derived frt>m ban, to 
curse, and explained to mean, *' blustering, swearing fellows.* 



650 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Songs "was compiled by liiiii, witli great care and 
considerable taste, and published at London, 1*783. 
A. new edition of this has appeared since Ritson's 
death, sanctioned by the name of tlie learned and 
indefatigable antiquary, Thomas Park, and aug- 
mented with many original pieces, and some wliich 
Ritson had prepared for pubUcation. 

Ritson's Collection of Songs was followed by a 
curious volume, entitled, " Ancient Songs from the 
time of Henry III. to the Revolution," 1T90; 
" Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry," 1792 ; and 
" A collection of Scottish Songs, witL the genuine 
music," London, 1794. This last is a genuine, but 
rather meagre collection of Caledonian popular 
songs. Next year Mr. Ritson published " Robin 
Hood," 2 vols., 1795, being " A Collection of all the 
Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads now extant, 
relative to that celebrated Or.tlaw." This work is 
a notable illustration of the excellencies and de- 
fects of Mr. Ritson's system. It is almost impossi- 
ble to conceive so much zeal, research, and indus- 
try bestowed on a subject of antiquity. There 
scarcely occurs a phrase or word relating to Robin 
Hood, whether in history or poetry, in law books, 
in ancient proverbs, or common parlance, but it is 
here collected and explained. At the same time, 
the extreme fidelity of the editor seems driven to 
excess, when we lind him pertinaciously retaining 
all the numerous and gross errors which repeated 
recitations have introduced into the text, and re- 
garding it as a sacred duty to prefer the worst to 
the better readings, as if their inferiority was a se- 
curity for their being genuine. In short, when 
Ritson copied fi'om rare books, or ancient manu- 
scripts, there could not be a more accurate editor ; 
when taking his authority from oral tradition, and 
judging between two recited copies, he was apt to 
consider the worst as most genuine, as if a poem 
was not more likely to be deteriorated than im- 
proved by passing through the mouths of many re- 
citers. In the Ballads of Robin Htiod, tliis super- 
stitious scru])ulosity was especially to be regretted, 
as it tended to enlarge the collection with a great 
number of doggerel compositions, which are all 
copies of each other, turning on the same idea of 
Bold Robin meeting with a shepherd, a tinker, a 
mendicant, a tanner, <fec. tfec, by each and all of 
whom he is soundly tlu-ashed, and all of whom he 
receives into his band. The tradition, which avers 
that it was the brave outlaw's custom to try a bout 
at quarter-staff with his young recruits, might in- 
deed have authorized one or two such tales, but 
the greater part ought to have been rejected as 
aaodern imitations of the most paltry kind, com- 

rThc firet opening of the ballad lias much of the martial 
strain with uiiicii a pibrocli commences. Properat in vtcdias 
res — according to the classical admonition. 



posed probably about the age cf James 1. of Eng- 
land. By adopting tliis spurious trash as part of 
Robin Hood's history, he is represented as the best 
cudgelled hero, Dou Quixote excepted, that evei 
was celebrated in prose or rhyme. Ritson also 
pubUshed several garlands of North Country songs. 

Looking on this eminent tmtiquary's labors in a 
general point of view, we may deprecate the eager- 
ness and severity of his prejudices, and feci sur 
prise that he should have shown so much irritabil- 
ity of disposition on such a topic as a collection of 
old ballads, which certainly have little in them to 
affect the passions ; and we may be sometimes pro- 
voked at the pertinacity with wliich he has pre- 
ferred bad readings to good. But while industry, 
research, and antiquarian learning, are recommen- 
dations to works of this nature, few editors will 
ever be found so competent to the task as Joseph 
Ritson. It must also be added to his praise, that 
although not willing to yield his opinion rashly, 
yet if he saw reason to behere that he had been 
mistaken in any fact or argument, he resigned his 
own opinion with a candor equal to the warmth 
with which he defended himself while confident 
he was in the right. Many of liis works are now 
almost out of print, and an edition of them in com- 
mon orthography, and altering the bizarre spelling 
and character which his prejudices induced the au- 
thor to adopt, would be, to antiquaries, an accept- 
able present. 

"We have now given a hasty account of various 
collections of poptJar poetry during the eighteenth 
century ; we have only further to observe, that, in 
the present century, tliis species of lore has been 
sedtilously cultivated. The "Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border" first appeared in 1802, in two 
volumes ; and what may appear a singular coinci- 
dence, it was the first work printed by Mr. Jan-ies 
Ballantyne (then residing at Kelso), as it was the 
first serious denitmd which the present author 
made on the patience of the public. The Border 
Minstrelsy, augmented by a third volume, came ti i 
a second edition in 1803. In 1803, Mr., m.w Sir 
John Grahame Dalzell, to whom his country is 
obliged for his antiquarian labors, pubhshed " S"t- 
tish Poems of the Sixteenth Century," which, amoii^ 
other subjects of interest, contains a curious cmi 
temporary ballad of Belrinnes, wliich has souu 
stanzas of considerable merit. ^ 

The y ear 1 806 v.'as distinguished by the appear- 
ance of " Popular Ballads and Songs, from Tradi 
tions. Manuscripts, and Scarce Editions, with Trans 
lations of Similar Pieces from the Ancient Danis! 
Language, and a few Originals by the Editor, Ri li 

" MacCallanmore came from the m est 
With many a bow and brand ; 
To waste the Rinnes he thought it best 
The Earl of Huntly's land '" 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



ert Jamieson, A. M., and F. A. S.'" This work, which 
was not greeted by the public with tlie attention 
it deserved, opened a new discovery respecting 
the original source of the Scottish baUads. Mi-. 
Janiieson's extensive acquaintance with the Scan- 
dinavian htcratiu*e, enabled him to detect not only 
a general similarity betwixt these and the Danish 
ballads preserved in the " Kiempe Viser," an early 
collection of heroic ballads in that language, but 
to demonstrate that, in mivny cases, the stories and 
songs were distinctly the same, a chcumstance 
which no antiquary had hitherto so much as sus- 
pected. Mr. Jamieson's aimotations are also very 
valu.able, and preserve some cmious illustrations 
of the old poets. His imitations, though he is not 
entirely free from the affectation of ush\g ratlier 
too many obsolete words, are generally higlily in- 
teresthig. The work fills an important place in 
the collection of those who are addicted to this 
branch of antiquarian study. 

Mr. Jolm Finlay, a poet whose career was cut 
short by a premature death,' published a short col- 
lection of " Scottish Historical and Romantic Bal- 
lads," in 1808. The beauty of some imitations of 
the old Scottish ballad, with the good sense, learn- 
ing, and modesty of the preliminary dissertations, 
must make all admirers of ancient lore regret the 
early loss of this accomplished young man. 

Various valuable collections of ancient ballad- 
poetry have appeared of late years, some of which 
are illustrated with learning and acuteness, as those 
of Mr. JlothcrwcU" and of Mr. Ivinloch' intimate 
much taste and feeling for this species of litera- 
ture. Nor is there any want of editions of ballads, 
less designed for pubUc sale, than to preserve float- 
ing pieces of minstrelsy which are in immediate 
danger of j)erishing. Several of those, edited, as 
we have occasion to know, by men of distinguished 
talent, have appeared in a smaller form and more 
limited etUtion, and must soon be among the in- 
trourablcs of Scottish typography. We would par- 
ticularize a duodecimo, under the modest title of 
a " Ballad Book," without place or date annexed, 

1 After tlic oompletion of the Border Minstrelsy, and nearly 
three years previous to ttie publication of his own Collection, 
Mr. Jamieson printed in the Scots M.agazine (Octoher, 1803) a 
List of ilcsiderata in Scottish Song. His communication to 
the Editor of that work contains the folloM"ing paragraph : — 
" I am now writing out for the press a Collection ofPopular 
Ballads and Songs from tradition, MSS., and scarce pohlica- 
fions, with a few of modern date, which hav? been written for, 
liid are exclusively dedicated to my collection. As many of 
the pieces were common property, I have heretolore waited for 
the completion of Mr. Walter Scott's Work, with more anx- 
iety for tlie cause in general, than for any particular and selfish 
interest of my om n ; as I was sur^ of having the satisfaction of 
seeing such pieces as that gentleman might choose to adopt, 
appear with every advantage which I, partial as I was, could 
wisn them. The most sanguine expectations of the public 
have now been amply gratified ; and much curious and valua- 



which indicates, by a few notes only, the capacity 
which the editor possesses for supplying the most 
extensive and ingenious illu-strations upon antiqua- 
rian subjects. Mfist of the ballads are of a comic 
character, and some of them admirable specimens 
of Scottish dry humor.' Another collection, which 
calls for particular distinction, is in the same size, 
or nearly so, and bears the same title with tho 
preceding one, the date being, Edinburgh, 1827. 
But the contents are announced as containing the 
budget, or stock-in-trade, of an old Aberdeenshire 
minstrel, the very last, probably, of the race, who, 
according to Percy's definition of the profession, 
sung his own compositions, and those of others, 
through the capita! of the county, and other towns 
in that countiy of gentlemen. This m.an's name 
was Cb.arles Leslie, but he was ];nown more gene- 
rally by the nickname of Mussel-mou'd Charlie, 
from a singular projection of liis under lip. His 
death was thus announced in tlie newspapers fo> 
October, llSi : — "Died at Old Ram, in Aberdeen- 
shire, aged one hundred and four years, Charles 
Leslie, a hawker, or baUad-singer, well known in 
that country by the name of Mussel-mou'd Chai'lie. 
He followed his occupation till witliin a few weeks 
of his death." Charlie was a devoted Jacobite, 
and so popular in Aberdeen, that he enjoyed u: 
that city a sort of monopoly of the minstrel call- 
ing, no other person being allowed, under any pre- 
tence, to chant ballads on the causeway, or plain- 
stanes, of " the brave bm'gh." Like the former col- 
lection, most of Mussel-mou'd Charlie's songs were 
of a jocose character. 

But the most extensive and valuable additions 
which have been of late made to this branch of 
ancient literature, are the collections fif Mr. Peter 
Buchan of Peterhead, a person of indefatigable re- 
search in that department, and whose industry has 
been crowned with the most successful results. 
This is partly owing to the country where Mr. 
Buchan resides, which, full as it is of minstrel rel- 
ics, has been but Uttle ransacked by any former 
collectors ; so that, while it is a very rare event 

hie matter is still left for me hy Mr. Scott, to whom I am much 
indebted for many acts of friendship, and much liberality and 
good will shown towards me and my undertaking." — Ed. 

2 Mr. Finlay, best known by his " Wallace, or The Vale c 
EUerslie," died in 1810. in his twenty-eighth year. An atfec 
tionate and elegant tribute to his memory, from the pen of Pro- 
fessor Wilson, appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, November, 
1817.— Ed. 

3 Minstrelsy : .\ncient and Modern, with an Historical In- 
trodoction and Notes. By William Motherwell. 4to. Glasg. 
1827. 

* Ancient ,'^cottisli Ballads, recovered from Tradition, and 
never before published ; with Notes, Historical and Explana- 
tory, and ail Appendix, containing the Airs of several of the 
ballads. 8vo. Edin. 1827. 

6 This is Mr. C. K. Sharjie's Work, already alluded to — 
Ed. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



south ol the Tay, to recover any ballad haTuig a 
claim to antiquity, ■which has not been examined 
and repubUslied in some one or other of our collec- 
tions of ancient poetry, those of Aberdeenshire 
have been comparatively little attended to. The 
present Editor was the first to solicit attention to 
these nortl>ern songs, in consequence of a collection 
of ballads communicated to him by his late re- 
Bpected fri'ind, Lord Woodliouslee. Mr. Jamieson, 
in his collections of "Songs and Ballads," being 
himself a native of Morayshue, was able to push 
this inquiry much farther, and at the same tune, 
by doing so, to illustrate liis theory of the connec- 
tion between the ancieut Scottish and Danish bal- 
lads, upon wliicli the publication of Mr. Buchan 
throws much hght. It is, indeed, the most com- 
plete collect ion of the kiud which has yet appeared.' 
Of the origmality of tlie ballads in Mi". Buchan 's 
collection we do not entertain the slightest doubt. 
Several (we may instance the curious tale of 
"The Two Magicians") are translated from the 
Norse, and Mr. Buchan is probably unacquainted 
with the originals. Others refer to points of 
history, with which the editor does not seem to 
be familiar. It is out of no disrespect to this 
laborious and useful antiquary, that we observe 
liis prose composition is rather florid, and forms, 
in this respect, a strong contrast to the extreme 
simplicity of the ballads, which gives us the most 
distinct assurance that he has delivered the lat- 
ter to the pubhc in the shape in which he found 
them. Accordingly, we have never seen any col- 
lection of Scottisli poetry appearing, from m- 
ternal evidence, so decidedly and indubitably 
original. It is perhaps a pity that Jlr. Buchan 
did not remove some obvious errors and cor- 
ruptions ; but, in truth, though their remaining 
on record is an injury to the effect of the ballads, 
in point of composition, it is, in some degree, a 
proof of their authenticity. Besides, although 
the exertion of this editorial privilege, of select- 
ing readings, is an advantage to the ballads them- 
selves, we are contented rather to take the whole 
in their present, though imperfect state, than 
that the least doubt should be thrown upon them, 
by amendments or alterations, which might render 
their authenticity doubtful. The historical poems, 
we observe, are few and of no remote date. 
That of the " Bridge of Dee," is among the oldest, 
and there are others referring to the times of 
the Covenanters. Some, indeed, are composed on 

1 Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, 
hitherto ijnpnMisheil ; with Explanatory Notes. By P. B. 
8 vols. 8vo. Ellin. 1828 



stUl more recent events ; as the marriage of the 
mother of the late illustrious Byron,' and a catasj- 
trophe of still later occurrence, " The Death of 
Leith-hall." 

As we wish to interest the admirers of ancient 
minstrel lore in this curious collection, we shall 
only add, that, on occasion of a now edition, we 
would recomiuend to Mr. Buchan to leave out a 
number of songs which he has only inserted be- 
cause they are varied, sometimes for the worse, 
fi'om sets which have appeared in other jiublica- 
tions, Tliis restriction would make considerable 
room for such as, old though they be, possess to 
this age all the grace of novelty. 

To tliese notices of late collections of Scottish 
Ballads, we ought to add some remarks on the 
very ciu-ious " Ancient Legendary Talc, printed 
chiefly from Original Sources, edited by the llev. 
Charles Henry Hartshorne, M. A. 1829." The 
editor of tliis unostentatious work has done his 
duty to the public with much labor and care, and 
made the admirers of this species of poetry ac- 
quainted with very many ancient legendary poems, 
which were hitherto unpublished and very little 
known. It increases the value of the collection, 
that m.any of them are of a comic turn, a species 
of composition more rare, and, from its necessary 
allusion to domestic manners, more curious and 
interesting, than the serious class of Romances. 



We have thus, in a cursory manner, gone 
tlu'ough the history of English and ScoUish popu- 
lar poetry, and noticed the principal collections 
which have been formed from time to time of such 
compositions, and the princ'.ples on which the 
editors have proceeded. It is nanifest that, of 
late, the pubhc attention has been so much turned 
to the subject by men of research and talent, that 
we may well hope to retrieve from obhvion as 
much of om- ancient poetry as there h now any 
pos.sibility of recovering. 

Another important part of our task consists in 
giving some aocotmt of the modern imitation of 
the EngUsh PaJlad, a species of literary labor 
which the autlif / hat liimself pursuc-d ■A*', soino 
success. 

ABBOTSFOEr, Isi March, 1S30. 

2 This song is oao*:i!l w M^ora'a Life c' Byiiin, \tfl I — 
Eo. 



APPENDIX iO KEiMAKKS OX POPULAR POETRY. 



553 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

TUE BATTLE OF HARLAW.— P. 544, 

That there was such an ancient ballad is certain, and the 
tiii:-j, adapted to the bagpipe, was long exlreiut-Iy popuhir, 
aiut, within tlie remembratice of man, t!ie first wliich was 
plavc'd at kirns and other rustic festivals. But there is a 
siispit^ious phrase in the ballad as it is published by Allan 
Rainsuy. When describing the national confusion, the bard 
"ays, 

" Sen the days of auld King Harie, 
Such staucluer was heard or seen.** 

Uuery, Who was the " aald King Harie" here meant? If 
Hfrriry VIII. be intended, as is most likely, it must bring the 
datt* of the poem, at least of that verse, as low asQ,ueen Mary's 
liiUL'. The ballad is said to have been printed in IGfiS. A copy 
of that edition would be a great curiosity. 

See the preface to the reprint of this ballad, in the volume 
of *' Early Metrical Tales,'* ante referred to. 



Note B. 

ALLAN Ramsay's "evergreen." — P. 544. 

Green be the pillow of honest Allan, at whose lamp Burns 
lighted his brilliant torch ! It is without enmity to his mem- 
ory-ihat we record his mistake in this matter. Bat it is im- 
pos'^ible not to regret tliat sucli an affecting tale as that of 
Ilessie Bell and .Mary Gray should have fallen into his hands. 
The southern reader must learn (for what northern reader is 
igujraut ?) that these two beautiful women were kinsfolk, and 
so strictly unitcil in friendship, that even persoTial jealousy 
could not interrupt their union. They were visited by a hand- 
some and agreeable young man, who was acceptable to them 
both, but ^o captivated with their charms, that, while confi- 
dent of a preference on the purt of both, he was unable to 
make a choice between iheni. While tliis singular situation 
ol" the three persons of the tale continued, the breaking out 
of the plague forced the two ladies to take refuge in the beau- 
tiful vallev of Lynedoch, where they built themselves a 
bower, in order to avoid human intercourse and the danger of 
infection. The lover was not included in their renunciation 
ol SiKMely. He visited their retiremeut, brought with him 
the fatal disease, and unable to return lo P<rth, which was 
his usual residence, was nursed by the fair friends with all 
the tenderness of afiection. He died, liowever. having first 
communicated the infection to his lovely altendanta. They 
fullowc'l him to the grave, lovely in their lives, and undivided 
in their drath Their burial-place, in the vicinity of the 
bow;?r wliich they built, is still visible, in the romantic 
vicinity of Lord Lyndoch's mansion, and prolongs the mem- 
ory of female friendship, which even rivalry could not dissolve. 
Two stanzas of the original ballad alone survive ■ — 
70 



*• Bessie Bell and Mary Giay, 

Tliey were twa bonnie lasses ; 
Tliey bigged a bower on yon *iurn brae. 
And theekit it ower wi' rasnes. 

" They wadna rest in Methvin kirk, 
Among their gentle kin ; 
But they wad lie in Leduoch braes, 
To beek against the sun." 

There is, to a Scottish ear, so much tenderness and simplicilj 
in these verses, as must induce us to regret that the rest sliould 
have been superseded by a pedantic nmdern song, turning 
upon the most unpoclic part of the legend, the hesitation, 
namely, of the lover, which of the ladies to prefer. One of 
the most touching expressions in the song is tire following ex- 
clamation : 

*' Oh, Jove ! she's like thy Pallas." 

Another song, of which Ramsay chose a few words for tm» 
theme of a rifaciwcnto, seems to have been a curious speci- 
men of minstrel recitation. It was partly verse, partly narra- 
tive, and was alternately sung and repeated. The story was 
the escape of a young gentleman, pursued by a cruel uncle, 
desirous of his estate ; or a bloody rival, greedy of his life ; or 
the relentless father of his lady-love, or some such remorselcsa 
character, having sinister intentions on the person of the fugitive. 
The object of his rapacity or vengeance being nearly overtaken, 
a shepherd undertakes to mislead the pui-auer, who comes m 
sight just as the object of his pursuit disappears, and greets the 
shepherd thus : — 

"pursuer. 
Good morrow, shepherd, and my friend, 

Saw you a young man this way riding ; 
With long black hair, on a bob-tail'd mare. 

And I know that I cannot be far behind him ? 

THE SUKrilERD. 

Yes, I did see him this way riding, 
And what did much surprise my wit. 

The man and tne iiiai^ -lew lo in the air 
^nd I see, and I see, and I see her yet. 

Behind yon white cloud I see her tail vrave, 
And I see, and I see, and I see her yet." 

The tune of these verses is an extremely go'jil one, and 
Allan Ramsay has adapted a bacchanalian song to it with 
some success ; but we should have thanked him much had bo 
taken the trouble to preserve the original legend cf the old 
minstrel. The valuable and learned friend' to whom we 
owe this mutilated account of it, has often heard it Bunj; 
among the High Jinks of Scottish lawyers of the last genera- 
liun. 

1 The late Right Ilonornble WiUiaro Adam, Lord Cdief Commurionor ol 
the Scotch Jurj- Court. — Eo. 



Note C. 

joseph ritson. 

" Jfeglecting, in literary debate, the courtesies of 

ordinary society.''* — P. 545. 

For example, in quoting a popular song, well known by the 
.lame of Maggie Lauder, the editor of the Reliques had given 
a line of the Dame's address to the merry minstrel, thus: — 

" Gin ye be Rob, I've heard of you, 
You dwell upon the Border." 

Ritson insisted the genuine reading was, 

*' Come ye frae the Border V ' 

And he expatiates witli great keenness on the crime of the 
Bishop's having sophisticated the text (of which he produces 
no evidence), to favor liis opinion, tliat the Borders were a 
favorite u.bode of the minstrels of both kingdoms. The fact, it 
ie believed, is undoubted, and the one reading seems to support 
it as well as the other.— [Josepli Ritsoii died in 1803.] 



Note D. 



'* A MERE CROVVDER UPON AN UNTUNED FIDDLE." — P. 547. 

In Fletcher's comedy of " Monsieur Thomas," such a fid- 
dler is questioned as to the ballads he is best versed in, and 
replies, 

" Under your mastership's correction I can smg, 
' The Duke of Norfolk,' or the merry ballad 
Of Divius and Lazarus ;' ' The Rose of England ;' 
' III Crete, where DeiHnius first began ;' 
' JoiKLK his crying out against Coventry.' 

Thomas. Excellent ! 
Rare matters all. 

Fidiller. * Mawdlin the Merchant's Daughter ;' 
' The Devil and ye Dainty Dames.' 

Thomas. Rare still. 

Fiddler. ' The Landing of the Spaniards at Bow, 
With the bloody battle at Mile-end.' " 

The poor minstrel is described as accompanying the young 
rake in his revels. Launcelot describes 

" The gentleman himself, young Monsieur Thomas, 
Errant with has furious myrmidons ; 
The fiery fiddler and myself— now ringing, 
Now beating at the doors," &c. 



Note E. 
minstrels. — p. 547. 
The " Song of the Traveller," an ancient piece lately dis- 
covered in the Cathedral Library at Exeter, and published by 
the Rev. Mr. Coneybeare, in his Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon 
Poetry (1826). furnishes a most curious picture of the life of 
the Northero Scald, or Miuslrel, in the high and palmy state 



of the profession. The reverend editor thus translates lira 
closing lines : 

" Ille est carissimus Terrx incolis 

Cui Deus addidit Hominum imperium gerendum, 

Quum ille eos [bardos] habeat oaros. 

Ita comeantes cum cantilenis feruntur 

Bardi hominum per terras multas ; 

Simiil eos remuneratur oh cantilenas pulchras, 

Munerihus immmsis, ille qui ante nobiles 

Vult judicium suum extollere, dignitatem sustinere. 

Habet ille sub cuilo stabilem famam." — P. 22. 

Mr. Coneybeare contrasts tliis "flattering picture" with the 
following " melancholy specimen" of the Minstrel life of later 
times — contained in some verses by Richard Sheale (the alleged 
author of the old Chevy Chase), whicJl. are preserved in one of 
the Ashmolean MSS. 

" Now. for the good clieere that I have had here, 
I give you hearty thanks with bowing of my shankes, 
Desiring you by petition to grant me such commission — 
Because my name is Sheale, that both for meat and meale, 
To you I may resort sum tyme for my comforte. 
For I perceive here at all tymes is good cheere, 
Both ale, wyne, and beere, as hyt doth now appere, 
I perceive without fable ye keepe a good table. 
I can be contente, if hyt be out of Lent, 
A piece of bcefe to take ray honger to aslake, 
Both mutton and veale is goode for Rycharde Sheale ; 
Though I look so grave, I were a veri knave, 
Ifl wold ihinke skorne ether evenynge or morne, 
Beyng in honger, of fresshe samon or kongar, 
[ can fynde in my hearte, willi my friendis to take a parte 
Of such as Godde shal sende. and thus I make an cnde. 
Now farewel.good myn Hoste, I thank youe for youre cosla 
Untyl another tyme, and thus do I ende my ryrae." — P. 23. 



Note F. 

william julius mickle. — p. 548. 

In evidence of what is stated in the text, the anthor would 
quote the introductory stanza to a forgotten poem of Mickle, 
originally published under the injudicious and equivocal title 
of " The Concubine," but insubseijuent editions called, " Sir 
Martyn, or The Progress of Dissipation." 

" Awake, ye west winds, through the lonely dale, 
And, Fancy, to thy faery bower betake ; 
Even now, with balmy sweetness breathes the gale, 

Dim|»]ing with downy wing the stilly lake ; 
Througli the pale willows faltering whispers ^vake, 

And evening comes with locks beilropp'd with dew ; 
On Desmond's mouldering turrets slowly shake 
The wither'd ryegrass, and the harebell blue, 
And ever and anon sweet MuUa's plaints renew." 

Mickle's facility of versification was so great, iliat. bein^ a 
printer by profession, he frequently put his lines into tyjiee 
without taking the trouble previously to put them into writing ; 
thus uniting the composition of the author with the mtchanicat 
operation which typographers call by the same name. 



ESSAY 



IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD.' 



The inventiou of priutiucj necessarily occasioned 
the downfall of tlie Oi'<ler of Minstrels, already re- 
duced to contempt by their own bad habits, by 
the disrepute attaclied to their professicjn, and by 
the laws calculated to repress tlieir license. "VVlien 
the Metrical Romances were very man_y of tliem 
in the bands of every one, tlie occupation of those 
who made their living by reciting tliem was in 
some degree abolished, and the minstrels either 
disappeared altogether, or sunk into mere musi- 
cians, wliose utmost acquaintance with poetry was 
beiug able to sing a ballad. Perliaps oldAntliony, 
who acquired, from the song which he accounted 
liis masterpiece, the name of Antliony Now Now, 
was one of the last of this class in the capital; nor 
does the tenor of his poetry evince whether it was 
liis own composition or that of some otlier.^ 

But the taste for popular poetry did not decay 
with the class of men by wliom it liad been for 
some generations practised and preserved. Not 
only did the simple old ballads retain their ground, 
though circulated by the new art of printing, in- 
stead of being preserved by recitation ; but in the 
Garlands, and similar collections for general sale, 
the authors aimed at a more ornamental and regu- 
lar style of poetry than had been attempted by 
the old minstrels, whose composition, if not extem- 
poraneous, was seldom committed to writing, and 
was not, therefore, susceptible of accurate revision. 
Tins was the more necessary, as even tlie popular 
poetry was now feeling the effects ai-ising from 
the advance of knowledge, and the revival of the 
study of the learned languages, with all the ele- 
gance and refinement which it induced. 

In short, the general progress of tlie country led 
to an improvement in the department of popular 
poetry, tending botli to soften and melodize the 
language employed, and to ornament the diction 
beyond that of the rude minstrels, to whom such 
topics of composition liad been originally aban- 

1 This essay was written in April, 1830, and forms a contin- 
Qation of the " Remarks on Popular Poetry." — Ed. 

3 He might be supposed a conlemporary of Henry VIII., if 
'he greeting which lie pretends to iiave given to tliat monarch 
" of his own composition, and spolven in his own person. 



doned. The monotony of the ancient recitals w,a.s, 
for the same causes, altered and improved upon. 
The eternal descriptions of battles, and of love di- 
lemmas, wliich, to satiety, filled the old romances 
with trivial repetition, was retrenched. If any 
one wishes to compare the two eras of lyrical poe- 
try, a few verses taken from one of the latest 
minstrel ballads, and one of the earliest that were 
written for the press, will afford liim, in some de- 
gree, the power of doing so. 

The rude lines from Anthony Now Now, which 
we have just quoted, may, for example, be com- 
pared, as Ritson rec[uests, with the ornamevited 
commencement of the ballad of Fair Rosamond ; — 

" Wlien as King Henry ruled this land 
Tile second of tliat name, 
Besides his qoeen he dearly loved 
A fair and comely dame. 

" Most peerless was her beauty found. 
Her favor, and her face ; 
A sweeter creature in the world, 
Could never prince embrace. 

" Her crisped locks, like threads of gold 
Appear'd to each man's sight ; 
Her sparkling eyes, like orient pearls. 
Did cast a heavenly light. 

" The blood within her crystal cheeks 
Did such a color drive. 
As thougii the lily and the rose 
For mastership did strive. "3 

It may be rash to affirm, that those who lived 
by singing tliis more refined poetry, were a class 
of men different from the ancient minstrels ; but 
it appears, that both the name of the professors, 
and the character of the Minstrel poetry, had sunk 
in reputation. 

The facility of versification, and of poetical die 
tion, is decidedly in favor of the moderns, as might 
reasonably be expected from the improved taste, 

" Good morrow to our noble king, quoth I ; 
Good morrow, quoth he, to thou : 
And then lie said to Anthony, 
O Anthony now now now." 
3 Percy's Reliques, vol. ii. p. 147. 



:.56 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



and enlarged knowledge, of an age which abound- 
ed to sTicli a degree in poetry, and of a character 
6o imaginative as was the Elizabethan era. The 
poetry addressed to the populace, and enjoyed by 
them alone, was animated by the spirit that was 
breathed around We may cite Shakspeare's un- 
questionable and decisive evidence in this respect. 
In Twelfth Nigh' he describes a popular ballad, 
with a beau(;y and precision which no one but 
himself could have afiixed to its character ; and 
Die whole constitules ihe strongest appeal in favor 
of that species ol poetry which is WTitten to suit 
the taste of the public in general, and is most 
naturally preserved by oral tradition. But the 
remarkable part of the circumstance is, that when 
tlie song is actually sung by Fest^ the clown, it 
differs in almost all particulars from what we 
might have been justified in considering as attri- 
butes of a popular ballad of that early period. It 
is simple, doubtless, both in structure and phrase- 
ology, but is rather a' love song than a minstrel 
ballad — a love song, also, which, though its imagi- 
native figures of speech are of a very simple and 
intelhgible character, may nevertheless be com- 
pared to any thing rather thau the boldness of the 
preceding age, and resembles nothing less than the 
ordinary minstrel ballad. The original, though so 
well known, may be here quoted, for the purpose 
of sliowing what was, in Shakspeare's time, re- 
garded as the poetry of " the old age." Almost 
every one has the passage by heart, yet I must 
quote it, because there seems a m.arkcd difference 
between the species of poem which is described, 
and that which is sung. 

" Mark it, Cxsario ; it is ot«l and plain : 
Tile spinsters and tlie knitters in the suu, 
Ami tlie I'ree maids, lliat weave their tliread witli bones, 
Po use to chant it ; it is silly sooth. 
And dallies witli the innocence of love, 
Like tlie old age." 

lbs song, thus beautifully prefaced, Ls as follows : 

" Come away, come away, death, 
Anil in sad cypress let me be laid ; 

Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
1 am slain by a fair crnel maid. 
My slironil of white, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it ; 
My part of death no one so tnie 
I lid share it. 

'* Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
On my lilaek eo'fin let there be strown ; 

Not a friend, nor a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : 
\ thousand, thousand siglis to save, 

Lay me, O where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there.**' 

1 Twelfth Night, Act ii. Scene 4th. 



On comparing tliis love elegy, or whatever it 
may be entitled, with the ordmary, and especially 
the earlier popular 2:ioetry, I cannot lielp thinking 
that a great difference will be observed in the 
structure of the verse, the character of the senti- 
ments, the ornaments and refinement of the lan- 
guage. Neither, indeed, as might be expected 
from the progress of human affairs, was the change 
in the popular style of poetry achieved without 
some disadvantages, which counterbalanced, in a 
certain degree, the superior art and exercise of 
fancy which had been introduced of late times. 

The expressions of Sir Philip Siilncy,an unques- 
tionable judge of poetry, flouri-shing in Elizabeth's 
golden reign, ami drawing around him, Ulce a mag- 
net, tlie most distinguished poets of the age, 
amongst whom we need only name Shakspearc 
and Spenser, still show something to regret when 
he compared the highly wrought antl richly orna- 
mented poetry of liis own time, with the ruder 
but more energetic diction of Chevy Chase. His 
words, often quoted, cannot yet be dispensed with 
on the present occasion. They are a chapter in 
the liistory of ancient poetry. " Certainly," says 
the brave knight, " I must confess my own bar- 
barousness ; I never heard the old song of Percy 
and Douglas, that I found not my heart more 
moved than with a trumpet. And yet it is sung 
by some blind crowdcr, with no rougher voice than 
rude style, which being so evil apparelled in the 
dust and cobwebs of that uncivil age, what woidd 
it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eluqueuce of 
Pindar."- 

If we inquire more particularly what were the 
peculiar charms by which the old minstrel ballad 
produced an effect like a trumpet-sound upon the 
bosom of a real sou of chivalry, we may not be 
wrong in ascribing it to the extreme simplicity 
with which the narrative moves forward, neglect- 
ing all the more minute ornaments of speech and 
diction, to the grand object of enforcing iin the 
hearer a striking and affecting catastrophe. The 
author seems too serious in his wish to affect the 
audience, to allow himself to be drawn aside by 
any thing which can, either by its tenor, or tlie 
manner in which it is spoken, have the perverse 
effect of distracting attention from tlie catastrojjlie. 

Such grand and serious beauties, however, oc- 
curred but rarely to the old minstrels ; and in or- 
der to find them, it became necessary to struggle 
through long passages of monotony, languor, and 
uianity. Unfortunately it also happened, that 
those who, like Sidney, cotdd ascertain, feel, and 
do full justice to the beauties of the heroic ballad, 
were few, compared to the numbers who could be 
sensible of the trite verbiage of a bald passage, or 

' Sir Philip Sidney's Defence of Poesy. 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



esT 



tlie ImlicTous effect of an absurd rhyme. In Eng- 
land, aecordinglv, the popular ballad fell into cou- 
tcrapt din-ing the seventeenth century ; and al- 
though in remote counties' its iuspiiatiou was 
occasionally the source of a few verses, it seems 
to have become almost entirely obsolete in the 
capital. Even the Civil Wars, wliich gave so much 
occasion for poetry, produced rather song and sa- 
tu'e, than the ballad or popidar epic. The curious 
reader may satisfy himself on this point, should he 
wish to ascertain the truth of the allegation, by 
looking through D'Urfey's large and curious col- 
lection," when he will be aware that the few bal- 
lads which it contains are the most ancient pro- 
ductions in the book, and very seldom talce their 
date after the commencement of the seventeenth 
century. 

In Scotland, on the contrary, the old minstrel 
ballad long continued to preserve its jiopularity. 
Even the last contests of Jacobitism were recited 
with great vigor in ballads of the time, the authors 
of some of which are known and remembered ; 
nor is there a more spirited ballad preserved than 
that of Mr. Skiiwing' (father of Skirving the art- 
ist), upon the battle of Prestonpans, so late as 
1745. But this was owing to circumstances con- 
nected with the habits of the people in a remote 
and rude country, which could not exist in the 
richer and wealthier provinces of England. 

On the whole, however, the ancient Heroic bal- 
lad, as it was called, seemed to be fast declining 
among the more enhghtened and literary part of 
both countries ; and if retained by the lower classes 
in Scotland, it had in England ceased to exist, or 
degenerated into doggerel of the last degree of 
vilcness. 

Subjects the most interesting were abandoned 
to the poorest rhymers, and one would have 
thought that, as in an ass-race, the prize had been 
destined to the slowest of those who competed i 
for the prize. Tlie melancholy fate of Miss Ray,'' 
who fell by the hands of a frantic lover, coidd only 
inspire the Grub Street muse with such verses as 
these, — that is, if I remember them coiTectly : 

** A Sandwich favorite was tliis fair, 
.\n(l her he dearly loved ; 
By whom -six children liad, we hear ; 
This story fatal proved. 

" A clerjiynian, O wielted one, 
In Covenl Garden shot her ; 
No time to cry upon hev God, 
It's hoped He's not forgot her." 

1 A conous and spirited specimen occurs in Cornwall, as late 
as tile *jial of the Tlishops hcfore tlie Revolution. The Presi- 
dent of the Roy.ll Society of London (Mr. Davies Gilhert) has 
rot disdained the trouhle of preserving it from oblivion. 

2 Pills to Purge Jlelaneholv. 



If it be true, as in other cases, that when things 
at ? at the worst they must mend, it was certainly 
time to expect an amelioration in the deptirtment 
in which such doggerel passed current. 

Accordingl}-, previous to this tinie, a new spe- 
cies of poetry seems to have arisen, which, in some 
cases, endeavored to pass itself as the production 
of genuine antiquity, and, in others, honi'stly avow- 
ed an attempt to emulate tlie merits and avoid the 
errors with which the old ballad was encumbered; 
and in the effort to accompUsh this, a species t.t 
composition was discovered, which is capable of 
being subjected to peculiar rules of criticism, and 
of exhibiting excellences of its own. 

In writing for the use of the general readei-, 
rather than the poetical antiquary, I shall be 
readily excused from entering into any inquiry re- 
specting the authors who iirst showed the way in 
this peculiar department of modern ptietry, which 
I may term the imitation of the old ballad, espe- 
cially that of the latter or Elizabethan era. One 
of the oldest, according to my recollection, wliich 
pretends to engraft modern retinement upon an- 
cient simplicity, is extremely beautiful, both from 
the words, and the simple and affecting melody t<" 
which they are usually sung. The title is, " Lord 
Henry and Ftiir Catherine." It begins thus : 

" In ancient days, in Britain's isle. 
Lord Henry well was known ; 
No knight ill all the land more famed. 
Or more deserved renown. 

" His thoughts were all on honor bent, 
He ne'er would stoop to love : 
No lady in the land had power 
His frozen heart to move." 

Early in the eighteenth century, this peculiar 
species of composition became popular. We find 
Tickell, the friend of Addison, who produced the 
beautiful ballad, " Of Leinster famed for maid- 
ens fan-," Mallet, Gioldsmith, Shenstone, Percy, 
and many others, followed an example wliich had 
much to reccjmmend it, especially as it present- 
ed considerable faciUties to those who wished, 
at as little exertion of trouble as possible, to at- 
tain for themselves a certain degree of literary 
reputation. 

Before, however, treating of the professed ijiai 
tators of Ancient BaDad Poetry, I ought to say a 
word upon those who have written their imita- 
tions with the preconceived pm'pose of passing 
them for ancient. 

There is no small degree of cant in the violent 



2 See Hogg's Jacobite Relics, vol. i. — Ed. 

< Miss Ray, the beautiful mistrecs of the Earl of Sandwich, 
then First Lord of the Admiralty, w.as assassinated by Mr. 
Ilaekman, "in a fit of iVanlie jealous love," .as Boswell ex- 
presses it, in 1779. SeeCroker's Boswell vol. iv. p 254. ^Ed- 



558 



SCOTT'S POETICAL AVORKS. 



invectiyes with wliicli impostors of this nature 
have betin assailed. In fact, the case of each is 
apocial, and ought to be . separately considered, 
according to its own circumstances. If a young, 
perhaps a female author, chooses to circulate a 
beautiful poem, -w e will suppose that of Hardy- 
knute, under the disguise of antiquity, the public 
is surely more enriched by the contribution than 
injured by the deception.' It is hardly possible, 
indeed, without a power of poetical genius, and 
acquaintance with ancient langu.^gc and manners 
possessed by very few, to succeed in deceiving 
those who have made this branch of literature 
their study. The very desire to unite modern re- 
finement with the ve7'vc of the ancient minstrels, 
will itself betray the masquerade. A minute ac- 
quaintance with ancient customs, and with ancient 
history, is also demanded, to sustain a part which, 
as it must rest on deception, cannot be altogether 
an honorable one. 

Two of the most distinguished autliors of this 
class have, in this manner, been detected ; being 
deficient in the knowledge requisite to support 
their genius in the disguise they meditated. Har- 
dyknute, for instance, already mentioned, is irrec- 
oncilable with all clu-onology, and a cliief with a 
Norwegian name is strangely introduced as the 
first of the nobles brought to resist a !N"orse inva- 
sion, at the battle of Largs : the " needlework so 
rai-e," introduced by the fair authoress, must have 
been certainly long posterior to the reign of Alex- 
ander III. In Chatterton's ballad of " Sir Charles 
Baudwin," we find an anxious attempt to repre- 
sent the composition as ancient, and some entries 
in the public accounts of Bristol were appealed to 
in corroboration. But neither was tliis ingenious 
but most unhappy yoimg man, with all his powers 
of poetry, and with the antiquarian knowledge 
which he had collected with indiscriminating but 
astonishing research, able to impose on that part 
of the pubUc qualified to judge of the composi- 
tions, which it had occurred to liim to pass off as 
those of a monk of the 14th century. It was in 
vain that he in each word doubled the consonants, 
like the sentinels of an endangered army. The 
art used to disguise and misspell the words only 
overdid what v.-as intended, and afforded sm'e evi- 
dence that the poems published as antiques had 
been, in fact, tampered with by a modern artist, 
as the newly forged, medals of modern days stand 
convicted of imposture from the very touches of 
the file, by which there is an attempt to imitate 
the cracks and fissures produced by the hammer 
upon the orighial." 



1 " H.irrlykiiulc wris ine first poem that I ever learnt — tfie 
last that I shall forget." — MS. note of Sir Wa)*£r Scott on a 
leaf of Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. 



I have only met, in my researches into these 
matters, with one poem, which, if it had been pro- 
duced as ancient, could not have been detected on 
internal evidence. It is the " War Song upon the 
victory at Brunnanburg, translated from the An- 
glo-Saxon into Anglo-Norman," by the Right Hon- 
orable John Hookhani Frere. See Ellis's Speci- 
mens of Ancient English Poetry, vol. i. p. 32. The 
accomplished Editor tells us, that this very singu- 
lar poem was intended as an imitation of the style 
and language of the fourteenth century, and was 
written during the controversy occasioned by the 
poems attributed to Rowley. Mr. Ellis adds, 
"the reader will probably hear with some sur- 
prise, that tliis singular mstance of critical inge- 
nuity was the composition of an Eton schoolboy." 

The author may be permitted to speak as an 
ai-tist on this occasion (disowning, at the same 
time, all purpose of imposition), as having written, 
at the request of the late Mr. Ritson, one or two 
things of tliis kind ; among others, a continuation 
of the romance of Thomas of Ercildoime, the only 
one which chances to be preserved.^ And he 
thinks himself entitled to state, that a modern 
poet engaged in such a task, is much in the situa- 
tion of an architect of the present day, who, if 
acquainted with his profession, finds no difficulty 
in copying the external forms of a Gothic castle or 
abbey ; but when it is completed, can hardly, by any 
artificial tints or cement, supply the spots, weatli- 
er-stains, and hues of different kinds, with which 
time alone had invested the venerable fabric wliich 
he desires to imitate. 

Leaving this branch of the subject, in which the 
difficulty of passing off what is modern for what 
is ancient cannot be matter of regret, we may be- 
stow with advantage some brief consideration on 
the fair trade of manufacturing modern antiqties, 
not for the purpose of passing them as contraband 
goods on the skilful antiquary, but in order to 
obtain the credit due to authors as successful irri- 
tators of the .ancient simplicity, wliile their system 
admits of a considerable infusion of modern refine- 
ment. Two classes of imitation may be referred 
to as belongmg to this species of composition. 
Wlien they approach each other, there may be 
some difficuUy in assigning to individual poems 
their peculiar character, but in general the differ- 
ence is distinctly marked. The distinction lies be 
twixt the authors of ballads or legendary poems,, 
who have attempted to imitate the language, tlie 
maimers, and the sentiments of the ancient poems 
which were their prototypes; and those, on the 
contrary, who, without endeavoring to do so, have 



' See Appendix. Note A. 

3 See Sir Tiistreni, Scott's Poetical Works, vol. v : &.lili.>ii 
1833. 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



55S» 



struck out a particular path for themselves, -which 
caniiiit, with strict propriety, be termed cither 
:mcicnt or modern. 

lu the actual uuitation of the ancient ballad, 
Dr. Percy, whose researches made him well ac- 
quainted with that department of poetiy, was 
|ieculia"ly successful. The " Hermit of Wark- 
n-ort)i," the " Clulde of Eile," and other minstrel 
tales of liis composition, must always be remem- 
bered witli fondness by those who have perused 
thoni in that period of life when the feehngs are 
etrong, and the taste for poetry, especially of this 
simple natiu-e, is keen and poignant. This learned 
and amiable prelate was also remarkable for his 
power of restoring the ancient ballad, by tlirowing 
m touches of poetry, so adapted to its tone aud 
tenor, as to assimilate with its original structure, 
and impress every one who considered the subject 
as being coeval with the rest of the piece. It must 
be owned, that such freedoms, when assmued by 
a professed antiquary, addressing huuself to anti- 
quaries, and for the sake of illustrating Uterary 
antiquities, are subject to great aud hcentious 
abuse ; and herein the severity of Ritson was to a 
certaui extent justified. But when the license is 
avowed, and practised without tlie intention to 
deceive, it cannot be objected to but by scrupulous 
pedantry. 

The poet, perhaps, most capable, by verses, 
lines, even single words, to relieve and heighten 
the character of aucient poetry, was tlie Scottish 
bard Robert Burns. We are not here speaking 
of the avowed lyrical poems of his own composi- 
ti<»n, which he communicated to Mr. George Thom- 
son, but of the manner in which ho recomposed 
aud rt paired the old songs and fragments for the 
coUoctiiin of Johnson' and others, wlieii, if his 
memory supplied the theme, or general subject of 
the song, such as it existed m Scottish lore, his 
genius contributed that part which was to give 
hfe and immortality to the whole. If this praise 
should be thought extravagant, the reader may 
compare liis splendid lyric, "My heart's m the 
Higldands," with the tame aud scarcely half-intel- 
Ugible remains of that song as preserved by Mr. 
Peter Buchan. Or, what is perhaps a still more 
magniBcent example of what we mean, " Macpher- 
son's Farewell," with all its spirit and grandeur, 
as repaired by Burns, may be collated with the 
original poem called " Macpherson's Lament," or 
sometimes the '' Ruffian's Rant." In Burns's bril- 
liant rifacunento, the same strain of wild ideas is 
expressed as we find in the origmal ; but with an 
infusion of the savage and impassioned spirit of 
Highland chivalry, wliich gives a splendor to the 

1 Johnson's "Musical Museum," in 6 vols., was latelf re- 
prinleil ;it Edinburgh. 



composition, of wliicli we find not a trace ui the 
rudeness of the ancient ditty. I can bear witness 
to tlie older verses having been current wliile I 
was a cliild, but I never knew a fine of the inspired 
edition of the Ayrshue bard until the appearance 
of Johnson's Museum. 

Besides Percy, Burns, and others, we must not 
omit to mention Mr. Finlay, whose beautiful song, 

" There came a knight from tlie Held of the slain," 

is SO happily descriptive of antique maimers ; or 
Mickle, whose accurate aud mteresting imitations 
of tlie ancient ballad we have already mentioned 
witli approbation in the former Essay on Ballad 
Composition. These, with others of modern date, 
at the head of wliom we must place Tiiomas 
Moore, have aimed at strildng the ancient harp 
with the same bold and rough note to wliich it 
was awakened by the ancient minstrels. Southey, 
Wordsworth, and other distinguished names of the 
present century, have, in repeated instances, dig- 
nified this branch of Uterature ; but no one more 
than Coleridge, in the wild and unaginative tale 
of the " Ancient Mariner," which displays so much 
beauty with such eccentricity. We should act 
most imjustly in this department of Scottish ballad 
poetry, not to mention the names of Ley den, Hogg, 
and Allan Cunnmgham. They have all three hon 
ored their country, by arriving at distiuction from 
a humble origin, and there is none of them under 
whose liand the ancient Scottisli harp has not 
sounded a bold and distinguished tone. Miss Anne 
Bannerman likewise should not be forgotten, whose 
"Tales of Superstition and Cliivalry" appeared 
about 1S02. They were perhaps too mystical and 
too abrupt ; yet if it be the purpose of tliis kind 
of ballad poetry powerfully to excite the imagina- 
tion, without pretending to satisfy it, few persons 
have succeeded better than this gifted lady, whose 
volume is peculiarly fit to be read in a lonely 
house by a decaying lamp. 

As we have already liinted, a numerous class of 
the authors (some of them of the very first class) 
who condescended to imitate the simplicity of an- 
cient poetry, gave themselves no trouble to ob 
serve the costume, style, or manner, eitlier of the 
old minstrel or baUad-siuger, but assumed a struo 
ture of a separate and pecuhar kind, wliich could 
not be correctly termed either ancient or modern, 
altliough made the vehicle of beauties which were 
common to both. Tlie discrepancy between tlie 
mark which the}' avowed theh purpose of shooting 
at, and that at wliioli they really took aim, is best 
illustrated by a production of one of the most dis- 
tinguished of their number. Goldsmitli describes 
the young family of his Vicai' of Wakefield, as 
amusing themselves with conversing about poetry 
Mr. BnrclieU observes, that the British poets, who 



560 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



imitated the classics, have especially contvibuted 
to mtroduce a false taste, by loading their lines 
with epithets, so as to present a combination of 
luxuriant images, Tvithout plot or connection, — a 
string of epithets that improve the sound, without 
carrying on the sense. But when an example of 
popular poetry is produced as free from the fault 
.vhich the critic has just censured, it is the well- 
known and beautiful poem of Edwin and Angelina ! 
which, ill feUcitous attention to the language, and 
in fiinciful ornament of imagery, is as unlike to a 
minstrel baUad, as a lady assuming the dress of a 
Shepherdess for a masquerade, is different from 
the actual Sisly of Salisbury Plain. Tickell's 
beautiful bidlad is equally formed upon a pastoral, 
sentimental, and ideal model, not, however, less 
beautifully executed ; and the attention of Addi- 
son's friend had been probably directed to the 
ballad stanza (for the stanza is all which is imi- 
tated) by the praise bestowed on Chevy Chase in 
the Spectator. 

Upon a later occasion, the subject of Mallet's 
fine poem, Edwin and Emma, being absolutely 
rural in itself, and occurring at the hamlet of 
Bowes, in Yorkshire, might have seduced the poet 
from the beau ideal which he had pictured to hmi- 
self, mto something more immediately allied to 
cominon life. But Jlallet was not a man to neg- 
lect what was esteemed fashionable, and poor 
Hannah Railton and her lover Wrightson were 
enveloped in the elegant but tinsel frippery ap- 
pertaining to Edward and Emma ; for the suniles, 
reflections, and suggestions of the poet are, in fact, 
too intrusive and too well said to suffer the reader 
to feel the full taste of the tragic tale. The verses 
are doubtless beautiful, but I must own the sunple 
prose of the Curate's letter, who gives the narra- 
tive of the tale aa it really h.appened, has to me a 
tone of serious veracity more affecting than the 
ornaments of Mallet's fiction. The same author's 
ballad, "William and Margaret," has, in some 
degree, the same fault. A disembodied spirit is 
not a person before whom the living spectator 
takes leisure to make remarks of a moral kind, as, 

So will the fairest face appear, 
When youth and years are flown, 

AnJ such the rohe that Kings must wear 
When death has reft their crown." 

Upon the whole, the ballad, though the best of 
Mallet's writuig, is certainly inferior to its origi- 
nal, which I prcsuirs to be the very fine and even 
terrific old Scottish ale, beginnmg, 

" There came a ,^iiost to Margaret's door." 

1 If I am rigtit in what must be a very early recollection, I 
saw Mr. Cartvvriglit (then a student of medicine at the Edin- 
bnrgli University) at the house of my maternal grandfather, 
John Rutherford, .M. D. 



It may be found in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-tablo 
Miscellany." 

We need only stop to mention another very 
beautiful piece of this fanciful kuid, by Dr. Cart- 
wright, called Armin and Elvira, containing some 
excellent poetry, expressed with tmusual felicity. 
I have a vision of havmg met this accomplished 
gentleman in my very early youth, and am tho 
less likely to be mistaken, as he was the first living 
poet I recollect to have seen.' His poem had the 
distinguished honor to be much admired by our 
celebrated philosopher, Dugald Stewart, who was 
wont to quote with much pathos, the picture of 
resignation in the following stanza : — 

*' And while his eye to Heaven he raised, 
Its silent watere stole away. "3 

After enumerating so many persons of imdoubt- 
ed genius, who have cultivated the Arcadian style 
of poetry (for to such it may be compared), it 
would be endless to enumerate the various Sir 
Eldreds of the hills and downs whose stories were 
woven mto lerjendary («/cs— which came at length 
to be the name assigned to this half-ancient, half- 
modern style of composition. 

In general I may observe, that the supposed fa- 
cility of this species of composition, the .alluring 
simplicity of which was held sufficient to sui)port 
it, afforded great attractions for those whose am- 
bition led them to exercise their untried talents 
in verse, but who were desirous to do so with the 
least possible expense of thought. The task seems 
to present, at least to the inexperienced acolyte 
of the Muses, the same advantages wliich an it. 
strument of sweet sound and small compass offer;, 
to those who begm their studies in music. In 
either case, however, it frequently happens that 
the scholar, getting tired of the palling and monot- 
onous character of the poetry or music whicli lie 
produces, becomes desirous to strike a more inde- 
pendent note, even at the risk of its beuig a more 
difficult one. 

The same simplicity hivolves an inconvenience 
fatal to the continued popularity of any .species of 
poetry, by exposing it in a peculiar degree to riiU- 
cule and to parody. Dr. Jolmson, whose style of 
poetry was of a very different and more stately 
description, could ridicule the ballads of Percy, in 
such stanzas as these, — 

" The tender infant, meek at* mild, 
Fell down upon a stone ; 
The nurse took up the squalling child. 
But still the child sfiuall'd on ;" 

with various slipshod imitations of the same qual- 

" Hajipily altered by an admiring foreigner, who read 
" The silent waters stole away." 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



501 



itf.' It did not require his talents to pursue this 
vein of raillery, for it. was such as most men could 
jiiitato, and all could enjoy. It is, therefore, little 
wosderful that this sort of composition should be 
lepi'ateiily laid aside for considerable periods ot 
time, and certainly as little so, that it should have 
been repeatedly revived, lilvc some forgotten mel- 
ody, and have again obtained some degree of pop- 
ularity, until it sunk once more under satire, as 
well as parody, but, above all, the effects of satiety. 

During the thirty years that I have paid some 
attention to literary matters, the taste for the an- 
cient bidlad melody, and for the closer or more 
distant imitation of that strain of poetry, has more 
than once ai^iseu, and more than once subsided, in 
consequence, perhaps, of too unlimited indulgence. 
That this h.as been the case in other countries, we 
know ; for the Spanish poet, when he found that 
the beautiful Morisco romances were excluding all 
other topics, confers upon them a heai'ty maledic- 
tion.^ 

A period when this particular taste for the pop- 
ular ballad was in the most extrav.igaut degree 
of fashion, became the occasion, unexpectedly, in- 
deed, of my deserting the profession to which I 
was educated, and ui which I had sufficiently ad- 
vantageous prospects for a person of limited ambi- 
tion. I have, in a former publication, uudertaken 
to mention tliis circumstance ; and I will endeavor 
to do so with becoming brevity, and without more 
egotism than is positively exacted by the nature 
of the story. 

I may, in the first place, remark, that although 
the assertion has been made, and that by persons 
who seemed satisfied with their authority, it is a 
mistake to suppose that my situation in life or 
place in society were materially altered by such 
success as I attained in literary attempts. My 
birth, without giving the least pretension to dis- 
tinction, was that of a gentleman, and connected 
me with several respectable famiUes and accom- 
plished persons. My education had been a good 
one, although I was deprived of its full benefit by 
indifferent health, just at the period when I ought 
to have been most sedulous m improving it. The 
voung men with whom I was brought up, and 
lived most familiarly, were those, who, from op- 
portunities, birth, and talents, might be expected 
to make the greatest advances in the career for 
which we were all destined; and I have the 
pleasure stiU to preserve my youthful intimacy 
with no inconsiderable number of them, whom 
their merit has carried forward to the highest 



' Percy was especially annoyed, according to Boswell, with 



' I put my lint upon my head, 

And w.ilked into the Strand, 
71 



honors of their profession. Kcither was I m a 
situation to be embarrassed by the res atir/uifa 
rfomj, which might htvve otherwise brought painftd 
additional obstructions to a path in which progress 
is proverbially slow. I enjoyed a moderate degree 
of business for my standing, and the friendship of 
more than one person of consideration and in- 
fluence efficiently disj^osed to aid my views in 
life. The private fortune, also, which I might ex- 
pect, and Imally inherited, from my family, diii 
not, indeed, amount to affluence, but placed mc 
considerably beyond all apprehension of want. I 
mention these particiUars merely because they are 
true. Many better men than myself have owed 
their rise from indigence and obsctuity to their 
own talents, which were, doubtless, much inoro 
adequate to the task of raising tht^ than any 
which I possess. But although it ■w'ould be tib- 
surd and ungracious in me to deny, that I owo 
to literatiu"e many marks of distinction to which 
I could not otherwise have aspned, and particu- 
larly that of securing the acquaintance, and even 
the friendship, of many remarkable persons of the 
age, to whom I could not otherwise have made 
my way ; it would, on the other hand, be ridicu- 
lous to affect gratitude to the pubUc favor, either 
for my general j^osition in society, or the means of 
supporting it with decency, matters which liad 
been otherwise secured under the usual chances 
of human affairs. Tims much I have thought it 
necessary to say upon a subject, which i.s, after all, 
of very little consequence to any one but myself. I 
proceed to detail the circumstances wliidi engaged 
me in literary pursuits. 

During the last ten j'ears of the eighteenth 
century, the trrt of poetry was at a remarkably 
low ebb in Britain. Hayley, to whom fa.«liion had 
some years before ascribed a liigher degree of rep- 
utation than posterity has confirmed, had now 
lost his reputation for talent, though he still hved 
beloved and raspected as an amiable and accom- 
plished man. The Bard of Memory slumbered 
on his laurels, and He of Hope had scarce begiiit 
to attract his share of pubhe attention. Cowper, 
a poet of deep feeUng and bright genius, was still 
alive, indeed ; but the hypochondria, which was 
liis mental malady, impeded his popularity. Burns, 
whose genius our southern neighbors could hardly 
yet comprehend, had long confined liimself to 
song-writing. Names which are now known and 
distinguisheil wiierever the English language i'» 
spoken, were then only beginning to be men- 
tioned ; and, unless among the small nmnVjer of 



And there I met another man 
With his hat in his hand." — Ed. 
s See the Introduction to Lockhart's Spanish BalKads, 1?23 
p. xxii. 



562 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



persons who habitually devote a part of their 
leisure to literature, even those of Southey, 
Wordsworth, and Coleridge, were stiU but little 
known. The realms of Parnassus, like many a 
Icinydom at the period, seemed to lie open to the 
first bold invader, whether he should be a daring 
usurper, or could show a legitimate title of sove- 
reignty. 

As fai' back as 1788, a new species of literature 
began to be introduced into this country. 6er- 
mauy, long known as a powerful branch of the Eu- 
ropean confederacy, was then, for the fii'st time, 
heard of as the cradle of a style of poetry and lit- 
erature, of a kiiid much more analogous to that of 
Britain, than either the French, Spanish, or Italian 
schools, though aU three had been at various times 
cultivated and unitated among us. The names of 
Lessuig, Klopstock, Schiller, and other German 
poets of eminence, were only known in Britain very 
imperfectly. " The Sorrows of Werter" was the 
only composition that had attained any degree of 
popularity, and the success of that remarkable 
novel, uotwithstanrling the distinguished genius of 
the author, was retarded by the nature of its inci- 
dents. To the other compositions of Goethe, whose 
talents were destined to illuminate the ag-e in which 
he flourished, the English remamed strangers, and 
niudi more so to Schiller, Biirger, and a whole cy- 
cle of foreigners of distinguished merit. The ob- 
scurity to which German Uterature seemed to be 
condemned, did not arise from want of brilUancy 
in tlie lights by which it was illununated, but from 
the palpable thickness of the darlmcss by which 
they were sm-rounded. Frederick II. of Prussia 
had given a partial and ungi-acious testimony 
against liis native language and native hterature, 
and impohtically and unwisely, as well as unjustly, 
had yielded to the French that superiority in let- 
ters, which, after his deatli, paved the way for 
their obtaining, for a time, an equal superiority in 
arms. That great Prince, by setting the example 
of undervaluing his country in one respect, i-aised 
a belief in its general inferiority, and destroyed the 
manly jiride with which a nation is naturally dis- 
posed to regard its own peculiar manners and pe- 
culiar Uterature. 

Unmoved by the scornful neglect of its sover- 
eigns and nobles, and encouraged by the tide of 
native genius, wliich flowed in upon the nation, 
German literature began to assume a new, inter- 
estijig, and highly impressive character, to which 
it became impossible for strangers to shut their 
eyes. That it exhibited the faults of exaggeration 
and false taste, almost inseparable from the first 
attempts at the heroic and at the pathetic, cannot 
be denied. It was, in a word, the first crop of a 
lich soil, which throws out weeds as well as flow- 
ers with a prohfic abundance 



It was so late as the 21st day of April, 1788, 
th.at the literary persons of Edinburgh, of whom, 
at that period, I am better qualified to speak than 
of those of Britain geuerally, or especially those of 
London, were first made aware of the existence 
of works of genius in a language cognate with the 
Enghsh, and possessed of the same manly force of 
expression. They learned, at the same time, that 
the taste which dictated the German compositiona 
was of a kind as nearly aUied to the Enghsh as 
their language. Tliose who were accustomed from 
their youth to admire Milton and Shakspeare, be- 
came acqu.ainted, I may say for the first time, with 
the existence of a race of poets who had tlie same 
lofty ambition to spurn the flamhig boundaries of the 
universe,' and investigate the realms of chaos and 
old night ; and of dramatists, who, disclaiming the 
pedantry of the unities, sought, at the expense of oc- 
casional improbabilities and extravagancies, to pre- 
sent hfe in its scenes of wildest contrast, and in all 
its boundless variety of chai'acter, mingling, without 
hesitation, Hveher with more serious incidents, and 
exchanging scenes of tragic distress, as they occur 
in common life, with those of a comic tendency. 
This emancipation from the rules so servilely ad- 
hered to by the French school, and particularly by 
their dramatic poets, although it was attended 
with some disad rantages, especially the risk of 
extravagance and bombast, was the means of giv- 
ing free scope to the genius of Goethe, Schiller, 
and others, which, thus relieved from shackles, was 
not long in soai'mg to the highest pitch of poetic 
sublimity. The late venerable Henry Mackenzie, 
author of " The Man of Feehng," m an Essay upon 
the German Tlieatre, introduced his countrymen 
to this new species of national hterature, the pecu- 
harities of whicli he traced with equal truth and 
spirit, although tliey were at that tune known to 
him only througl the imperfect and uncongenial 
medium of a French tr.onslation. Upon the daj 
already mentioned (21st April, 1788), he read to 
the Royal Society an Essay on German Litera- 
ture, which made much noise, aud produced a 
powerful eS'ect. " Germany," he observed, " in her 
htorary aspect, presents herself to observation in 
a singular point of view ; that of a country arrived 
at maturity, along with the neighboring nations, 
in the arts and sciences, in the pleasures and re- 
finements of manners, and yet only in its infancy 
with regard to writings of taste and imagination. 
This last path, however, from these very circum- 
stances, she pm'sues with an enthusiasm wliich no 
other situation could perhaps have produced, the 
enthusiasm wliich novelty insphes, and which the 
serviUty incident to a more cultivated aud critical 
state of literature does . not restrain." At the 

1 " Flammanlia iiioeiiia mundi." — Lucretius. 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



5G3 



eanie time, the accomplished critic showed himself 
equally familiar with tlie classical rules of the 
French stage, ;md failed not to touch upon the ac- 
knowledged advantages which these produced, by 
the encouragement and regulation of taste, though 
at the risk of repressing genius. 

But it was not the di'amatic literature alone of 
the Germans which was liitherto unknown to their 
neighbors — their fictitious narratives, their ballad 
poetry, and other branches of their Uterature, 
which are particularly apt to bear the stamp of 
the extravagant and the supernatural, began to 
occupy the attention of the British Utcrati. 

In Edinburgh, where the remarkable coincidence 
between the German language .and that of the 
Lowland Scottish, encouraged young men to ap- 
proach this newly discovered spring of hterature, 
a class was formed, of six or seven mtimato friends, 
who proposed to make themselves acquainted with 
tlie Germiin language. They were in the habit of 
living much together, and the time they spent in 
this new .study was felt as a period of great amuse- 
ment. One source of this diversion was the lazi- 
ness of one of their number, the present author, 
who, averse to the necessary toil of grammar and 
its rules, was in the practice of fighting his way to 
the knowledge of the German by his acquaintance 
with the Scottish and Anglo-Saxon dialects, and, 
sf course, frequently committed blunders which 
were not lost on his more accurate and more stu- 
chous companions. A more general source of 
amusement, was the despah' of the teacher, on 
finding it impossible to extract from his Scottish 
students the degree of sensibility necessary, as he 
thought, to enjoy the beauties of the author to 
whom he considered it proper first to introduce 
them. "We were desirous to penetrate at once 
into the recesses of the Teutonic literature, and 
therefore were ambitious of perusing Goethd and 
Schiller, and others whose faiue had been sounded 
by Mackenzie. Dr. WilUch (a medical gentleman), 
who was our teacher, was judiciously disposed to 
commence our studies with the more simple dic- 
tion of Gesner, and prescribed to us " The Death 
of Abel," as the production from which our Ger- 
man tasks were to be drawn. The pietistic style 
of this author was ill adapted to attract young 
persons of our age and disposition. We could no 
more sympathize with the overstrained sentimen- 
tality of Adam and liis family, than we could have 
had a fellow-feeling with the jolly Faun of the 
same author, who broke his beautiful jug, and then 
made a song on it which might have affected all 
Staffordshire. To sum up the distresses of Dr. 
Willich, we, with one consent, voted Abel an in- 

1 Alexander Fraser Tvtler, a Judge of the Court of Session 
;y the title of Lord VVoodliousche, antlior of tlie well-known 
* Eltinents of General History " and Ion" eminent as Professor 



sullerable bore, and gave the pre-eminence, in 
point of masculitie character, to his brother Cain, 
or even to Lucifer him.self. Wlieu these jests, 
which arose out of the sickly monotony and affect- 
ed ecstasies of the poet, failed to amuse us, we 
had for our entertainment the unutterable soimds 
manufactured by a Frenchman, our f'cllow-stujent, 
who, with the economical purpose of learnuig two 
languages at once, was endeavoring to acquire 
Germ.an, of which he knew nothing, by means of 
English, concerning wliicli he was nearly as igno- 
rant. Heaven only knows the notes which he ut- 
tered, in attempting, with unpractised orgtxns, tc 
imitate the gutturals of these two uitractable lan- 
guages. At length, in the midst of much laughing 
and little study, most of us acqtured some know- 
ledge, more or less extensive, of the German lan- 
guage, and selected for ourselves, some in the 
philosophy of Kant, some in the more anim.ated 
works of the German dramatists, specimens more 
to our taste than " The Death of Abel." 

About tills period, or a year or two sooner, the 
accomplished and excellent Lord Woodhouselee,' 
one of the friends of my youth, made a spirited 
version of " The Robbers" of SchiUer, which I be 
lieve was the first published, though an English 
version appeared soon afterwards in London, as 
the metropoUs then took the lead in every thing 
Uke Uterary adventure. The enthusiasm with 
which this work was received, greatly increased 
the general taste for German compositions. 

Wliilc universal curiosity was thus distinguish- 
ing the advancing taste for the German language 
and literature, the success of a very young student, 
in a juvenile publication, seemed to show that the 
prevailmg taste in that cotmtry might be easily 
employed as a formidable auxihary to renewing 
the spu'it of our own, upon the same system as 
when medical persons attempt, by the transfusion 
of blood, to pass into the veins of an aged and ex- 
hausted patient, the vivacity of the circidation and 
livehness of sensation which distinguish a yoimg 
subject. Tlie person who first attempted to in- 
troduce something like the German taste into 
English fictitious dramatic and poetical composi- 
tion, although his works, when first published, 
engaged general attention, is now comparatively 
forgotten. I mean Matthew Gregory Lewis, whoSL 
character and literaiy history are so immediately 
connected with the subject of which I am treating, 
that a few authentic particulars may be here in- 
serted by one to whom he was well known." 

Lewis's rank in society was determined by his 
birth, which, at the same time, assured his fortime. 
His father was Under-Secretary at "War, at that 

of History in the Univereity of Edinburgli. He died il 
181U.— Ed. 
* See more of Lewis in tlie Life of Scott, vol. ii. pp. 8-14, 



564 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



time a very lucrative appointment, and the young 
poet was provided with a seat iu Parliament as 
soon as his age permitted him to fill it. But liis 
mind did not inchne him to pohtics, or, if it did, 
they were not of the complexion which his father, 
attached to Mr. Pitt's administration, would have 
approved. He was, moreover, indolent, and though 
possessed of abilities sufficient to conquer any diffi- 
culty which might stand in the way of classical 
attainments, he preferred applying his exertions 
in a path wliere they were rewarded with more 
immediate applause. As he completed his edu- 
cation abroad, he had an opportunity of uidulging 
his inclination for the extraorthnary and supernatu- 
ral, by wandering through the whole enchanted 
land of German faery and diablerie, not forgetting 
the paths of her enthusiastic tragedy and romantic 
poetry. 

We are easily induced to imitate what we ad- 
mire, and Lewis early distinguished liimself by a 
romance m the German taste, called " Tiie Monk." 
In this work, written in his twentieth year, and 
founded on the Eastern apologue of the Santon 
Barsisa, the author introduced supernatural ma- 
cliinery with a courageous consciousness of his own 
power to manage its ponderous strength, which 
commanded the respect of his reader. " The 
Monk" was published in 1795, and, though liable 
to the objections common to the school to which it 
belonged, and to others pecuhar to itself, placed 
its author at once high in the scale of men of let- 
ters. Nor can that be regarded as an ordinary 
exertion of genius, to which Chai'les Fox paid the 
imusual compUment of crossing the House of Com- 
mons that he might congratulate the young author, 
whose work obtained high praise from many other 
able men of that able time. The party wliich ap- 
proved " The Monk" was at first superior in the 
lists, and it was some time before the anonymous 
author of the " Pursuits of Literature" denounced 
as puerile and absurd the supernatural machinery 
wliich Lewis had introduced — 

' ' I bear an English heart, 

Unused at ghosts or rattling bones to start." 

Yet the acute and learned critic betrays some in- 
consistency in praising the magic of the Italian 
poets, and complimenting Mrs. Radclitie for her 
success in sup(!rnatural imagery, for wliich at the 
same moment he thus sternly censures her brother 
novelist. 

A more legitimate topic of condemnation was 
the indelicacy of particular passages. Tlie present 
author will hardly be deemed a willing, or at least 
an interested apologist for an offence equally re- 
pugnant to decency and good breeding. But as 
Lewis at once, and with a good grace, submitted 
to the voice of censure, .ind expunged the objec- 



tionable passages, we cannot help considering the 
manner in which the fault was insisted on, after 
all the amends had been offered of which the case 
could admit, as in the last degree ungenerous and 
uncandid. The pertinacity with whicli the pas- 
sages so much found fault with were dwelt upon, 
seemed to warrant a belief that sometliuig more 
was desired than the correction of the author's 
errors ; and that, where the apologies of extreme 
youth, foreign education, and instant submission, 
were unable to satisfy the critics' fury, they must 
have been determined to act on the severity of 
the old proverb, " Confess and be hanged." Cer 
tain it is, that other persons, offenders in the same 
degree, have been permitted to sue out their par- 
don Avithout either retraction or pahnode.' 

Another peccadillo of the author of " The Monk" 
was his liavkig borrowed from Musieus, and from 
the popular tales of the Germans, the singular and 
striking adventure of the "Bleeding Nun." But 
the bold and free hand with which he traced some 
scenes, as well of natural terror as of that which 
arises from supernatural causes, shows distinctly 
that the plagiarism could not liare been occa- 
sioned by any deficiency of invention on his part, 
though it might take place from wantonness or 
wilfulness. 

In spite of the objections we Iiave stated, " The 
Monk" was so highly jiopiUar, that it seemed to 
create an epoch in our literature. But the public 
were cliiefly captivated by the poetry with which 
Mr. Lewis had iuter.spersed his prose narrative. It 
has now passed fi-om recollection among the changes 
of literary taste ; but many may remember, as well 
as I do, the effect produced by the beautiful bal- 
lad of " Durandarte," wliich had the good fortune 
to be adapted to an air of great sweetness and 
pathos ; by the ghost tale of " Alonzo and Imo- 
gine ;" and by several other pieces of legendary 
poetry, which addressed themselves in all the 
charms of novelty and of simplicity to a pulilic 
who had for a long time been unused to any regale 
of the kmd. In his poetry as well as his prose, 
Mr. Lewis had been a successfid imitator of the 
Germans, both in his attachment to the ancient 
ballad, and m the tone of superstition which they 
willingly mingle with it. New arrangements cf 
the stanza, and a varied construction of verses, 
were also adopted, and welcomed as an additioii 
of a new string to the British harp. In this re- 
spect, the stanza in which " Alonzo the Brave " is 
written, was greatly admired, and received as an 
improvementworthy of adoption into Enghsh poe- 
try. 

In short, Lewis's works were admired, and thi^ 
author became famous, not merely through his own 

1 ^ee Appendix. Note B 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



565 



nuiit, though that was of no mean quality, but 
Ix'C-aiKt' he had in some measure taken tlie piibUc 
Ijy surprise, by using a style of composition, which, 
/iUe :i:itional melodies, is so congenial to the gen- 
eral taste, that, though it palls by being much 
hackneyed, it has only to be for a short time for- 
ftotten in ordei to lecovcr its original popularity. 

It chanced tiiai, Aflule his fame ■\vaa at the 
higliest, Mr. Lewis became almost a yearly visitor 
to Scotland, chiefly from rtttachment to the illus- 
trious family of Argyle. 'I'lie writer of these re- 
marks had the advantage of being made Imown 
to the.most distmguished authof of the day, by a 
lady who belongs by bii'th to that famdy, and is 
equally distinguished by her beauty and accom- 
plishments.' Out of this accidental acquaintance, 
which increased into a sort of intunacy, conse 
queuces arose which altered almost all the Scot- 
tish ballad-maker's future prospects in life. 

In early youth I had been an eager student of 
Ballad Poetry, and the tree is atiU m my recol- 
lection, beneath wliich I lay and first entered upon 
the enchanting perusal of Percy's " Reliques of 
Ancient Poetry,"- although it has long perished in 
the general Wight wliich aft'ected the whole race 
of Oriental platanus to wliich it belonged.' The 
taste of another person had strongly encouraged 
my own researches mto this species of legendary 
lore. But I had never dreamed of an attempt to 
imitate what gave me so much pleasure. 

I had, mdeed, tried the metrical translations 
which were occasionally recommended to ua at the 
High School. I got credit for attempting to do 
what was enjoined, but very little for the mode 
in wliich the task was performed, and I used to 
feel not a Uttle mortified when my versions were 
pUvced in contrast with others of admitted merit. 
At one period of my school-boy days I was so far 
left to my own desires as to become guilty of 
Verses on a Thunder-storm,'' which were much 
approved of, until a malevolent critic sprung up, 
in the shape of an apothecary's blue-buskiued wife, 
who affirmed that my most sweet poetry was 
stolen from an old magazine. I never forgave the 
imputation, and even now I acknowledge some 
resentment against the poor woman's memory. 
'She indeed accused me unjustly, when she said I 
had stolen my brooms ready made ; but as I had, 
Uke most premature poets, copied all the words 
and ideas of which my verses consisted, she was 
so far right. I made one or two faint attempts at 
verse, after I had midergone thia sort of daw- 

1 The Lady Charlotte Bury.— Ed. 

' Sie Life of Scott, vol. i. p. 53. 

s This tree grew in a large garden attached lo a cottage at 
Kelso, the residence of my father's sister, where 1 spent many 



plucking at the hands of the apothecary's wife , 
but some friend or other alwaj's advised me to 
put my verses in the fire, and, like Dorax in Die 
play, I submitted, though " witli a swelling heart.'' 
In short, excepting the usual tribute to a mis- 
tress's eye-brow, which is the language of passion 
rather than ])oetry, I had not for ten years in- 
dulged the wish to couple so much as love and 
doiK, when, finding Lewis m possession of so mi'.cb 
reputation, and conceiving that, if I fell behind 
him in poetical powers, I considerably exceeded 
him in general information, I suddenly took it mto 
my head to attempt the style of poetry by wliich 
he had raised liimself to fame. 

Tills idea was hurried into execution, in conse- 
quence of a temptation which others, as well as 
the author, found it difficult to resist. The cele- 
brated ballad of " Lenore," by Eiirger, was about 
this time introduced into England; and it is re- 
markable, that, written as fiir back as IVVS, it was 
upwards of twenty years before it was known in 
Britain, though calculated to make so strong an 
impression. The wild character of the tale was 
such as struck the imagination of all who read it, 
although the idea of the lady's ride beliind the 
spectre horseman had been long before hit upon 
by an EngMsh ballad-maker. But this pretended 
English original, if in reality it be such, is so dull, 
flat, and prosaic, as to leave the distinguished Ger- 
man author all that is valuable in his story, by 
clothing it with a fanciful wildness of expression, 
wliich serves to set forth the marvellous tale in its 
native terror. The ballad of "Lenor6" accord- 
ingly possessed general attractions for such of the 
English as understood the language in wliich it is 
written ; and, as if there had been a charm in tlie 
ballad, no one seemed to east his eyes upon it 
witliout a desire to make it known by translation 
to his own countrymen, and six or seven versions 
were accordingly presented to the public. Al- 
though the present author was one of those who 
intruded his translation on the world at this time, 
he may fairly exculpate himself from the rashness 
of entering the lists against so many rivals. Tlie 
circumstances which threw him into this competi- 
tion were quite accidental, and of a nature tend- 
ing to show how much the destiny of human life 
depends upon unimportant occurrences, to which 
httle consequence is attached at the moment. 

About the summer of 179.3 or 1794, the cele- 
brated Miss Lffititia Aikin, better known as Mr.H 
Barbauld, paid a visit to Edinburgh, and was re 

of the happiest days of my youth. (1831.) [See Life, vol. I. 
p. 156.— Ed.] 

* See these Verses among the " Miscellanies," whi^-h follow 
this " Essay." where also many other pieces fioni the pen of 
Sir Walter Scott are now for the first titiie included ic an 
edition of his Poetical Works. (1841.) 



566 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ceived by such literary society as tlie place then 
boasted, with the hospitality to which her talents 
and her wortli entitled her. Among others, she 
was kindly welcomed by the late excellent and 
admired Professor Dugald Stewart, his lady, and 
family. It was in their evening society that Miss 
Aikin drew from her pocket-book a version of 
■'Lenor^," executed by AVilliam Taylor, Esq., of 
Norwich, with as much freedom as was consistent 
with great spirit and scrupulous fidehty. She 
read this composition to the company, who were 
electrified by the tale. It was the more success- 
ful, tliat Mr. Taylor had boldly copied the imita- 
tive liarmonj' of the German, and described tlie 
spectral journey in language resembling tliat of 
the original. Biirger had thus jjainted the gliostly 
career : 

*'Und hurre, hurre, hop, hop, hop, 
Gings fort in sauseiidem Galopp, 
Dass Ross untl Reiter schnoben, 
Und Kies untl Funken stoben." 

The words were rendered by the kindred sounds 
in English : 

" Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede 
Splash, splash, across the sea; 
Hurra, the dead can ride apace 1 
Dost fear to ride with me ?" 

When Miss Aikin had finished her recitation, 
she replaced in her pocket-book the paper from 
which she had read it, and enjoyed the satisfaction 
of having made a strong impression on the liear- 
ers, whose bosoms tiirilled yet the deeper, as the 
ballad was not to be more closely introduced to 
them. 

TIio author was not present upon this occasion, 
altliuugh lie liad tlien the distinguished advantage 
of being a familiar frientl and frequent visitor of 
Professor Stewart antl his family. But he was 
absent from town while Miss Aikin was in Edin- 
burgh, and it was not until liis return that he 
fomid all his friends in rapture with the intelli- 
gence and good sense of their visitor, but in par- 
ticular with the wonderful translation from the 
German, by means of which she Iiad deliglited and 
astonished them. The entliusiastio description 
given of Biirger's ballad, and the broken account 
of the story, of which only two hues were recollect- 
ed, inspired tlie author, who had some acquaint- 
ance, as has been said, with the German language, 
and a strong taste for popular poetry, with a de- 
skc to see the original. 

This was not a wish easily gratified; German 
•works were at that time seldom found in London 



1 Bom Countess Harriet Bruhl of Martinskirchen, and ma> 
tied to Hugh Scott. Esq. of Harden, now Lord PoKvarth, the 
avthor's relative, and much \*atned friend almost from infancy. 



for sale — in Edinburgh never. A lady of nobl- 
German descent,' whose friend.ship I have enjoyed 
for many years, found means, however, to procure 
me a copy of Burger's works from Hamburgli. 
The perusal of the original rather exceeded tlian 
disappointed the expectations which the report of 
Mr. Stewart's family had induced me to form. At 
length, when the 'book had been a few hours in 
my posses.sion, I found myself giving an animatetl 
account of the poem to a friend, and rashly addetl 
a promise to furnish a copy in Enghsh ballad 
verse. 

I well recollect that I began my task after sup- 
per, and finished it about daybreak the next 
morning, by which time the ideas wliich the task 
had a tendency to summon up were rather of an 
uncomfortable character. As my object was much 
more to make a good translation of the poem for 
those whom I wished to please, than to acquire 
any poetical fame for myself, I retained in my 
translation the two lines which Mr. Taylor had 
rendered with equal boldness and felicity. 

My attempt succeeded far beyond my expecta- 
tions ; and it may readily be believed, that I was 
induced to persevere in a pursuit which gratified 
my own vanity, while it seemed to amuse others. 
I accomplished a translation of " Der Wilde Jager " 
— a roniautic ballad founded on a superstititin 
universally current in Germany, and known also 
in Scotland and France. In this I took rather 
more license than in versifyuig " Lenore ;" and I 
balladized one or two other poems of Burger with 
more or less success. In the course of a few 
weeks, my own vanity, and the favorable opinion 
of friends, interested by the temporary revival of 
a species of poetry containing a germ of popularity 
of wliich perhaps they were not themselves aware, 
urged me to the decisive step of sending a selec- 
tion, at least, of my translations to the press, to 
save tlie numerous applications which were made 
for copies. When was there an author deaf to 
such a recommendation? In 1196, the present 
author was prevailed on, " by request of friends," 
to indulge his own vanity by publishing the trans- 
lation of " Lenure,"= with that of " The Wild Iluiif s- 
man," in a thin quarto.^ 

The fate of this, my first publication, was liy no 
means flattering. I distributed so many copies 
among my friends as, according to the booksellers, 
materially to interfere with the sale ; and the 
number of translations wliich appeared in England 
about the same time, inchiding that of Mr. Taylor 
to which I had been so much indebted, and wliicl. 
was pubUshed in " The Monthly Magazme," were 



2 Under the title of " William and Helen.'* — Ed. 

3 This thin (ju-irto was published by Messrs. Manners ant- 
Millerof Etiitdiurgh. — Ed. 



ESSAY 01^ IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



507 



Buificient to exclude a provincial -writer from com- 
petition. However different my success might 
have been, had I been fortunate enough to have 
led the vay iii the general scramble for prece- 
den«c, my efforts sunk unnoticed when launched at 
tlie same time with those of Mr. Taylor (upon 
whose property I had committed the kind of pi- 
r;n'y already noticed, and who generously forgave 
me the invasion of his rights ) ; of my ingenious 
and amiable friend of many years, William Robert 
Spenser ; of Jlr. Pye, the lam-eate of the day, aud 
many others besides. In a word, my adventure, 
M'here so many pushed off to sea, proved a dead 
loss, and a great part of the edition was con- 
demned to the service of the trunk-maker. Nay, 
60 complete was the failm-e of the unfortunate 
ballads, that the very existence of them was soon 
forgotten ; and, in a newspaper, in which I very 
lately read, to my no small horror, a most appall- 
ing list of my own various pubUcations, I saw this, 
my first offence, had escaped the mdustrious col- 
lector, for whose indefatigable research I may in 
gratitude wish a better object.* 

The failure of my fii-st pubUcation did not ope- 
rate, in any unpleasant degree, either on my feel- 
ings or spii-its. I was coldly received by strangers, 
but my reputation began rather to increase among 
my own friends, and, on the whole, I was more 
bent to show the world that it had neglected' 
sometliing worth notice, than to be affronted by 
its indifference. Or rather, to sj^eak candidly, I 
found pleasure in the literary labor in which I had, 
almost by accident, become engaged, and labored, 
less in the hope of pleasing others, tliough certain- 
ly without desp;iii' of doing so, than in the pursuit 
of a new aud agreeable amusement to myself I 
pursued the German language keenly, and, though 
far from being a correct scholar, became a bold 
and daring reader, nay, even translator, of various 
dramatic pieces from that tongue." 

The want of books at that time (about 1796), 
was a groat interruption to the rapidity of my 
movements ; for the young do not know, and per- 
haps my own contemporaries may have forgotten, 
the difficulty with which publications were then 
procured from the continent. The worthy and 
excellent friend, of whom I gave a sketch many 
years afterwards in the person of Jonathan Old- 
buck,' procured me Adelung's Dictionary, thi-ongh 
the mediation of Father Pepper, a monk of the 
'Scotch C . Uege of Ratisbon. Other w:mts of the 

1 The 11 ,1 IiLTe referred to was drawn op and inserted in tite 
Caledonian .Mercnrj-, by Mr. James Shaw, for nearly forty 
years past in the house of .'^ir Waiter Scott's publishers, 
Messrs. Constable and Cadell, of Edinburgh. — Ed. (See it in 
Lift of Sciitt. vol. X. pp. 269-276.) 

1 Sir Walter Scott's second publication was a translation of 
Goethe's drama of Goetz of Berlichinizen with the fron Hand, 



same nature were supplied by Mrs. Scott of Har 
'Jen, wliose kindness in a similar instance I have 
!iad already occasion to aclcuowledge. Throngli 
this lady's connections on the continent, I obtaitied 
copies of Biirger, Schiller, Goethe, attd other .stan- 
dard German works ; and though the obhgation be 
of a distant date, it still remains impressed on my 
memory, after a life spent in a constant inter- 
change of friendship and kindness with that family, 
which is, according to Scottish ideas, the head of 
my house. 

Being thus furnished with the necessary origi- 
nals, I began to translate on all sides, certainly 
without any thing like an accurate knowledge of 
the language ; and although the dramas of Goethe, 
ScIiiUer, and others, powerfully attracted one 
whose eai'ly attention to the Germmi had been 
arrested by Mackenzie's Dissertation, and the play 
of " The Robbers," yet the ballad poetry, in which 
I had made a bold essay, was still my favorite. I 
was yet more delighted on finding, that the old 
Enghsh, and especially the Scottish lauguag'e, were 
so nearly similar to the German, not in sound 
merely, but in the turn of phrase, that they were 
capable of being rendered Une for hne, with very 
Uttle variation.'' 

By degrees, I acquired sufficient confidence to 
attempt the imitation of what I admired. The 
ballad called " Glenfinlas'' was, I think, the first 
original poem wliich I ventured to compose. As 
it is supjtosed to be a translation from the Gaelic, 
I considered myself as Hberated from imitatuig 
the antiquated language and rude rhythm of the 
Minstrel ballad. A versification of an Ossianic 
fragment came nearer to the idea I had forinetl of 
my task ; for although controversy may have 
arisen concerning the authenticity of these poems, 
yet I never heard it disputed, by those whom an 
accurate knowledge of the Gaelic rendered com- 
petent judges, that in their spu'it and diction they 
nearly resemble fragments of poetry extant in tljat 
langutige, to the genuine antiquity of which no 
doubt can attach. Indeed, the celebrated dispute 
on that subject is something like the more bloody, 
though scarce fiercer controversy, about the Popisli 
Plot in Charles the Second's time, concerning 
which Dryden has said — 

*' Succeeding times will equal folly call, 
Believing nothiog, or believing all." 

The Celtic people of Erm and Albyn had, in 

which appeared in 1799, He about the same time trans- 
lated several other German plays, which yet remain in MS. — 
Ed. 

3 The late George Constable, Esq. See Introduction to thf 
Antiquary, Waverley Novels, vol. v. p. iv. — Ed. 

< ?ee Appendix, Note C. 



568 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



short, a style of poetry properly called national, 
though JIacPherson was rather an excellent poet 
than a faithful editor and translator. Tliis style 
and fasliion of poetry, existing in a different lan- 
guage, was supposed to give the original of " Glen- 
finlas," and the author was to pass for one who 
had used his best command of Enghsh to do the 
GaeUc model justice. In one point, the incidents 
of the poem were irreconcilable with the costume 
of the times in which they were laid. The ancient 
Highland chieftains, when they had a mind to 
"hunt the dun deer down," did not retreat into 
solitary bothies, or trust the success of the chase 
to their own unassisted exertions, without a single 
gillie to help them; they assembled their clan, 
and all partook of the sport, forming a ring, or en- 
closure, called the Tinchell, and di-iving the prey 
towards the most distinguished persons of the 
hmit. This course would not have suited me, so 
Ronald and Moy were cooped up in their soUtary 
wigwam, like two moorfowl-shooters of the present 
day. 

After " Glenfinlas," I undertook another ballad, 
called " The Eve of St. John." The incidents, ex- 
cept the hints alluded to in the marginal notes, 
ai*e entu-ely imaginary, but the scene was that of 
my early childhood. Some idle persons had of 
late years, during the proprietor's absence, torn 
the iron-grated door of Smailholm Tower from its 
hinges, and thrown it down the rock. I was an 
earnest suitor to my friend and kinsman, Mr. Scott 
of Harden, already mentioned, that the dilapida- 
tion might be put a stop to, and the mischief re- 
paired. This was readily promised, on condition 
that I should make a ballad, of which the scene 
should lie at Smailholm Tower, and among the 
crags where it is situated.' The ballad was ap- 
proved of, as well as its companion " Glenfinlas ;" 
and I remember that they procured me many 
marks of attention and kindness from Duke John 
of Koxburgl'.e, who gave me the unlimited use of 
that celebrated collection of volumes from which 
the Roxburghe Club derives its name. 

Thus I was set up for a poet, like a pedlar who 
has got two ballads to begin the world upon, and 
I hastened to make the round of all my acquaint- 
ances, showing my precious wares, and requesting 
criticism — a boon which no author asks in vain. 
For it maj' be observed, that, in the fine arts, 
those who are in no respect able to produce any 
specimens themselves, hold themselves not the 
less entitled to decide upon the works of others ; 
and, no doubt, with justice to a certain degree ; 



1 This is of little consequence, except in as far as it contra- 
dicts a story which I have seen in print, averring that Mr. 
Bcott of Harden was himself about to destroy this ancient 
liuilding ; than which nothing can be more inaccurate. 



for the merits of composition produced for the ex- 
press purpose of ])leasing tlie world at large, can 
only be judged of by tlie ojMtuon of individuals, 
and perhaps, as m tlie case of Moli^re's old woman, 
the less sophisticated the person consulted so much 
the better.^ But I was ignorant, at the time I 
speak of, that though the applause of the many 
may justly appreciate the general merits of a piece, 
it is not so safe to submit such a performance to 
the more minute criticism of the same individuals, 
when each, in turn, havuig seated himself in the 
censor's chau*, has placed his mind in a critical at- 
titude, and delivers his opinion sententiously and 
ex cathedrd. General applause was in almost 
every case freely tendered, but the abatements m 
the way of proposed alterations and coiTections, 
were cruelly puzzling. It was in vain the young 
author, hstening with becoming modesty, and with 
a natural wish to please, cut and carved, tinkered 
and coopered, ujjon his unfortunate ballads — it wae 
in vain that he placed, displaced, replaced, and 
misplaced; every one of his advisers was displeased 
with the concessions made to his co-assessors, and 
the author was blamed by some one, in almost 
every case, for having made two holes in attempt- 
ing to patch up one. 

At last, after thinking seriously on the subject, 
I wrote out a fan- copy (of Glenfinlas, I tliink), and 
marked all the various corrections which had been 
proposed. On the whole, I found that I had been 
required to alter every verse, almost every Line, 
and the only stanzas of the whole ballad which es- 
caped criticism were two which could neither be 
termed good nor bad, speaking of them as poetry, 
but were of a mere commonplace character, abso- 
lutely necessary for conducting the business of the 
tale. Tliis imexpected result, after about a fort- 
night's anxiety, led me to adopt a rule from which 
I have seldom departed duruig more than thirty 
years of literary life. When a friend, whose judg 
ment I respect, has decided, and upon good ad 
viseraent told me, that a manuscript was worth 
nothing, or at least possessed no redeeming quali 
ties sufficient to atone for its defects, I have gen- 
erally cast it aside ; but I am little in the custom 
of paying attention to minute criticisms, or o( 
offering such to any friend who may do me the 
honor to consult me. I am convinced, that," in 
general, in removing even errors of a trivial or 
venial kmd, the chm-acter of originality is lost, 
which, upon the whole, m.ay be that wliich is most 
valuable in the production. 

About the tmie that I shook hands with criti- 



2 See the account of a conversation between Sir Waltef 
Scott and Sir Thomas Lawrence, in " Cunningham's Jiivcs o 
British Painters," &c. vol. vi. p. 23G.— Ed 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



569 



cism, and reduced my ballads back to the original 
form, stripping them -without remorse of those 
" lendings" which I had adopted at the suggestion 
of others, on opportunity miexpectedly offered of 
introducing to the world what had hitherto been 
confined to a circle of friends. Lewis had ai\- 
nounced a collection, first intended to bear the 
title of " Tales of Terror," and afterwards pub- 
lished under that of " Tales of Wonder." As this 
was to be a collection of tales turning on the pre- 
ternatural, there were risks in the plan of which 
the ingenious editor was not aware. The super- 
natural, though appealing to certain powerful emo- 
tions very widely and deeply sown amongst the 
human race, is, nevertheless, a spring which is pe- 
culiarly apt to lose its elasticity by being too much 
pressed on, and a collection of ghost stories is not 
more likely to be terrible, than a collection of jests 
to be merry or entertaining. But although the 
very title of the proposed work carried in it an 
obstruction to its effect, this was far fi'ora being 
suspected at the time, for the popul.arity of the 
editor, and of his compositions, seemed a warrant 
for his success. The distinguished livvor with 
which the "Castle Spectre" was received upon the 
stage, seemed an additional pledge for the safety 
of his new attempt. I readUy agreed to con- 
tribute the ballads of " Glenfinlas" and of " The 
Eve of Saint John," with one or two others of less 
merit ; and my friend Dr. Leyden became also a 
contributor. Jlr. Southey, a tower of strength, 
added " The Old Woman of Berkeley," " Lord 
William," and several other interesting ballads of 
the same class, to the proposed collection. 

In the mean time, my friend Lewis found it no 
easy matter to <lisciphne his northern recruits. 
He was a martinet, if I may so term him, in the 
accuracy of rhymes and of numbers ; I may add, 
be had a right to be so, for few persons have ex- 
hibited more mastery of rhyme, or greater com- 
mand over the melody of verse. He was, there- 
fore, rigid in exacting similar accuracy from others, 
and as I was quite unaccustomed to the me- 
chanical part of poetry, and used rhymes which 
were merely permissible, as readily as those wliich 
were legitimate, contests often arose amongst us, 
which were exasperated by the pertinacity of my 
Mentor, who, as all who knew him can testify, 
was no granter of propositions. As an instance of 
the obstinacy with which I had so lately adopted 
a tone of defiance to criticism, the reader wiU find 
in the Appendix' a few specimens of the lectures 
whicli I underwent from my friend Lewis, and 
which did not at the time produce any effect on 
my inflexibility, though I did not forget them at a 
future period. 

' See Appendix, Note D. 



The proposed publication of the " Talus of 
Wonder" was, from one reason or another, post- 
poned till tlic year ISOl.a cu-cumstance by which, 
of itself tlie success of the work was considerably 
impeded ; for protracted expectation always leads 
to disappointment. But besides, there were cir- 
cumstances of various kinds which contributec' 
to its depreciation, some of which were imputa- 
ble to the editor, or author, and some to the 
bookseller. 

The former remained insensible of the passion 
for ballads and b-allad-mongers having been for 
some time on the wane, and that with such altera- 
tion in the public taste, the chance of success ia 
that line w.os diminished. Wliat had been at first 
received as simple and natural, was now sneered 
at as puerile and extravagant. Another objec- 
tion was, that my friend Lewis had a high but mis- 
taken opinion of his own powers of hmnor. The 
truth was, that though he could throw some gayety 
iuto his fighter pieces, after the maimer of the 
French wi'itors, his attempts at what is ciUlcd 
pleasantry in EngUsh wholly w.onted the quality 
of humor, ami were generally failures. But this 
he would not allow ; and the " Tales of Wonder'' 
were filled, in a sense, with attempts at comedy, 
which might be generally accounted abortive. 

Another objection, which might have been 
more easily foreseen, subjected the editor to a 
change of wliich Mat Lewis was entirely incapa- 
ble, — that of collusion with his publisher in an 
undue attack on the pockets of the public. The 
" Tales of Wonder" formed a work in royal 
octavo, and were, by large printing, driven out, as 
it is technically termed, to two volumes, which 
were sold at a high price. Purchasers nmrmured 
at finding that this size had been att.iined by the 
insertion of some of the best known pieces of the 
EngMsh language, such as' Dryden's " Theodore 
and Honoria," Parnell's " Hermit," Lisle's " Por- 
senna King of Russia," and many other popular 
poems of old date, and generally known, which 
ought not in conscience to have made part of a 
set of tales, " written and collected" by a modern 
author. His bookseller was also accused in the 
public prints, whether truly or not I am uncer- 
tain, of having attempted to secure to himself 
the entire profits of the large sale wliich he ex- 
pected, by refusing to his brethren the allowan- 
ces usually, if not in all cases, made to the retail 
trade. 

Lewis, one of the most Hberal as well as benev- 
olent of mankind, had not the least participation 
in these proceedings of his bibliopolist ; but his 
work sunk under the obloquy which was heaped 
on it by the offended parties. The book was 
termed " Tales of Plunder," was censured by 
reviewers, and attacked in newspapers and maga^ 



570 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



zines. A very clever parody "was made on the 
style and the person of the author, and the 
world laughed as willingly as if it had never ap- 
plauded. 

Thus, owing to the failure of the vehicle I had 
chosen, my efforts to present myself before the 
public as an original waiter proved as vain as 
those by which I had previously endeavored to 
distinguish myself as a translator. Like Lord 
Home, however, at the battle of Flodden, I did so 
fiiT well, that I was able to stand and save my- 
self ; and amidst the general depreciation of the 
" Tales of "Wonder," my small share of the ob- 
noxious publication was dismissed without much 
censure, and in some cases obtained praise from 
the critics. 

The consequence of my escape made me nat- 
urally more daring, and I attemjjted, in my own 
name, a collection of ballads of various kinds, both 
ancient and modern, to be connected by the com- 
mon tie of relation to the Border districts in 
which I had gathered the materials. The origi- 
nal preface explains my purpose, and the assist- 
ance of various kinds which I mot with. The 
edition was curious, as being the first work prmtod 
by my friend and school-fellow, Mr. James Bal- 
lantyne, who, at that period, was editor of a 
provincial newsp,aper, called "The Kelso Mail." 



T\Tien the book came out, in 1S02, the imprint, 
Kelso, was read with wonder by amateurs of 
typography, who had never heai'd of such a place, 
and were astonished at the example of hand- 
some printing wliich so obscure a town produced. 

As for the editorial part of the task, my at- 
tempt to imitate the plan and style of Bishop 
Percy, observing only more strict fidelity concern- 
ing my originals, was favorably received by the 
public, and there was a demand witliin a short 
space for a second edition, to which I proposed to 
add a tliird volume. Messrs. Cadell and Davies, 
the first publishers of the work, decUned the pub- 
lication of this second edition, which was under- 
taken, at a very liberal price, by the well-known 
firm of Messrs. Longman and Rees of Paternoster 
Row. My progress in the Uterary career, in which 
I might now be considered as seriously engaged, 
the reader wiU find brieily traced in an Introduc- 
tion prefixed to the " Lay of the Last ilinstrel." 

In the mean time, the Editor has accomplished 
liis proposed task of acquainting the reader with 
some particulars respectiug the modern imitations 
of the Ancient BaUad, and the circumstances which 
gradually, and almost insensibly, engaged himself 
in that species of Uterary employment. 

W.S. 

Abbotsfokd, April, 1S30. 



APPENDIX ON IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 



571 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

The production of Modern as Ancient Ballads. — 
P. 558. 
This failure applies to the repairs and rifacimentos of old bal- 
lads, as well as to complete imitations. In the beautiful and 
eimple ballad of Gil Morris, some atfected person has stock in 
one or two factittoas verses, which, like vulgar persons in a 
drawing-room, betray themselves by their over finery. Thus, 
after the simple and affecting verse wliich prepares the readers 
for the coming tragedy, 

** Gil Morrice sat in good green wood, 
He whistled and he sang ; 
' O, what mean a' yon folk coming, 
My motlier tarries lang V '* 

some such " vicious intromitter" as we have described (to use 
a barbarous phrase for a barbarous prooeeding), has inserted 
tl>e following quintessence of affectation : — 

" His locks were like the threads of gold 
Drawn from Minerva's loom ; 
His lips like roses drappihg dew, 
His breath was a' perfume. 

" His brow was like the mountain snow, 
Gilt by the morning beam ; 
His cheeks like living roses blow, 
His een like azure stream. 

*' The boy was clad in robes of green, 
Sweet as the infant spring ; 
And, like the mavis on the bosh, 
He gart the valleys ring." 



Note B. 
M. G. Lewis.— 564. 



In justice to a departed friend, T have subjoined his own 
defence against an accusation so remon^elessly persisted in. 
The following is an extract of a letter to his father :— 

'* My dear Father, Feb. 23, 1793. 

' ' Though certain that the clamor raised against ' The IMonk' 
cannot have given you the smallest doubt of the rectitude of 
my intentions, or the purity of my principles, yet I am con- 
scious that it must have grieved you to find any doubts on the 
subject existing in the minds of other people. To express my 
sorrow for having given yon pain is my motive for now ad- 
dressing you, and also to assure you, that you shall not feel 
that pain a second time on my account. Having made you 
feel it at all, would be a sufficient reason, had I no others, to 
make me regret having published the first edition of ' The 
Monk ;' but I have others, weaker, indeed, than the one men- 
lioned, but still sufficiently strong. I perceive that I have put 
loo much confidence in the accuracy of my own judgment ; 
that convinced of my object being uuexcej- Jonable, I did not 



sufficiently examine whether the means by which I attained 
that object were equally so ; and that, upon many account**, ] 
have to accuse myself of high imprudence. Let me, however, 
observe, that twenty is not the age at which prudence is most 
to be expected. Inexperience prevented my distinguishing 
what would give offence ; but as soon as I found that offence 
was given, I made the only reparation in my power — I care- 
fully revised the work, and expunged every syllable on which 
could be grounded the slightest construction of immorality. 
This, indeed, was no difficult task ; for the objections rested 
entirely on expressions too strong, and words carelessly chosen, 
not on the sentiments, characters, or general tendency of the 
work ; — that the latter is umlescrving' censure, Addison will 
vouch for me. The moral and outline of my story are taken 
from an allegory inserted by him in the ' Guardian,' and which 
he commends highly for ability of invention, and 'propriety 
of object.' Unluckily, in working it up, I thought that the 
stronger my colors, the more effect would my picture produce ; 
and it never struck me, that the exhibition of vice in her tem- 
porary triumph, might possibly do as much Iiarm, as her final 
exposure and punishment could do good. To do much good, 
indeed, was more than I expected of my book ; having always 
believed that our conduct depends on our own hearts and 
characters, not on the books we read, or the sentiments we 
hear. But though I did not hope much benefit to arise from 
the perusal of a trifling romance, written by a youth of tweit 
ty, I was in ray own mind convinced, that no harm could be 
produced by a work whose subject was furnished by one ol 
our best moralists, and in the composition of which, I did not 
introduce a single incident, or a single character, without 
meaning to illustrate eome maxim universally allowed. It was 
then with infinite surprise, tliat I heard the outcry raised 
against the" ******** 
{I regret that the letter, though once perfect, now only ex- 
ists in my possession as a fragment.] 



Note C. 

German Ballads. — P. 567. 

Among the popnlar Ballads, or Volkslieder, of tire celebra- 
ted Herder, is (take one instance out of many) a version of the 
old Scottish song of " Sir Patrick Spence," in which, but for 
difference of oithogi'aphy, the two languages can be scarcely 
distinguished from each other For example— 

" The King sits in Dunfermling town, 
Drinking the blood-red wine ; 

* Where will I get a good skipper 

To sail this ship of mine V " 

*' Der Kcenig sitzt in Dumfermling Schloss : 
Er trinkt blntriithen Wein ; 

* O wo triffich einen Seglergut 

Dies Schiff zn seglen mein V " 

In like manner, the opening stanza of" Child Waters," ana 
many other Scottish ballads, fall as naturally and easily into 



512 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the German habits and forms of speech, as if they had origi- 
oaHr '►een composed in that langaage : 

" About Yule, when the wind was cule, 
And tlie round tables began, 
O there is come to our king's coort 
Mony weel favor'd man." 

" In Christmessfest. in winter kalt, 
Als Tafel rund began, 
Da kain zu Kotiig's Hoffand Hall 
Manch wackrer Rilter an." 

It requires only a smattering of both langnages, to see at 
what cheap expense, even of vocables and rhymes, tlie popu- 
lar poetry of tlie one may be transferred to the other. Hardly 
any thing is more flattering to a Scottish student of German ; 
it resembles the unexpected discovery of an old friend in a 
foreign land. 



Note D. 



EXTItACTS FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF M. O. LEWIS. 
—P. 569. 

My attention was called to tliis subject, which is now of an 
old date, by reading the following passage in Medwin's " Ac- 
count of Some Passages in Lord Byron's later Years." Lord 
Byron is supposed to speak. *' When Walter Scott began to 
write poetry, which was not at a very early age. Monk Lewis 
corrected his verse : he understood little then of the mechani- 
cal part of the art. The Fire King, in the ' Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border,' was almost all Lewis's. One of the ballads 
in that work, and, except some of Leyden's, perhaps one of 
the best, was made from a story picked up in a stage-coach ; 
I mean that of ' Will Jones.' 

* They boil'd Will Jones within the pot, 
And not much fat had Will,' 

" I hope Walter Scott did not write the review on ' Christa- 
bel ;' for he certainly, in common with many of us, is indebted 
to Cult-ridge. But for hira, perhaps, ' The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel' would never have been thought of. Tlie line, 

' Jesu Maria shield thee well !' 

is word for word from Coleridge," 

There are some parts of this passage extremely mistaken 
and exaggerated, as generally attends any attempt to record 
what passes in casual conversation, which resembles, in dilli- 
culty, the experiments of the old cbcinists for fixing quick- 
silver. 

The following is a specimen of my poor friend Lewis's criti- 
cism on my juvenile attemptsat ballad jjoetry ; severe enough, 
perhaps, but for winch I was much indebted to him, as forcing 
upon tlie notice of a young and careless author hints which 
llie said author's vanity made him unwilling to attend to, but 
whicli were absolutely necessary to any hope of liis ultimate 
success. 

Supposed 1799. 

" Tliank you for your revised ' Glenfinlas,' 1 grumble, but 
Eay no more on this subject, altliough I hope you will not be 
eo intlexible on that of your other Ballads ; fori do not despair 
of convincing yoa in time, that a bad rhyme is, in fact, no 
rliyine at all. Yon desired me to point out my ohjt-ctions, 
leading you at libtrty to make use of them, or not; and so 
have at 'Frederic and Alice,' Stanza 1st, * hies^ and ' Jo?/s' 
are not rhymes ; the 1st stanza ends with 'joys;' the 2d be- 
gins with 'joybiff.' [n the 4tli there is too sudden a change 
of tenses, 'flows'" and ' rose' 6th, 7th, and 8th, I like much. 
9th, Does not ' Ting his ears* sound ludicrous in yours 1 The 



first idea that presents itself is, that his ears were puMcd ; hut 
even the ringing oftkeears does not please. 12ih, ^Shoicer' 
and ' roar,' not rhymes. ' Soil' and * aisle,' in the 13tli, ore 
not much better; but 'head' and 'descried* are execrable. 
In the 14lh, ' bar' and ' stair' are ditto ; and 'groping'' is a 
nasty word. Vide Johnson, ' He gropes his bn^tchrs with a 
monarch's air.' In the 15th. you change your metre, which 
has always an unpleasant elTect ; and * safe* and 'receive' 
rhyme just about as well as Scott and Lewis would. 16th, 
'within' and 'strain' are not rhymes. 17tli, ' hrnr' and 
'air,* not rhymes- 18th, Two metres are mixed ; the same 
objection to llie tliird line of tlie 19th. Observe that, in the 
Ballad, I do not always object to a variation of metre; but 
then it ought to increase the melody, whereas, in my opinion, 
in these instances, it is diminished. 

" The Chase. — 13th, The 2d line reads very harslily ; and 

* choir* and ' lore' are not rhymes. 13th, ' Rides' ami • side' 
are not rhymes. 30th, ' Pour' and ' obscure,* nnt rliymes. 
40th, * Spreads' and ' invades' are not rhymes. 46th. ' Uends' 
and ' ascciid* are not rhymes. 

*' William and Helen. — In order that I may bring it 
nearer the original title, pray introduce, in the first stanza, the 
name of EUniorn, instead of Ellen. ' Crusade' anrl 'sped,' 
not rhymes in the 2d. 3d, ' Made' and ' shed' are not rhymes ; 
and if they were, come too close to tlie rhymes in the Sd. In 
the 4th, ^ Joy' and 'victory* are not rhymes. 7th, The first 
line wants a verb, otherwise is not intelligible. 13lh, ' Grace* 
and ' bliss' are not rhymes. 14th, ' Bale' and * hrW are not 
rhymes. 18th, ' Vain' and 'fruitless' is tautology ; and aa 
a verb is wanted, the line will run better thus, 'And vain is 
every prayer.' 19th, Is not ' (o her' absolutely necessary in 
the 4th line 1 20lh, ' Oraec* and ' hUss,* not rhymes. 21st, 

* Bale* and 'hell,' not rhymes. 22d, I do not like the word 
^ spent.' 23d, * O'er' and 'star* are vile rhymes, 26lh, A 
verb is wanted in the 4th line; better thus, 'Then wlib;|iers 
thus a voice.' 28th, Is not ' Is't thou, my love V beiter tlian 
' My love ! my love!' 31st, If ' wight' means, as I conjec- 
ture, 'enchanted,' does not this let the cat out of the hag? 
Ought not the spur to be sharp ratlier than bright ? In the 
4th line, 'Stay' and 'day' jingle together: would it not be 
better, ' I must be gone e'er day V 32d, ' Steed' and ' bed' 
are not rhymes. 34th, * Bride* and 'bed,* not rhymes. 35tl;, 
' Seat' and ' await,* not rhymes. 39th, ' Keep hold' and ' sit 
fast' seem to my ear vulgar and prosaic, 40th, Tlie 4ih line 
is defective in point of English, and, indeed, I do not quite 
understand the meaning. 43d, ' Arose' and ^pursues* are 
not rhymes. 45th, I am not pleased with the epithet 'sav- 
age ;* and the latter part of the stanza is, to me, unintelligible. 
49th, Is it not closer to the original in line 3d to say, ' Swift 
ride the dead V 50tii, Does the rain ' whistle V 55th, line 3d, 
Docs it express, 'Is Helen afraid of them?' 59tli, ' Door' 
and ' fioicvr' do not rhyme together. 60th, * Scared' and 
' /iCflJvi' are not rhymes. 63d, 'Bone' and 'skeleton,' not 
rhymes. 64th, The last line sounds ludicrous ; one fani;ie=i llie 
heroine coming down with a plump, and sprawling upo^ her 
bottom. I have now finished my severe examination, nud 
pointed out every objection which I tldidt cin be suggested." 

6tk January, 1799. 

•■ Wkllwyn.— 99. 
" Dear Scott, 

" Your last Ballad reached me just as I was stcjiping into 
my chaise to go to Brocket Hall (Lord Melbourne's), so I took 
it with me, and e.thibited both that and Olcvjin.'as with 
great success, I must not, however, conceal from you, that 
nobody understood the I^ady Flora of Glengyle to be a dis- 
guised demon till the catastrophe arrived ; and that the opiu- 
on was universal, that some i)revious stanza? ougiit to be in- 
troduced descriptive of the nature and oflice of the 7cayward 
Ladies of the Wood. William Lambe.^ too (who writes good 

1 Xow Lord Melbourne,— Ed. 



APPENDIX ON IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 



673 



verses himself, and, therefore, may be allowed to judge those 
of other people), was decidedly for the omission of the last 
fctunza but one. These were the ODiy objections started. I 
Ihought it as well that yoii should know them, whether you 
Hlioiiil to them ornot. VVitli regard to St. Johji's Eve, Hike 
it much, and, instead of finding fault with its broken metre, I 
;i|iprove of it highly. I think, in this last ballad, you have 
Lit off the ancient manner better than in your former ones. 
IJlfiitinlas, for example, is more like a polislied tale, than an 
old iiallad. But why, inverse 6th, is the Baron's helmet 
hacked and hewed, if (as we are given to nnderstand) he had 
iLssassinated his enemy 1 Ouglit not tore to be torn ? Tore 
sfems to me not English. In verse 16lh, the last line is word 
t"(»r word from Oil Morricc. 21st, ' Floor' and ' bower' are 
not rhymes," k.c. &c. &c. 

The gentleman noticed in the following letter, as partaker in 
the autlior's heresies respecting rhyme, had the less occasion 
to justify such license, as his own have been singularly aeeu- 
rite. Mr. Smythe is now Professor of Modern History at Cam- 
bridge. 

"London, January 24, 1799. 
" [ mnst not omit telling you, for your own comfort, and 
that of all such persons as are wicked enough to make bad 
rhymes, that Mr. Smythe (a very clever man at Cambridge) 
tuok great pains the other day to convince me. not merely that 
a bad rhyme might pass, but that occasionally a bad rhyme 
was better than a good one !!!!!! I need not tell you that 
lie left me as great an infidel on this subject as he found me. 
" Ever yours, 

*'M. G. Lewis." 

The next letter respects the Ballad called the " Fire King," 
stated by Captain Medwin to be almost all Lewis's. This is 
an entire misconception. Lewis, who was very fond of his 
idea of four elementary kings, had prevailed on me to supply 
a Fire King. After being repeatedly urged to tlie task, 1 sat 
down one day after dinner, and wrote the " Fire King," as it 
was published in the "Tales of Wonder." The next extract 
gives an account of the manner in which Lewis received it, 
which was not very favorable ; but instead of writing the greater 
part, he did not write a single word of it. Dr. Leyden, now 
no more, and another gentleman who still survives, were sit- 
ting at my side while I wrote it ; nor did my occupation pre- 
vent the circulation of the bottle. 

Leyden wrote a Ballad for the Clood King, which is men- 
'joued in the enduing extract. But it did not answer Mat's 



ideas, either in the color of the wings, or some point of costume 
p(|ually important; so Lewis, who was otherwise fond of the 
Ballail, converted it into the Elfin King, and wrote a Cloud 
King himsL-lf, to finish the hierarchy in the way desired. 

There is a leading mistake in the passage from Captain Med- 
win. "Tlie Minstrelsy of the Border" is spoken of, but what 
is meant is the " Tales of Wonder." The former work con- 
tains none of the Ballads mentioned by Mr. Medwin — the lat- 
ter lias Ihem all. Indeed, the dynasty of Elemental Kings 
were written entirely for Mr. Lewis's publication. 

My intimate friend, William Clerk, Esq., was the person who 
heard the legend of Bill Jones told in a mail-coach by a sea 
cai)tain, who imagined liimself to have seen the ghost to which 
it relates. The tale was versified by Lewis himsflf. I forget 
where it was published, but certainly in no miscellany or publi- 
cation of mine. 

I have only to aild, in allosion to the passage I have quoted, 
that I never wrote a word parodying either Mr. Coleridge or 
any one else, wliich, in that distinguished instance, it would 
have been most ungracious in me to have done ; for which the 
reader will see reasons in the Introduction to ''The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel." 

"London, 3d February, 1800. 
"DE.4.R Scott, ^ 

" I return you many thanks for your Ballad, and the Ex- 
tract, and I shall be very much obliged to your friend for the 
' Cloud King.' I must, however, make one criticii-m upon the 
Stanzas which you sent me. The Spirit, being a wicked one, 
must not have such delicate wings as pale blue ones. He has 
nothing to do with Heaven except to deface it with storms; 
and therefore, in ' The Monk,' I have fitted liim with a pair of 
sable pinions, to which I must request your friend to adapt his 
Stanza. With the others I am much pleased, as I am with 
your Fh'e King ; but every body makes the same objection to 
it, and expresses a wish that you had conformed your Sjiirit to 
the description given of him in ' The Monk,' where his office 
is to jilay the Will o' the Wisp, and lead travellers into bogs, 
S:c. It is also objected to, his being removed from his native 
land, Denmark, to Palestine ; and tliat the office assigned to 
him in yonr Ballad has nothing peculiar to the ' Fire King,' 
but would have suited Arimanes, Beelzebub, or any other 
evil spirit, as well. However, the Ballad itself I think very 
pretty. I suppose you have heard from Bell respectii^ the 
copies of the Ballads. I was too much distressed at the tima 
to write myself," &c. &c. 

"M. G. L" 



574 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CONTRIBUTIONS 



MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. 



Imitations of tl)c QVncicnt Sallab. 



Sfljomas tijc llljgmcr. 



IN THREE PARTS. 



PAET FIKST. ANCIENT. 



Few personages are so renowned in tradition as 
Tliomas of ErcUdoune, known by the appellation of 
The Rhymer. XJnitiDg, or supposing to unite, in 
his person, the powers of poetical composition, and 
of vaticination, his memory, even after tlie lapse of 
five Inindred years, is regarded witli veneration by 
his countrymen. To give any thing like a certain 
liistory of this remarkable man would be indeed 
difScult ; but the curious ma}' derive some satis- 
fvction from the particulars here brought together. 

It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, and 
probably the birthplace, of this ancient bard, was 
Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, 
two miles above its junction with the Tweed. 
Tlie ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out 
as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform traditiou 
bears, that his surname was Lermont, or Learmont ; 
and that the appellation of The lihi/mcr was con- 
fen*ed on him in consequence of liis poetical com- 
positions, There remains, nevertheless, some doubt 
upon the subject. In a charter, which is subjoined 
at length,' the son of our poet designed himself 
" Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of Thomas 
Rymonr of Ercildomi," which seems to imply that 
the father did not bear the hereditary name of 
Learmont ; or, at least, was better known and dis- 
tinguished by the epithet, which he had acquired 
by liis personal accomplishments. I must, how- 
ever, remark, th.at, down to a very late period, the 

^ See .\ppendix. Note A. 

5 The lines alluded to are these : — 



practice of distinguishing the parties, even in for 
mal writings, by the epithets which had been be- 
stowed ou them from personal circumstances, in- 
stead of the proper surnames of their famiUes, was 
common, and indeed necessary, among the Bonier 
clans. So early as the end of the thirteenth cen- 
tury, when surnames were hardly introduced in 
Scotland, this custom must have been imivcrsal. 
There is, therefore, nothing inconsistent in suppos- 
ing oiu: poet's name to have been actually Lear- 
mont, although, in tliis charter, lie is distinguished 
by the popular apjiellation of 7'he Ehtjincr. 

We are better able to ascertain the period at 
which Thomas of Ercildoune lived, being- the latter 
end of the thirteenth century. I am incUued to 
place his death a httle farther back than Mr. Pink- 
erton, who supposes that he was aUve in 1.300 
(List of Scottish Poets), wliich is hardly, I think, 
consistent with the charter already quoted, by 
which his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, 
conveys to the convent of the Ti-inity of Soltra, 
the tenement which he possessed by inlieritance 
{hcreditaric) in Ercildoune, with all claim whicli he 
or his predecessors could protend thereto. From 
this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead, 
since we find the son disposing of the family proj)- 
erty. Still, however, the argument of the learuiMl 
historian will remain unimpeached as to the tiriic 
of the poet's birth. For if, as we learn from Ra;-- 
bour, liis prophecies were held in reputation- as 
early as 1306, when Bruce slew the Red Cumuiin. 
the sanctity, and (let me add to Mr. Pinkerfou's 
words) the uncertainty of antiquity, must liavc 
ah'eady involved his character and writings. In 
a charter of Peter de Haga de Bemersyde, wliich 
unfortunately wants a date, the Rhymer, a neai 

" I hope that Thomas's prophecie, 
Of Erf^fldoun, ehall truly be. 
In Iiiin," Sic 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



neighbor, and, if we may tiust tradition, a friend 
of tlie family, appears as a witness. — Ckartulary 
of Melrose. 

It cannot be doubted, that Thomas of ErcU- 
doune was a remarkable and important person in 
his own time, since, very shortly after his death, 
we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. 
Whether be Imnself made any pretensions to the 
first of these ch;iracters, or whether it was gra- 
tuitously conferred upon Iiim by the credulity of 
posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may 
believe Mackenzie, Learmoiit only versified the 
prophecies dehvered by Eliza, an inspired nun of 
a convent at Haddington. But of this there seems 
not to be the most distant proof. On the contra- 
ry, all ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer's 
prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been 
emitted by himself Thus, in Winton's Chronicle — 

"Of tilts fyclit quilum spak Tlioraas 
OfErsyldoune, tiiat saytl in derne, 
There sultj meit stalwartly, starke and Sterne. 
He sayd it in Iiis prophecy ; 
But how he wist it was/tr/y." 

Book viii. cliap. 32. 

There could have been no fcrly (marve!) in 
Winton's eyes at least, how Thomas came by his 
knowledge of futm-e events, had he ever heard of 
the inspired nun of Haddington, wliicli, it cannot 
be doubted, would have been a .solution of the 
mysterj', much to the taste of the Prior of Loch- 
leven.' 

Whatever doubts, however, the learned might 
have, as to the source of the Rhymer's prophetic 
skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the 
whole to the intercom-se between the bard and 
the Queen of Faery. The popular tale bears, that 
Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the 
Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, 
which made huu afterwards so ftmious. After 
seven years' residence, he was permitted to return 
to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his country- 
men by his prophetic powers ; still, however, re- 
maining bound to retm-n to his royal mistress, 
when she should intim.Tte her pleasure.^ Accord- 
ingly, wliile Thomas was making merry with his 

1 Henry the Minstrel, wlio introdoces Thomas into the his- 
tory of Wallace, e.xpre=ses the same douht as to the source of 
nis prophrtic knowledge : — 

" Thomas Rhymer into the faile was than 
With the minister, which was a worthy man. 
He used oft to that religious place ; 
The people deemed of wit lie meikle can, 
And so he told, though that they hless or ban, 
In rule of war whether they tint or wan ; 



friends in the Tower of Ercildouno, a person came 
running in, and told, with marks of fear and aston- 
ishment, that a liart and hind had left the neigh- 
bormg forest, and were, composedly and slowly, 
parading the street of the village.^ The prophet 
instantly arose, left liis habitation, and followed 
the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he 
was never seen to return. Accorduig to the pop- 
iilar beUef, ho still " drees his weu'd" in Fairy 
Land, and is one day expected to revisit earth 
In the me.an while, his memory is held in the most 
profound respect. The Eihlon Tree, from beneath 
the shade of which he delivered liis prophecies, 
now no longer exists ; but the spot is marked by 
a large stone, called Eildon Tree Stone. A neigh- 
boring rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Burn 
(Goblin Brook) from the Rhymer's supernatural vis- 
itants. The veneration paid to his dwelling-place 
even attached itself in some degree to a person, 
who, within the memory of man, chose to set up 
Ills residence in the ruins of Learmont's tower. 
The name of this man was Muiray, a kind of 
herbalist ; who, by dint of some Imowledge in sim- 
ples, the possession of a musical clock, an electrical 
machine, and a stuffed alligator, added to a sup- 
posed communication with Thomas the Rhymer, 
lived for many years in very good credit as a 
wizard. 

It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to dis- 
miss a person so important in Border tradition as 
the Rhymer, without some farther notice than a 
simple commentary upon the following ballad. It 
is given from a copy, obtained from a lady resitUng 
not far fi-om ErcUdoune, corrected and enlarged 
by one in Mrs. Brown's MSS. The former copy, 
however, as might be expected, is far more minute 
as to local description. To this old tale the Editor 
has ventured to add a Second Part, consistitig of a 
kind of cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly 
ascribed to the Rhymer; and a Tliiril Part, en- 
tirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his 
h.iviug returned with the hart and hind, to tin; 
Land of Faery. To make his peace with ihe 
more severe antiquaries, the Editor has prefixed 
to the Second Part some remarks on Learmont's 
prophecies. 

Which happened sooth in many divers case " 

I cannot say by wrong or righteousness. 

It may be deemed by division of grace," &c. 

History of Wallace, Book ii. 

3 See tlie Dissertation on Fairies, prefixed to Tamlane, Bor- 
der Jifinstrelsij, vol. ii. p. 254. 

3 There is a singular resemblance betwixt this tradition, and 
an incident occurring in the life of Merlin Caledonius, whicb 
the reader will find a few pages onwards. 



576 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(Sljomas tl)c Uljwmer. 



P AET FIKST. 



True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ;' 

A i'erlie he spied wi' his ee ; 
And there he sa"w a ladye bright, 

Come ridiug down by the Eildon Tree. 

Her sliirt was o' the grass-green silk, 

Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 
At ilka tett of her horse's mane, 

Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Tliomas, he pull'd aff liis cap. 
And luuted low down to his knee, 

" All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see." — 

*' no, no, Thomas," she said, 

" That name does not belang to me ; 

1 am but the Queen of fair Elfland, 
That am liither come to visit thee. 

"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; 

'* Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 

Sure of your bodie I will be." — 

" Betide me weal, betide me woe. 

That weird sliall never daunton me." — ' 

Syne he has kiss'd lier rosj' lips," 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 

" Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; 

" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 
And ye maun serve me seven years. 

Through weal or woe as may chance to be." 

She mounted on her milli-white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind ; 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung. 

The steed flew swifter than the wind, 

they rade on, and farther on ; 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 
Until tliey reach'd a desert wide. 

And living laud was left beliind. 

" Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ; 

- Iluiitly Bank, and Uie adjoining ravine, called, from imme- 
aiorial tradition, the Rymcr^s Qtcn, were nltimately included 
in the domain of Abbotsford. The scenery oC this glen forms 
the background of Edwin Laudseer's portrait of Sir Walter 
Ucott. painted in 1833.— Ed, 

* TUaL weirdf Sfc. — Thai destiny shall never frighten me. 



Abide and rest a little space. 

And I wiU shew you ferlies three. 

" see ye not yon narrow road, 

So thick beset with thorns and briers ? 

That is the path of righteousness, 
Though after it but few enquu-es. 

" And see ye not that braid braid road. 

That lies across that hly leven ? 
That is the path of wickedness. 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

" And see not ye that bonny road. 
That winds about the fernie brae ? 

That is the road to fair Elfland, 

Where thou and I this night maun gae. 

" But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue. 

Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if ye speak word in ELflyu land, 

Ye"U ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 

they rade on, and farther on. 

And they waded tltro' rivers aboon the Iniee 
And they saw neither sun nor moon. 
But they heard the roaring of tlie sea. 

It was mirk mirk uiglit, and there was nae stern 
light. 

And they waded thro' red blude to the knee ; 
For a' the blude that's shed on earth 

Rins tliro" the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green. 
And slie pu'd an apple frae a tree — ' 

" Take this for thy wiiges, true Thomas ; 

It will give thee the tongue that Ciia never 
He."— 

" My tongue is mine ain," True Thomaj .ia.'d ; 
" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me I 

1 neither dought to buy nor sell. 

At fair or tryst where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer^ 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — 

"Now hold thy peace !" the lady said, 
" For as I say, so must it be."— 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past. 
True Thomas on earth wa^ never seen * 

3 The traditional commentary upon this ballad ii>fomis us, 
that the apple was the produce of the fatal Tree of Know ledge, 
and that the gar.len was the terrestrial paradise. The repug- 
nance of Thomas to be debarred the use of falsehood when be 
might find it convenient, has a comic effect. 

* See Appendix, Note B. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



677 



i!ll)oinas tijc llljsincr. 



PART SECOND. 



ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PEOrHECIES. 

TiiE prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Ercil- 
iluuiie, h.ive been the principal meatis of securing 
to him reraembrimce "amongst the sons of his 
people." The author of Sir Trislrem would long 
ago liave joined, in the vale of oblivion, " Clerlv of 
Tranent, who wrote the adventure of Schir Ga- 
Kctui," if, by good hap, the same euiTent of ideas 
respecting antiquity, which causes Virgil to be 
regarded as a magician by the Lazzaroni of Na- 
ples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoune to the 
proplietic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself 
affected it during liis life. "We know, at least, for 
certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge 
wa« current soon nfter his death. His jjrophccies 
are alluded to by Barbour, by Winton, and by 
Henry the Minstrel, or Blind Harrn, as he is usu- 
ally termed. None of these authors, however, give 
the words of any of the Rhymer's vaticinations, 
but merely narrate, historically, his having pre- 
dicted the events of wliich they speak. The ear- 
liest of the prophecies ascribed to him, which is 
now extant, is quoted by Mr. Pinkerton from a 
MS. It is supposed to be a response from Thomas 
of Ercildoune to a question from the heroic Count- 
ess of March, renowned for tlie defence of the 
Castle of Dunbar against the English, and termed, 
in tlie familiar dialect of lier time. Black Agnes of 
Dunbar. This prophecy is remarkable, in so far 
as it bears very httle resemblance to any verses 
published in t)ie printed copy of the Rliymer's 
supposed prophecies. The verses are as follows ; — 

" /.a Countesse de Donbar demande a Thomas dc Essc- 
diiitne quant ca guerre d' Escoce prendreit fyn. Eyl t'a 
rrpDundy ct dtjt. 

When man is mad a liyng of a capped man ; 

WJien man is levere other mones thyng tlian his owcn ; 

VVlien loiule liiouys forest, ant forest is felde ; 

When hares lien<lle8 o' tlie her'stane ; 

When Wyl and WiUe werres togedere; 

When mon malies stables of tiyrlies, and steles castels with 
stye ; 

When Roltesboroughe nj-s no burgh ant market is at Forwy- 
leye ; 

When Bambourne is donged with dede men ; 

When men ledes men in ropes to buyen and to sellen ; 

When a quarter of whaty whete is cbaunged for a colt of ten 
markcs ; 

When prude (pride) prikes and pees is leyd in prisonn ; 

When a Seot ne me hym hnde ase hare in forme that the En- 
glish ne shall hym fynde ; 

Wlien r_v<:lit ant wronge astente the togedere ; 

When l;idiles weddetli lovcdies ; 

Wtien Scoltes flen so faste, that, for faute of ahep, hy drown- 
eth hemselve ; 

When slial this be ? 

Noutlier ia tlnne tyme ne in mine ; 
73 



Ah comen ant gone '• 

Wilhinne twenty winter ant one.** 

riNKKRTON's Ptffm.«, /rom Maitland's MSS. quoting 
from Hurl. Lib. 2253, F. 127. 

As I liave never seen the MS. from which Mr. 
Pinkerton makes tliis extract, and as the date of 
it is fixed by liim (certainly one of the most able 
antiquaries of our age) to the reign of Edward I. 
or II., it is with great diffidence that I hazard a 
contr.ary opinion. There c;ui, however, I lelif ■ 3,- 
be little doubt, that these prophetic verses are - 
forgery, and not tlio production of om- Thomas the 
Rhymer. But I am inclined to believe them of a 
later date than the reign of Edward I. or II. 

The gallant defence of the castle of Dunbar, by 
Black Agnes, took place in the year 1337. The 
Rhymer died previous to the year 1299 (see the 
charter, by hi.s son, in tlie Appendix). It seems, 
tliercfore, very improbable, that the Countess of 
Dunbar could ever have an opportunity of consult- 
ing Thomas the Rliymer, since that would infer 
that she was married, or .at least engaged in state 
matters, previous to 1299 ; whereas she ia de- 
scribed as a yoinig, or a middle-aged woman, at 
the period of her being besieged in the fortress, 
which she so well defended. If the editor miglit 
indulge a conjecture, he would suppose, that the 
prophecy was contrived for the encouragement of 
the English invaders, during the Scottish wars ; 
and that the names of the Countess of Dunbar, 
and of Thomas of Ercildoune, were used for the 
greater credit of the forgery. According to tliis 
hypothesis, it seems likely to have been composed 
after the siege of Dunbar, wliich had made the 
name of the Countess well known, and consequently 
in the reign of Edward III. The whole tendency 
of the propliecy is to aver, that there shall be no 
end of the Scottish war (concerning which tlie 
question was proposed), till a final conquest of tlie 
country by England, attended by all tlie usual se- 
verities of war. " When the cultivated country 
sliall bectime forest," says the prophecy ; — " wlien 
the wild animals shall inhabit the abode of men ; — ■ 
when Scots shall not be able to escape the EngUsli, 
should they crouch as hares hi their form" — all 
these denunciations seem to refer to the time of 
Edward III., upon whose victories the prediction 
was probably founded. The mention of the i:x- 
change botivixt a colt worth ten marks, and a 
quarter of " wh.aty [indifferent] wheat," seems to 
allude to the drcadfid famine, about the year 1388. 
Tlie independence of Scotland was, liowevei, cis 
impregnable to the mines of superstition, as to the 
steel of our more powerful and more wealthy neigh- 
bors. Tlie war of Scotland is, thank God, at an 
end ; but it is ended without her people h.aving 
either crouclied like hares in their form, or beuij; 
drowned in their flight, " for faute of ships," — thank 



57! 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I! ml for that too, — The prophecy, quoted in the 
procrtlmg page, is probably of the same date, and 
iutfuded for the same pm-pose. 

A minute search of the records of the time 
would, probably, throw additional light upon the 
^llusions contained in these ancient legends. 
Among various rhymes of prophetic import, "wliich 
ire at this day cm'rent amongst the people of 
Teviotdale, is one, supposed to be pronounced by 
Thomas the Rhymer, presaging the destruction of 
his habitation and femily : 

" The hare sail kittle [litter] on mr hearth stane, 
And there will never be a Lairil Learmont again." 

The first of these lines is obviously borrowed from 
that in the MS. of the Harl Library. — "When 
hares kendles o' the her'stane" — an emphatic im- 
age of desolation. It is also inaccurately quoted 
in the prophecy of Waldhave, published by Andio 
Hart, 1613 : 

" Tiiis is a true talking that Thomas of tells. 
The hare shall liirple on the hard [hearth] plane." 

Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous historian, 
seems to have been a firm believer in the authen- 
ticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the name 
of Thomas of Ercildoune. "The prophecies, yet 
extant in Scottish rhymes, whereupon he was com 
monly called I'homas the Rhymer, may justly be 
admired ; having foretold,- so many ages before the 
i:tiion of England and Scotland in the ninth degree 
of the Bruce's blood, with the succession of Bruce 
himself to the crown, being yet a child, and other 
divers particulars, which the event hath ratified 
and made good. Boethius, in his story, relateth 
his prediction of King Alexander's death, and that 
he did foretel the same to the Earl of March, the 
day before it fell out; saying, 'That before the 
next day at noon, such a tempest should blow, as 
Scotland had not felt for many years before.' The 
next morning, the day being clear, and no change 
appearing in the air, the nobleman did challenge 
Thomas of liis saying, caUing him an impostor. He 
replied, that noon was not yet passed. About 
which time a post came to advertise the eSrl of 
the king his sudden death. ' Then,' said Thomas, 
'this is the tempest I foretold; and so it shall 
prove to Scotland.' Wlience, or how, he had this 
knowledge, caii hardly be affirmed ; but sure it is, 
that he did divine and answer truly of many things 
to come." — SroTTiswooDE, p. 47. Besides that no- 
table voucher, Master Hector Boece, the good 
archbishop might, had he been so minded, have 
refen'ed to Fordun for the propliecy of King Ale.x- 
iiiider's death. That historian cjills our bard " r«- 
ralis ille vatcs." — Fordun, lib. x. tap. 40. 

Wliat Spottiswoode calls "the prophecies ex- 
iiitit in Scottish rhyme," are the metrical produc- 



tions ascribed to the seer of Ercildoune, wliich, 
witlt many other compositions of the same nature, 
bearing the names of Bede Merlin, Gildas, and 
other approved sooths.iyers, are contained in one 
small volume, published by Andro Hart, at Edin- 
burgh, 1615. Nisbet the herald (who claims the 
prophet of Ercildoune as a brother-professor of his 
art, founding upon the various allegorical and em- 
blematical allusions to heraklry) intimates the ex- 
istence of some eiu'her copy of his prophecies than 
that of Andro Hart, which, however, be does not 
pretend to have seen.' The late excellent Lord 
Hailes made these compositions the subject of a 
dissertation, published in his Remarks on the His- 
tory of Seotland, His attention is chiefly directed 
to the celebrated prophecy of our bard, mentioned 
by Bishop Spottiswoode, bearing that the crowns 
of England and Scotland should be united in the 
person of a King, sou of a French Queen, and re- 
lated to the Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord 
Hailes plainly proves, that this prophecy is per- 
verted from its original purpose, in order to apply 
it to the succession of James VL The groundwork 
of the forgery is to be found in the prophecies of 
Berlington, contained in the same collection, and 
runs thus : 



' Of Bruce's left side shall spring out a leafe, 
As neere as the nintii degree ; 
And shall be fleenied of faire Scotland, 
In France Carre beyond the sea. 
And then shall come again ryding. 
With eyes that many men may see. 
At Aberladie he shall light, 
With hempen helteres and horse of tre. 



However it happen for to fall. 

The lyon shall he lord of all; 

The French Ciuen shall bearre the sonne. 

Shall rule all Britainne to the sea ; 

Ane from the Bruce's blood shal come also, 

As necr as the ninth degree. 

Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea, 
A keene man of courage and bold man of armes ; 
A duke's son dowbled [i. c. dubbed], a born man in France 
That shall our mirths augment, and meiui all our harmes ; 
Alter the date ofour Lord 1513, and thrice three thereafter: 
AVhich shall brooke all the broad isle to himself. 
Between thirteen and thrice three the tbrei]) shall be ended, 
The Sa.\ons shall never recover after." 

Tliere cannot be any doubt that this prophecy 
was intended to excite the confidence of the Scot- 
tish nation in the Duke of Albany, regent of Scot- 
land, who arrived from France in 15 IS, two years 
after the death of James IV. in the fatal field of 
Flodden. The Regent was descended of Bruce by 
the left, i. e. by the female side, within the ninth 
degree. His mother was daughter of the Earl of 
Boulogne, his father banished from his country— 

I See Appendix, Note C. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



ilQ 



" fleemit of fiiir Scothmd." His arrival must ne- 
cessarily be by sea, and Ills landing was expected 
at Aberlady, in tlie Frith of Forth. He was a 
duke's son, dubbed knight ; and nine years, from 
1513, are allowed him by the pretended prophet 
for the iicconiiilishment of tlie salvation of liis coun- 
try, and the e.xaltation of Scotland over lier sister 
and rival. All this was a pious fraud, to excite 
the confidence and spirit of the country. 

The prophecy, put in the name of our Thomas 
the Elivnier, as it stands in Hart's book, refers to 
a later period. The narrator meets tlie Rhymer 
npo7i a land beside a ler, wlio shows liim many em- 
blematical visions, described in no mean strain of 
poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flod- 
den and Pinkie, to the national distress which 
followed these defeats, and to future haIc3'on days, 
wliich are promised to Scotland. One quotation 
or two will be sufficient to establisli this full}- : — 

" Our Scoltisli King sal come fnl keene. 
The red lyoil bearelh he ; 
A ftMiilert'd arrow sharj), I ween, 
Shall make him winkp and warre to see. 
Oul of the field he shall he led, 
When he is bludie and woe for blood ; 
Vet to his men shall he say, 
' For God's love turn you a^aine. 
And give yon sntherne folk a frey 1 
Why should I lose, the right is mine? 
My date is not to die this day.' " 

'Who can doubt, for a moment, that this refers 
to the b.T.ttle of Flodden, and to the popular re- 
ports concerning the doubtful fate of James IV. ? 
Allusion is immediately afterwards made to the 
death of George Douglas, heir apparent of Angus, 
who fought and fell with his sovereign : — 

" The stemes three that day shall die. 
That hears the harte in silver sheen." 

The well-known arms of the Douglas family are 
the heart and three sttxrs. In another place, the 
battle of Pinlde is expressly mentioned by name : — 

" At Pinken Clueh there"shall he spilt 
Much gentle blood that day ; 
There shall the hear lose the guilt. 
And theeagill hear it away." 

To the end of all this allegorical and mystical 
rliapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by 
Andro Hart, a new edition of Beilington's verses, 
before quoted, altered and manufactured, so as to 
bear reference to the accession of James VI., which 
had just then taken place. The insertion is made 
with a peculiar degree of awkwardness, betwixt a 
question, put by the naj'rator, concerning the name 
and abode of the person who showed him tliese 
strange matters, and the answer of the prophet to 
that question :~ 

" Then to the Beirne coold I say. 

Where dwells tliou. or in what coQOtrie 1 
[Or who shall rule the isle of Britane, 



From the north w the sooth sey ? 

A French queene shall bear the sonne, 

Shall rule all Hritaine to the sea ; 

Which of the Bruce's blood shall come. 

As neere as the nint degree ; 

I frained fast what was his name, 

Where tliat lie came, from what country.] 

In Erslingtoun I dwell at hame, 

Tiiomas Rymour men cals me." 

There is surely no one, who will not conclude, 
with Lord Hailes, that the eight lines, enclosed in 
brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrowed 
from Berlington, with such alterations as might 
render the supposed propliocy appUcable to flte 
union of the crowns. 

Wliile we are on this subject, it may be proju-r 
briefly to notice the scope of some of the other 
preilictions, in Hart's Collection. As the prophecy 
of Berlington was intended to raise the spirits of 
the nation, during the regency of Albany, so those 
of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to tliat of the Earl of 
Arrau, afterwards Duke of Chatellierault, during 
the minority of Mar}', a period of similar calamity 
Tliis is obvious from tlie following verses : — 

'■ Take a thousand in calculation. 
And the longest of the lyon. 
Four crescents under one crowne, 
With Saint Andrew's croce thrise. 
Then threescore and thrise three : 
Take tent to .Merling Iruely, 
Then shall the wars ended be. 
And never again rise. 
In that yere there shall a king, 
A duke, and no crown'd king : 
Becaus the prince shall be yong, 
And tender of yeares." 

The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, 
when tlie Scottish Regent, by means of some suc- 
cors derived from France, was endeavormg to re- 
pah- the consequences of the fatal battle of Pinkie. 
Allusion is made to tlie supply given to the " Jlold- 
warte [England] by the fained hart'' (the Earl of 
Angus). The Regent is described by his bearing 
the antelope ; large supphes are promised from 
France, and complete conquest predicted to Scot- 
land and her allies. Thus was the same hack- 
neyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest 
of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. The 
Regent was not, indeed, till after this period, cre- 
ated Duke of Chatelherault ; but tliat honor was 
the object of his hopes and expectations. 

The name of our renowned soothsayer is Uber- 
ally used as an authority, throughout all the 
prophecies published by Andro Hart. Besides 
those expressly put in his name, Gildas, another 
assumed personage, is supposed to derive his 
knowledge from him ; for he concludes thus : — 

" True Thomas me told in a troublesome time, 
In a harvest morn at Eldoun hills." 

The Prophecy of Oitda* 



580 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



In the prophecy of Berlington, ah-eady quoted, 
we are told, 

" Marvellous Merlin, that many men of tells. 
And Thomas's sayings comes all at once." 

While I am upon the subject of these prophe- 
cies, may I be permitted to call the attention of 
antiquaries to MerdTV'ynn Wyllt, or McrVm the, 
Wihi. in -whose name, and by no means in that of 
Ambrose Merlin, the friend of Arthur, the Scot- 
tish prophecies are issued? That this personage 
resided at Drummelziar, and roamed, like a second 
Nebuchadnezzar, the woods of Tweeddale, in re- 
morse for the death of his nephew, we learn from 
Fordun. In the Scotichronicon, lib. 3. cap. 31, is 
an account of an interview betwixt St. Kentigern 
and Merlm, then in this distracted and miserable 
state. He is said to have been called Lailoken, 
from his mode of life. On being conunanded by 
the saint to give an account of himself, he says, 
that the penance which he performs was imposed 
on him by a voice from heaven, during a bloody 
contest betwixt Lidcl and Carwanolow, of which 
battle ho liail been the cause. According to his 
own prediction, he perished at once by wood, earth, 
and water; for, being pursued with stones by the 
rustics, he fell from a rock into the river Tweed, 
and was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed there 
for the purpose of extending a fishing-net ; — 

" Slide prrptssus, tapidc pCTClLSSus, ct undo, 
Ht£c tria Mf-Ttinwm fcrtur inirc ticccm. 
Sicijuc ruit, mcrsusijuc fuit lifpioijue prchcnsus, 
Et fecit vateni per icrna pericala vrruTtt.** 

But, in the metrical history of Merlin of Cale- 
donia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from 
the traditions of the Welsh bards, this mode of 
death is attributed to a page, whom Merlin's sis- 
ter, desirous to convict the prophet of falsehood, 
because he had betrayed her intrigues, introduced 
to him, under three various disguises, inquiring 
each time in what nurnner the person should die. 
To the first demand Merlin answered, the party 
should perish by a fall from a rock ; to the second, 
that he should die by a tree ; and to tlie third, that 
he should be drowned. Tlie youth perislied, while 
hunting, in tlie mode imputed by Fordun to Mer- 
lin himself 

FordiHi, contrary to the French authorities, con- 
founds this person with the Merlin of Arthur ; but 
concludes b}' informing us, that many believed 
him to be a different person. The grave of Mer- 
lin is pointed out at Drummelziar, in Tweeddale, 
beneath an aged thorn-tree. On the east side of 
the churchyard, the br(x>k, called Pausayl, falls 
into the Tweed; and the following prophecy 
is said to have been current concerning their 
uDJon: — 



" When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin's grave, 
Scotland and England shall one monarch have." 

On the day of the coronation of James VI., thu 
Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined the 
Pausayl at the prophet's grave. — Pennycuick's 
History of TtKeddate, p. 26. These circumstances 
would seem to infer a communication betwixt the 
southwest of Scotland and Wales, of a nature pe- 
cuHarly intimate ; for I presume that Merlin would 
retain sense enough to choose for the scene of his 
wanderings, a country liaving a language and m;ui 
ners similar to liis own. 

Be this as it may, the memory of Merlin Sylves- 
ter, or the Wild, was fresh among the Scots dur- 
ing the reign of James V. Waldhave,' under 
whose name a set of prophecies was published, 
describes himself as lying upon Lomond Law ; ho 
hears a voice, which bids liim stand to his defence- 
he looks around, and beholds a flock of hares and 
foxes' pursued over the mountain by a savage 
figure, to whom he can hardly give the name of 
man. At the sight of Waldhave, the apparition 
leaves the objects of liis pursuit, and assaults him 
witli a club. Waldhave defends himself with his 
sword, throws the savage to the earth, and refuses 
to let liim arise till he swear, by the Law and lead 
he lives upon, " to do him no harm." Tliis done, 
he permits him to arise, and niarvels at his strange 
appeai-aiice : — 

" He was formed like a freike [man] all his fonr quarters ; 
And then his chin and his face Iiaired so tliiok, 
With haire growing so grime, fearful to see." 

He answers briefly to Waldhave's iuquhy con- 
cerning his name and nature, that he " drees liis 
weird." i. e. does penance in that wood ; and, hav- 
ing hinted that questions as to his own state are 
offensive, he pours forth an obscure rhapsody con- 
cerning futurity, and concludes. — 

" Go musing upon Merlin if thou wilt : 
For I mean no more, man, at thi.s lime." 

This is exactly similar to the meeting betwixt 
Merlin and Kentigern in Fordun. These prophe- 
cies of Merhn seem to have been in request in the 
minority of James V.; for, among the amusenuMits 
with which Sir David Lindsay diverted that prince 
during his infancy, are, 

" The prophecies of Rymer, Bede, and Merlin." 

Sir David Lindsay's EpisUe to tkc King. 

And we find, m Waldhave, at least one allusion 

1 I do not know whether the person here meant be Wald- 
have, an abbot of Melrose, wht died in the odor of sanctity 
about 1160. 

2 See AppendL-c, Note D. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



581 



to the very ancient prophecy, addressed to the 

Countess of Dunbar : — 

" This is a true token tlial Tliomas of tells, 
Wlien a ladile witli a ladye sliall go over the fields." 

The original stands thus : — 

" Wlien laddes weddeth lovedies." 

Another prophecy of Merlin seems to have been 
cuirent about the time of the Regent Jlorton's 
execution. When that nobleman was committed 
to the charge of his accuser, Captain James Stew- 
art, newly created EiU'l of Arrtm, to be conducted 
to liis trial at Edinburgh, Spottiswoode says, that 
he asked, " ' Who was Earl of AiTan ?' and being 
answered that Captain James was the man, after 
a short pause, he said, ' And is it so ? I know tlien 
what I may look for V meaning, as was thought, 
that the old prophecy of the ' Falling of the heart' 
by the mouth of Ai-ran,' should then be fultiUed. 
'WTiether this was his mind or not, it is not known ; 
but some spared not, at the time when the Ham- 
iltons were banished, in which business he was 
held too earnest, to say that he stood in fear of 
that prediction, and went that course only to dis- 
appoint it. But if so it was, he did find himself 
now deluded ; for he fell by the mouth of another 
Arran than he imagined."' — Spottiswoode, 31.3. 
The fatal words alluded to seem to be these in 
the prophecy of Merlin : — 

'* In the niouthe of Arrane a selcouth shall fall, 
Two hlooJie hearts shall be taken with a false traine. 
And derfly dung down without any dome." 

To return from these desultory remarks, into 
which I have been led by the celebrated name of 
Merlin, the style of all these prophecies, pubUshed 
by Hart, is very much the same. The measure 
is alliterative, and somewhat similar to that of 
Pierce Plowman's Visions ; a circumstance which 
might entitle us to ascribe to some of them an 
earlier date than the reign of James V., did we 
not know that Sir Galloran of Galloway and Ga- 
wainc and Gologras, two romances rendered al- 
most unintelligible by the extremity of affected 
alUteration, are perhaps not prior to that period. 
Indeed, although we may allow that, during much 
earlier tunes, prophecies, under the names of those 
celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scot- 
land, yet those published by Ilart have obviously 
been so often vamped and re-vamped, to serve the 
poUtical purposes of different periods, that it may 
be shrewdly suspected, that, as in the case of Sir 
John Cutler's transmigrated stockings, very little 
of the original materials now remains. I cannot 
refrain from mdulging my readers with the pub- 

1 The heart was the cognizance of Morton. 
3 The Rev. R. Fleming, pastor of a Pcotch congregation in 
London, published in 1701, " Discourses on the Rise and Fall 



Usher's title to the last prophecy, as it contams 
certain curious information concerning the Queen 
of Sheba, who is identified with tlie Cunia'an 
Sibyl: "Here foUoweth a prophecie, proiioimceil 
by a noble queeiie and matron, called Sybilla, 
Regina Austri, that came to Solomon. Through 
the which .she compiled four bookes, at the in- 
stance of the said King Sol, and others divers ; 
and tlie fourth book was directed to a noble king, 
called Baldwine, King of the broad isle of Bi itain ; 
m the wliicli she maketh mention of two nobh' 
prmces and emperours, the which is called Leoiies. 
How these two shall subilue and overcome all 
earthlie princes to their diademe and crowne, anil 
also be glorified and crowned in the heaven among 
saints. The first of these two is Constantinus 
Magnus ; that was Leprosus, the son of Saint He- 
lena, that found the croce. The second is tlie si.^t 
king of the name of Steward of Scotland, tlie 
which is our most noble king." With such editors 
and commentators, what wonder that the text be- 
came mnntelligible, even beyond the usual oracu- 
lar obscurity of prediction ? 

If there still remain, therefore, among these pre 
dictions, any verses having a claim to real anticpii- 
ty, it seems now impossible to discover them from 
those which are comp.aratively modern. Ifever- 
theless, as there are to be found, m these composi- 
tions, some uncommonly wild and masculine ex- 
pressions, the Editor has been huluced to throw a 
few passages together, into the sort of ballad to 
which this disquisition is prefixed. It would, in- 
deed, have been' no ditBcult matter for hmi, by a 
juiKcious selection, to have excited, m favor ot 
Thomas of Ercildoune, a share of the admu-ation 
bestowed by sundry wise persons upon Mass Rob- 
ert Fleming." For example : — 

"But then the lilye sh.!! be loused when they least think ; 
Then clear king's blood shal quake for fear of death ; 
For churls shall chop off heads of their chief beirns, 
And carfe of the crowns that Christ hath appointed. 

Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise ; 
The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken ; 
Seculars shall sit in spiritual seats. 
Occupying offices anointed as they were." 

Taking the lUy for the emblem of France, can 
there be a more plain prophecy of the nmrder of 
her monarch, the destruction of her nobility, and 
the desolation of her hierarchy ? 

But, without looking fartlier into the signs ol 
the times, the Editor, though the least of all the 
prophets, cannot help thinking, that every true 
Briton will approve of his tijiphcation of the last 
prophecy quoted in the ballad. 

of Pa|iacy," in which he expressed his belief, founded on a 
te.\t in the Apocalypse, that the French Monarchy would un- 
dergo some remarkable humiliation about 1794. — Ed. 



Hart's collection of prophecies was frequently 
reprinted dui'iiig the last century, probably to fa- 
vor the pretensions of the unfortunate family of 
Stuart. For the prophetic renown of Gildas and 
Bede, see ForduJi, lib. iii. 

Before leaving the subject of Thomas's predic- 
tions, it may be noticed, that sundry rhymes, 
passing for his prophetic effusions, are still current 
among tlie vulgar. Thus, he is said to have 
propliesied of the very ancient family of Haig of 
Bemerside, 

" Betide, betide, wliate'er betide, 
Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside." 

The grandfather of the present proprietor of 
Bemerside had twelve daughters, before his lady 
brought him a male heir. The common people 
trembled for the credit of their favorite soothsayer. 
The late Mr. Haig was at length born, and their 
belief in the prophecy confirmed beyond a shadow 
of doubt. 

Another memorable prophecy bore, that the Old 
Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the 
Abbey, should " fall when at the fullest." At a 
very crowded sermon, about thirty years ago, a 
piece of Ume fell from the roof of the church. The 
alarm, for the fulfilment of the words of the seer, 
became universal ; and happy were they who 
were nearest the door of the predestined edifice. 
The church was m consequence desertetl, and has 
never since had an opportunity of tumbling upon 
a full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a 
beautiful specimen of Saxo-Gothic arcliiteoture, 
that the accomplishment of tliis prophecy is far 
distant. 

Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, 
seems to have been founded on that sort of uisight 
into futurity, possessed by most men of a sound 
and combining judgment. It runs thus : — 

"At Eldon Tree if you shall be, 
A briggower Tweed you there may see." 

The spot in question commands an extensive 
prospect of the com'se of the river ; and it was 
easy to foresee, that when the country should be- 
come in the least degree improved, a bridge woidd 
be somewhere thrown over the stream. In fact, 
you now see no less thau three bridges from that 
elevated situation. 

Corspatrick (Comes Patrick), Earl of March, but 
more commonly taking his title from his castle of 
Dtiubar, acted a noted pai't during the wars of 
F.dward I. m Scotland. As Thomas of ErcUdouue 
IS said to have delivered to him his ftmious proph- 

t An exact rejirint of these prophecies, from tile edilioa of 
Waldegrave, in 1603, collated with Hart's, of 1615, from the 
copy ia the Abbotsford Library, was completed for the Baii- 



ecy of King Alexander's death, the Editor has 
chosen to introduce him into the following ballad 
AU the prophetic verses ai'e selected from Hart's 
publication.' 



Jlljomaa tl)c Hljjimcr. 



PAKT SECOND. 



When seveu years were come and gane, 
The sun blink'd fair on pool aud stream ; 

And Thomas lay on HuntUe bank. 
Like one awaken'd from a dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed, 

He saw the flash of armor flee, 
And he beheld a gallant knight 

Come riding down by the Eildon-tree. 

He was a stalwart knight, and strong ; 

Of giant make he 'pear'd to be : 
He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode, 

Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free. 

Says — "Well met, well met, true Thomas! 

Some uncouth ferlies show to me." — 
Says — " Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave ! 

Thrice welcurae, good Dunbar, to me ! 

" Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave ! 

And I will show thee cin-ses three. 
Shall gar fan" Scotland greet and grane. 

And change the green to the black livery. 

"A storm shall roar tliis very hour. 
From Ross's hills to Solway sea." — 

" Ye hed, ye bed, ye warlock hoar ! 

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lee."— 

He put his hand on the Earlie's head ; 

He show'd liim a rook beside the sea. 
Where a king lay stiff beneath his steed," 

And steel-dight nobles wiped their ce. 

" The neist curse lights on Branxton hiUs : 
By Flodden's high and heathery side. 

Shall wave a banner red as blude, 

And chieftains throng wi' meilde prido 

" A Scottish King shall come full keen, 
The ruddy lion beareth he ; 

natyne Club, cnder the care of the learned antiquary. Mi 
David Laing of Edinburgh.— Ed. 1833. 

2 King Alexander, killed by a fall from his horse, neai 
Kinghoro. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



583 



A featliei'd arrow sharp, I ween, 
Shall make liiin wink and w;utc to see. 

" When he 13 bloody, and all to bledde, 
Thus to his men he still shall say — 

'For God's sake, turn ye back again. 
And give you southeni folk a fray ! 

VTliy should I lose, the right is mine ? 
My doom is not to die this day.'' 

" Yet turn ye to the eastern hand. 
And woe and wonder ye sail see ; 

How forty thousand spearmen stand. 
Where yon rank river meets the sea. 

" There shall the lion lose the gylte, 
And the lihhards bear it clean away ; 

At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt 
Much geutil bluid that day." — 

" Enough, enough, of curse and ban ; 

Some blessings show thou now to me, 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said, 

" Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me !" — 

" The first of blessings I shall thee show, 
Is by a bm-n, that's call'd of bread f 

"Where Saxon men shall tme the bow, 
And find their arrows lack the head. 



"WTiere the water bickereth bright and sheen, 
Shall many a fallen coiu*ser spurn. 
And knights shall die in battle keen. 

" Beside a headless cross of stone, 

The hbbards there shall lose the gree ; 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
And di-ink the Saxon bluid sae fi'ee. 

The cross of stone they shall not know, 
So thick the corses there shall be." — 

" But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, 
" True Thomas, tell now unto me, 

What man shall rule the isle Britain, 

Even from the north to the southern sea ?"' — 

" A French Queen shall bear the son. 

Shall rule all Britain to the sea ; 
He of the Bruce's blood shall .come. 

As near as in the ninth degree. 

" The waters worship shall his race ; 

Likewise the waves of the forthest sea ; 
For they shall ride over ocean wide. 

With hempen bridles, and horse of tree." 

1 The uncertainly which lonj prevailed in Scotland con- 
cerning the fate of James IV., is well known. 

* One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runi 
"hui ■ — 



®l)omas tl)c Ixljjimcr. 



PART THIRD. MODERN. 



BY WALTER SCOTT. 

Thomas the Rhituer was renowned among his 
contemporaries, as the author of the celebrated 
romance of Sir TVistrem. Of tliis once-admired 
poem only one copy is now known to exist, which 
is ill the Advocates' Librmy. The Editor, in 1 804, 
published a small edition of this curious work ; 
wliicli, if it does not revive the reputation of the 
bard of Ercildoune, is at least the earliest speci- 
men of Scottish poetry hitherto published. Some 
account of this romance has ah-eady been given to 
the world in Mr. Ellis's Specimens of Ancient 
Poetry, voL i. p. 165, iii. p. 410; a work to which 
our predecessors and our posterity are alike obli- 
ged ; the former, for the preservation of the best- 
selected examples of their poetical taste ; and the 
latter, for a history of the EngUsh language, which 
will only cease to be interesting with the exist- 
ence of om- mother-tongue, and all that genius 
and learning have recorded in it. It is sufficient 
here to mention, that so great was the reputation 
of the romance of .Sir Tristrem, that few were 
thought capable of reciting it after the manner of 
the author — a circumstance alluded to by Robert 
de Bruime, the annaUst : — 

" I see in song, in sedgeyng tale, 
Of Erceldoun, and of Kendale, 
Now thame says as they Ihame wroght, 
And in thare saying it semes nocht. 
That thou may here in Sir Tristrem, 
Over gestes it has the steme, 
Over all that is or was ; 
If men it said as made Thomas," &c. 

It appears, from a very curious MS. of the 
thirteenth century, penes Mr. Douce of London, 
containing a French metrical romance of Sir Tris- 
trem, that the work of our Thomas the Rlivmer 
was known, and referred to, by the minstrels of 
Normandy and Bretagne. Having arrived at a 
part of the romance where reciters were wont to 
differ in the mode of telling the story, the French 
bard expressly cites the authority of the poet of 
Ercildoune : 

*' Ptusurs de nos granter ne volent, 
Co que del nfiivt dire se sotent, 
Kifemme Knherdin dut aimer, 
Li naim redut Tristram narrer, 

*' The burn of hreid 
Shall run fow reid." 
Bannock-bum is the brook bore meant. The Scots give tn« 
name of hannock to a thick round cakfl of unleavened bread. 



584 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



E cntusche par ffrant Cngi7l, 
Quaiit il afole Kaherdin ; 
Vur cest plat c pur cest mai, 
Envciad Tristram Quvcrnai, 
En Engleterre pur Ysolt : 
Thomas ico granter ne volt, 
Et Fi volt par raisun mostrcr, 
Qu' ico ne put pas estcer,^' &c. 

The tale of Sir Tristrcm, as iiaiTated in the 
Edinburgh MS., is totally different from the volu- 
minous romance in prose, originally compiled on 
the same subject by Rusticien de Puise, and 
analyzed by M. de Tressan ; but agrees in every 
essential particular with the metrical performance 
just quoted, ■which is a work of nmch higher an- 
tiquity. 

The following attempt to commemorate the 
Rhymer's poetical fame, and the traditional ac- 
count of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, 
being enth-ely modern, would have been placed 
with greater propriety among the class of Modern 
Ballads, had it not been for its immediate con- 
nection with the first and second parts of the 
same story. 



©1)011103 tl)e HIjMiner. 



PAKT THIRD. 



When seven years more were come and gone, 
"Was war through Scotland spread. 

And Ruberslaw show'd high Dunyon' 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then all by bonny Coldinglmow," 
Pitch'd palliouns took their room, 

And crested helms, and spears a-rowe, 
Glanced gayly through the broom. 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the ensenzie ;' 
They roused the deer from Caddenhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee.' 

' Ruberslaw and Dunyon. are two hills near Jedburgh. 

2 All ancient tower near Erciitioune. beiongini* to a family 
of tlie name of Home. One of Thomas's prophecies is said 
to have run thus : — 

** Vengeance ! vengeance ! when and where ? 
On the house of Coldingknow, now and ever inair !" 

The spot is rendered classical by its having given name 
to the beautiful melody called the Broom o* the Cowdcn- 
Lkows. 

3 Ensenzie — War-cry, or gathering word. 



The feast was spread in ErcUdoune, 
In Learmont's high and ancient hall : 

And there were knights of great renown. 
And ladies, laced in pall. 

Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine. 

The music nor the tale. 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine. 

Nor mantling quaighs* of ale. 

True Thomas rose, with harp iu hand, 

Wlien as the feast was done : 
(In minstrel strife, m Fairy Land, 

The elfin harp he won.) 

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue. 

And harpers for envy pale ; 
And armed lords leau'd on their swords, 

And hearken'd to the tale. 

In numbers high, the witching tale 

The prophet pour'd along; 
No after bard might e'er avail" 

Those numbers to prolong. 

Yet fragments of the lofty strain 

Float down the tide of years, 
As, buoyant on the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears.' 

He sung King Arthur's Table Round : 

The Warrior uf the Lake ; 
How courteous Gawuine met the wound,' 

And bled for ladies' sake. 

But chief, in gentle Tristrcm's praise, 

The notes melodious swell ; 
Was none excell'd in Arthur's days. 

The knight of Liouelle. 

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right, 

A venom'd wound he bore ; 
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight. 

Upon the Ii'ish shore. 

No ai-t the poison might withstand ; 

No medicine could be found, 
TlU lovely Isolde's lUy hand 

Had probed the raukhng wound. 

* Torwoodlee and Caddeniiead are places in Selkirlv?hire ; 
botli the property of Mr. Pringle of Torwoodlee. 

5 Quaiirhs — Wooden cops, composed of staves hooped to 
gether. 

6 See Introduction to this ballad. 

' This stanza was quoted by the Edinburgh Reviewer, of 
1804, as a noble contrast to the ordinary Iiumility of the gen- 
uine ballad diction. — Ed. 

8 See, in the Fabliaux of Monsieur Ic Grand, elegantly trans- 
lated by the late Gregory Way, Esq., the tale of the Knight 
and the Sword. [Vol. ii. p. 3.] 



CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO MINSTRELS V. 5»o 


Witli gentle hand and soothing tongue 

Slio bore the leech's part ; 
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung, 

Ho p:ud her with his heart. 


On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower, 

The mists of evenmg close ; 
In camp, in castle, or in bower, 

Each waiTior sought repose. 


fatal was the gift, I ween ! 

For, doom'd in evil tide, 
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen, 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 


Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 
Dream'd o'er the woeful tale ; 

When footsteps light, across the bent. 
The warrior's ears assail 


Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard 

In fairy tissue wove ; 
Wliere lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 

In gay confusion strove. 


He starts, he wakes ; — " What, Richard, ho I 

Arise, my page, arise ! 
What venturous wight, at dead of night, 

Dare step where Douglas Ues !" — 


The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 
High rear'd its glittering head ; 

And Avalon's enchanted vale 
In all its wonders spread. 


Then forth they rush'd : by Leader's tide, 

A selcouth' sight they see — 
A hart and hind pace side by side. 

As white as snow on FairnaUe.' 


Brangwain was there, and Segramore, 
And tieud-born Merlin's gramarye ; 

Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 
who could sing but he ! 


Beneath the moon, with gesture proud, 
They stately move and slow ; 

Nor scare they at the gathering crowd, 
Who marvel as they go. 


Through many a maze the winning eoog 

In changeful passion led. 
Till bent at length the hstening throng 

O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 


To Learmont's tower a message sped, 
As fast as page might run ; 

And Thomas started from his bed, 
And soon his clothes did on. 


His ancient wounds their scars expand, 
With agony his heart is wrung : 

where is Isolde's Ulye hand, 
And where her soothing tongue ? 


First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; 

Never a word he spake but three ; — 
" My sand is run ; my thread is spun ; 

This sign regardeth me." 


She comes ! she comes ! — like flash of flame 

Can lovers' footsteps fly : 
She comes ! she comes ! — she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 


The elfin harp liis neck around. 
In minstrel guise, he hung ; 

And on the wind, in doleful sound, 
Its dying accents rung. 


She saw him die ; her latest sigh 
Join'd in a kiss his parting breath ; 

The gentlest pair, that Britain bare. 
United are in death, 


Tlien forth he went ; yet turn'd him oft 

To view his ancient hall : 
On the gray tower, in lustre soft, 

The autumn moonbeams fall ; 


Tliere paused the liarp : its lingering sound 

Died slowly on the ear ; 
The silent guests still bent around, 

For still they seem'd to hear. 


And Leader's waves, like silver sheen. 
Danced shimmering in the ray ; 

In deepening mass, at distance seen. 
Broad Soltra's mountains lay. 


Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak : 
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh ; 

But, half a.shamed, the rugged cheek 
Did many a gauntlet dry. 


" Farewell, ray fathers' ancient tower ! 

A long farewell," said he : 
" The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power, 

Tliou never more shalt be. 


» Sdcouth— Wondrous. 

2 An ani-'ient s.'al upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire. In a 
popular edition of the first pari of Thomas tlie Rhymer, the 
Fairy CXueen thus aiiiiresses hiiu : — 
74 


" Gin ye waj meet wi' me again. 
Gang to tite honny banks of Fairnalie.'* 
Fairnalie is now one of tlie seats of Mr. Pringle of Clifton 
M. P. for Selkirkshire. 1833. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



•■ To Learmont's name no foot of earth 


And there, before Lord Douglas' face, 


Shall here again belong, 


"With them he cross'd the flood. 


AnJ, on thy hospitable hearth, 




The hare shall leave lier young. 


Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steeil. 




And spm-r'd him the Leader per ; 


"Adieu! adieu!" .again he cried, 


But, though he rode with lightmug speed. 


All a3 he turn'd hun roun' — 


He never saw them more. 


" F.irewell to Leader's silver tide ! 




Farewell to Ercildoune !" 


Some said to hill, and some to glen, 




Their wondrous course hud been ; 


Tlie hart and hind approach'd the place. 


But ne'er in haunts of living men 


As lingering yet he stood ; 


Again was Thomas seen. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A.— P. 574. 

Prom the ChaHuIary of the Trinity Hovsc of Soltra. 

Advocates^ IJbrtrri/, W. 4. 14. 

ERSYLTON. 

Omnibus has liter as visuris vel auditurie Thomas de Ercil- 
iloun tilius et heres Thonia; Rymour de Eruildoun salutem in 
Domino. Noveritis me [ler fuslem et baculum in plciio judi- 
Lio resignasse ac per prei^entcs quietein clainasse pro me et here- 
liibus meis Magislro ilomus Sanctse Triiiitatis de Poltre et fra- 
Iribus ejusdem domus totam terram meam cum omnibus pei^ 
tiiientibus suis quam in tenement© de Ercildoun hereditarie 
tsiiui renunciando de loto pro me et heredibus meis omni jure 
et flameo qua; ego seu aiitfces^ores mei in eadem terra alioque 
tempore de perpetuo liabuiinus sive de futuro habere possumus. 
[n eujus rei teslimonio presentibus bis sigillum meum apposni 
data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo post testum Sanctorum 
Ajiostoloram Symonis et Jude Anno Domini Millesimo cc. 
Nonagesimo None. 



Note B.— P. 576. 



The reader is here presented, from an old, and unfortunately 
an imperfect MS , with the undoubted original of Thomas the 
Rhymer's intrigue with the Q.ueen of Faery. It will afford 
gr.'al amusement to those wlio would study the nature of tra- 
ditional poetry, and the changes effected by oral tradition, to 
compare this ancient romance with the foregoing ballad. The 
same incidents are narrated, even the expression is often tlie 
same ; yet the poems are as diHerent in appearance, as if the 
older tale had been regularly and systematically modernized by 
B )ioet of the present day. 

Incipil Prophcsia Thomm de Ersddoun. 

In a lande as I was lent, 
In the gryking of the day, 
Ay alone as I went, 
In Huntle baiikys me for to play ; 
I saw the throstyl, and the jay, 
Ye niawes movyde of her song, 
Ye wodwale sange notes gay, 
That al the wod about range. 
fn tliat longyng as I lay, 



Undir nethe a deni tre, 

I was war of a lady gay. 

Come rydyng ouyr a fairle: 

Zogli I suld sitt to domysday, 

With my long to wrabbe and wr> 

Certenly al) hyr aray, 

It beth neuyer discryuyd for me. 

Hyr palfra was dappyll gray, 

Sycke on say neuer none ; 

As the son in somers day, 

All abowte tliat lady schgne. 

Hyr sadel was of arewel bone, 

A semly syglit it was to se, 

Bryht with mony a precyous stone 

And comjtasyd all with crapste ; 

Stones of oryens, gret plente. 

Her hair about lier hede it hang, 

She rode ouer the farnyle, 

A while she blew, a while sh<? sang. 

Her girths of nobi! .silke they were, 

Her boculs were of beryl stone, 

Sadyll and bryilil wai- - - ; 

With sylk and sendel about bedone. 

Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne, 

And hvr croper of the arase, 

Her brydil w as of gold fine. 

On euery syde forsothe hang bells thr 

Her brydil reynes - - - 

A semly syzt - - - - 

Crop and patyrel - - - - 

In every joynt - - - - 

She led thre grew houndes in a leash, 

And ratclies cowjiled by her ran ; 

She bar an horn about her halse, 

And undir her gyrdil mene flene. 

Thomas lay ami sa - - - 

In the bankes of - - - - 

He sayd Yonder is Mary of Might, 

That bar the child that died for me, 

Certes hot I may speke with that lady brignv, 

Myd my hert will breke in three ; 

I schal me bye with all my might, 

Hyr to mete at Eldyn Tre. 

Thomas rathly up her rase. 

And ran oner mountayn bye, 

If it he sothe the story says 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 


587 


He met her euyn at EUlyti Tre. 


The figge and als fy.T)ert tre ; 




Thomas kiiely<l down on his kne 


The nyghtyngale bredyng in her neste. 




Untlir nethe the greiiewooil spray. 


The papigaye about gan tie, 




And sayd, Lovely lady, thou rue on me, 


The tlirostylcook sang wald hafe no rest. 




Queen of Heaven as you may well be. 


He pressed to pullt. fruyt with his hand, 




But I am a lady of another countrie, 


As man for faute that was faynt ; 




If I he pareld most of prise, 


She seyd, Thomas, lat al stand, 




I ride after the wihj fee, 


Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt. 




My ratches rinnen at my devys. 


Sche seyd, Thomas, I the hyzt. 




If thou be pareld most of prise. 


To lay ihi hede upon my kne. 




Aiid rides a lady in Strang foly, 


And thou slialt see fayrer syght, 




Lovely lady, as thou art wise, 


Than euyr sawe man in their kintre. 




Glue you me leue to Hge ye by. 


Sees ihou, Thomas, yon fayr way, 




Do way, Thomas, that were foly. 


That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn ? 




I pray ye, Thomas, Inio nie be. 


Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay, 




That sin will fordo all my bewtie. 


Whan synful sawles haf derayed their payne. 




Lovely ladye, rewe on me, 


Sees thou, Thomas, yon second way, 




And euer more I shall with ye dwell, 


That lygges lawe undir the ryse 1 




Here mj' trowth I plyglit to thee. 


Streight is the way, sothly to say, 




WJiere you belieues in heuin or hell. 


To thejoycs of paradyce. 




Thomas, and you myglit lyge me by, 


Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way, 




Undir nethe this grene wode spray, 


That lygges ouyr yone how ? 




Thou would tell full hastely. 


Wide is the way, sothly to say, 




That thou had layn by a lady gay. 


To the brynyng fyres of belle. 




Lady, mote I lyge by the, 


Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayr castell. 




Undir nethe the grene wode tre, 


That standss ouyr yone fair hill ? 




For all the gold in chrystenty, 


Of town and tower it beereth the belle, 




Suld you neuer be wryede for me. 


In middell erth is none like theretill. 




Man on molde you will me marre. 


Whan thou comyst in yone castell gaye, 




And yet bot you may haf your will, 


I pray thee curteis man to be ; 




Trow you well, Thomas, you cheuyst ye warre 


What so any man to you say, 




For all my bewtie wilt you spill. 


Loke thu answer none but me. 




Down lyghted that lady bryzt, 


My lord is servyd at yche messe, 




Undir nethe the grene wode spray, 


With XXX kniztes feir and fre ; 




And as ye story saytli full ryzt, 


I shall say syttyng on the dese. 




Seuyn tymes by her he lay. 


I toke thy s|)eche beyone the le. 




She sayd, Man. you lyst tlii play, 


Thomas stode as still as stone. 




What berde in bouyr may dele with thee. 


And behelde that ladye gaye ; 




That maries me all this long day ; 


Than was sche fayr, and ryche anone, 




I pray ye, Thomas, let me be. 


And also ryal on hir palfreye. 




Thomas stode up in the stede, 


Thegrewhoundes had fylde thaim on the derSi 




And behelde the lady gay. 


The laches coupled, by my fay, 




Her heyre hang down about hyr hede. 


She blewe her home Thomas to chere. 




- The tane was blak, the other gray, 


To the castell she went her way. 




Her eyn semyt onte before was gray, 


The ladye into the hall went, 




Her gay clethyng was all away, 


Thomas folawyd at her hand ; 




That he before had sene in that stede 


Thar kept her mony a lady gent, 




Hyr body as blow as ony hede. 


With eurtasy and lawe. 




Thomas sighede, and sayd. Alias, 


Harp and fedyl both he faude. 




Me thynke this a dullfuM syght, 


The getern and the sawtry. 




That thou art fadyd in the face. 


Lut and rybid ther gon gan. 




Jefore you shone as son so bryzt. 


Tliair was al manerof mynstralsy. 




Tak thy leue. Thomas, at son and mone 


The most ferily that Thomas thoght, 




At gresse, and at euery tre, 


When he com emyddes the ilore. 




This twelmonth sail you with me gone 


Fourty hertes to quarry were broght. 




Medyl erih you sail not se. 


That had been hefor both long and store. 




Alas, he seyd, ful wo is me, 


Lymors lay lappyng blode. 




I trow my dedes will wt-rke me care, 


And kokes slanJyng with dressyng knyfe, 




JesQ, my sole tak to ye. 


And dressyd dere as thai wer wode, 




Whedir so euyr my body sal fare. 


And rcwell was thair wonder. 




She rode furth with all her myzt, 


Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre, 




Undir nethe the derne lee. 


All that leae long day. 




It was as derke as at midnizt, 


Ladyes that were gret of gre. 




And euyr in water unto the kne ; 


Sat and sang of rych array. 




Through the space of days thre, 


Thomas sawe much more in that plaet, 




He herde but swowyng of a flode ; 


Than I can descryve. 




Thomas sayd, Ful wo is me. 


Til on a day, alas, alas. 




Now I spyll for fawte of fode ; 


My lovelye ladye sayd to me, 




To a garden she lede him tyte, 


Busk ye, Thomas, yon mast agayn, 




Tliero was fruyte in grete plentc. 


Here you may no longer be : 




Peyres and appless ther were rype, 


Ily then zeme that yoo were at bame, 




The date and the damese, 


I sal ye bryng to Eldyn Tie. 





588 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thomas answeril with heuy 

And said, Lowely ladye, lat ma be, 

For I say ye certenly here 

Haf I be hot the space of dayes three. 

Sothly, Thomas, as I telle ye, 

You hath ben here thre yeres, 

And here yon may no longer be ; 

And I sal tele ye a skele, 

To-morrow of helle ye foule fende 

Amang our folke shall chuse his fee ; 

For you art a larg man and an hende, 

Trowe you wele he will chuse thee. 

Fore all the golde that may be, 

Fro hens unto the worldes ende, 

Sail you not be betrayed hy me, 

And thairforsall you hens wende. 

She broght hym euyn to Eldyn Tre, 

Undir riethe the gretie wode spray, 

In Huntie bankes was fayr to be, 

TliiT breddes syng both nyzt and day. 

Ftrre ouyr yon montayns gray, 

Tlier hatlie my facon ; 

Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way. 



The Elfin Q,aeen, after restoring Thomas to earth, pours 
forth a string of prophecies, in which we distinguish references 
to the events and personages of the Scottish wars of Edward 
III. Tiie battles of Dupplin and Halidon are mentioned, and 
also Black Agnes, Countess of Dunbar. There is a copy of 
this poem in the Museum of the Cathedral of Lincoln, an- 
other in the collection in Peterborongh, but unfortunately they 
are all in an imperfect state. Mr. Janiieson, in his curious 
Collection of Scottish Ballads and Songs, has an entire copy 
of Ibis ancient poem, with all the collations. The lacunm of 
the former editions have been supplied from his copy. 



Note C 

allusions to heraldry. — p. 578. 

*' The vtuscte is a square figure like a lozenge, but it is al- 
ways voided o'C the Jieid. Tiiey are carried as principal figures 
by the name of Learmont. Learmont of Earlstoun, in the 
Mei-sit, carried or on a bend azure three muscles; of which 
family \v;is Sir Thomas Learmont, who is well known by the 
name of Thomas the Rhymer, because he wrote hia prophecies 
in rhime. This prophclick herauld lived in the days of King 
Alexander tlie Third, and projihesicil of his death, and of many 
other remarkable occurrences ; particularly of the union of 
Scotland with England, which was not accomplished until the 
reign of James the Sixth, some hundred years after it was fore- 
told by lliis gentleman, whose prophecies are much esteemed 
hy many of the vulgar even at this day. I was promised by a 
friend a sight of his jirophecies, of which there is everywhere 
to be had an epilome, vvliich, I suppose, is erroneous, and dif- 
fers in many things from the original, it having been oft re- 
printed by some unskilful persons. Thus many things are 
amissing in llie small book which are to be met with in the 
original, paiiicularly these two lines concerning his neighbour, 
Bemersioe . — 

' Tyde what may betide, 
Haig shall be hiird of Bemerside.* 

And indeed his prophecies concerning that ancient family have 
hitherto been true ; for, since that time to this day, the Haigs 
have been lairds of tiiat place. They carrie, Ay.ure a saltier 
cantoned with two stars in chief and in base argent, as many 
crescents in the flanques or; and for crest a rock proper, 
with this niotlo, taken from the above written rhyme — 'Tide 
what may.' " — Niskut on Marks of Cadency, p. 158. — He 



adds, "that Thomas' meaning maybe understood by heraolda 
when he speaks of kingdoms whose insignia seldom vary, but 
that individual families cannot be discovered, either because 
they have altered their bearings, or because they are pointed 
out by their crests and exterior ornaments, which are changed 
at the pleasure of the bearer." Mr. Nisbet, however, com- 
forts himself for this obscurity, by reflecting, that "we may 
certainly conclude, from liis writings, that herauldry was in 
good esteem in his days, and well known to the vulgar." — 
Ibid. p. IGO. — It may be added, that the publication of pre- 
dictions, either printed or hieroglypiiical, in which noble fami- 
lies were pointed out by their armorial bearings, was, in the 
liraeof'iueen Elizabeth, extremely common ; and the inllu- 
enee of such predictions on the minds of the common people 
wag so great as to occasion a prohibition, by statute, of proph- 
ecy by reference to heraldic emblems. Lord Henry Howard 
also (afterwards Earl of Northampton) directs against this 
practice much of the reasoning in his learned treatise, entitled, 
" A Defensation against tlie Poyson of pretended Prophecies." 



Note O.— P, 580. 

The strange occupation in which Waldhave beholds Merlin 
engaged, derives some illustration from a curious passage in 
Geot^Vey of Monmouth's life of Merlin, above quoted. The 
poem, afrer narrating that the prophet had fled to the forest 
in a state of distraclion, proceeds to mention, that, looking 
uj)on the stars one clear evening, he discerned from his astro- 
logical knowledge, that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, 
upon the next morning, to take another husband. As he had 
presaged to her that lliis would happen, and had promised 
her a nuptial gilt (cautioning her, however, to keep the bride- 
groom out of liis sight), he now resolved to make good hia 
word. Acconlingly, he collected all the slags and lesser 
game in his neighborhood ; and, having seated himself upon a 
buck, drove the herd before him lo the capital of Cumberland, 
where Guentlolen resided. But her lover's curiosity leading 
him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary cavalcade Mer- 
lin's rage was awakened, and he slew him with the stroke ot 
an antler of the stag. The original runs thus : — 

" Dixcrni: et silvas ct saltus circuit omves, 
Cervorumque g^rrges agnien collegitin unum, 
Et damns, capreasque simut ; cervoqae resedit, 
Et, vcniente die, compellcns agmina pro; sc, 
Ffstinans vadit quo nuhit. Ouendolicna, 
poslquam vcnit eo, parinttcr ipse coegit 
Crrvos ante fores, proclamnns, ' Guendolana, 
Oueiidoltena, veni, te talia mnncra spcctant. 
Ocius ergo venit subridcns Oiiendoltcna, 
Ocstarique viruvi ccrvo iitiratur, et. illuvi 
Sic par ere viro, tantum quoque posse fcrarum 
Uniri nianerum quas pric se solus agcbat, 
Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbas. 
Stabat nb excelsa spoiisus spcctando fenestra, 
fn suiio mirans cquitem, rtsamque movcbat. 
Jlst vbi vidit earn votes, animoquc qitis esset 
Cnllitit, exlcmplo divulsil cornua ccrvo 
Quo gestabatur, vibrataquejecit in ilium, 
Et caput illius penitus conti-ivit, eumque 
Reddidit exanimem, vitamgue fugadt in auras ; 
Ociiis inde suum, talorum verbere, crrvmn 
Diffugiens egit, silvasquc redire paravit." 

For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from 
a MS. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I 
was indebted to my leiinied friend, the late Mr. Rilson. There 
h an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and entertain* 
ing Specimens of Early English liomaiices, published bw 
Mr. Ellis. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



589 



# I c n f i n I a ; 



OK, 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH 



The simple tradition, upon which the following 
stanzas are founded, runs thus : While two High- 
land hunters were passing the night in a solitary 
bothij (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting), and 
making merry over their venison and whisky, one 
of them expressed a wish that they had pretty 
hisses to complete their party. The words were 
scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young wo- 
men, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing 
and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by 
the siren who attached herself particularly to him, 
to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspi- 
cious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon 
a trump, or Jew's-harp, some strain, consecrated 
to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the 
temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he 
found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had 
been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into 
whose toils he had faUen. The place was &om 
thence called the Glen of the Green Women. 

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the 
Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender in 
Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now 
belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as 
well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, 
in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Mac- 
gregors. To the west of the Forest of Glenfinlas 
lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called 
the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoir- 
Ucli, are mountains in the same district, and at no 
great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith 
passes Callender and the Castle of Doune, and 
joins the Forth near StirUng. The Pass of Lenny 
is immediately above Callender, and is the princi- 
pal access to the Highlands, from that town. 
Glenartney is a forest, near BenvoirUch. The 
wliole forms a sublinie tract of Alpme scenery. 

This ballad first appeared in the Tales of Won- 
der? 

1 Coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, BOng 
by the aged of the elan. 

a lu 1801. See ante, p. 567.— The scenery of this, the au- 
thor's fiist serious attempt in poetry, reappeare in the Lady of 
he Lake, in Waverley, and in Rob Roy. — Ed. 



® I £ n f i n I a ; 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH. 



' For them the viewlesa forms of air obey, 

Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair ; 
They know what spirit brews the stormful day. 
And heartless oft, like moody madness stare. 
To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare." 

Collins 



" HONE a rie' ! hone a rie' !' 

The pride of Albin's hue is o'er. 
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more !" — 

0, sprung from great Macgilhanore, 
Tlie chief that never fear'd a foe. 

How matcldess was thy broad claymore, 
How deadly thine unerring bow ! 

Well can the Saxon widows tell,* 

How, on the Teith's resounding shore, 
The boldest Lowland warriors fell. 
As down from Lenny's pa,ss you bore. 

But o'er his hills, in festal day. 

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree,' 
While youths and maids the hght strathspey 

So nimbly danced with Higldand glee 1 

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell. 

E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 
But now the loud lament we swell, 

O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more ! 

"O hone a rie* signifies — "Alas for the prince of 
chief." 

* The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highland- 
ers to tlieir Low-Country neiglibors. 

6 See Appendix, Note A 



590 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



From distant isles a chieftain came, 
The joys of Ronald's halls to find, 

And chase with him tlie dark-brown game. 
That bomids o'er Albin's hills of wind. 

'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle 
The seer's prophetic spirit found,' 

As, with a minstrel's fire the while, 
He waked his harp's harmonious sound. 

FuU many a speU to him w.as known, 
Which wandering spii-its slu'ink to hear ; 

And many a lay of potent tone. 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood. 

High converse with the dead they hold. 

And oft espy the fattd shroud, 

That shall the future corpse enfold. 

80 it fell, that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den. 
The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 

And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glea 

No vassals wait then' sports to aid. 

To watch their- safety, deck then- board ; 

Their sunple dress, the Highland plaid, 
Then- trusty guard, the Highland sword. 

Three simimer days, through brake and dell. 
Then" whistling shafts successful flew ; 

And still, when dewy evening fell, 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook 

The soUtary cabin stood. 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 

'SVliich murmurs through that lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. 
When thi'ee successive days had flown ; 

And summer mist in dewy balm 

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. 

The moon, h.ilf-hid in silvery flakes. 
Afar her dubious radiance shed. 

Quivering on Katrine's dist.ant lakes. 
And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise. 
Their silvan fare the Cliiefs enjoy ; 

ind pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes. 
As many a pledge he quaft's to Moy 

J See Appendix, Note B. 



" 'What lack we here to crown our bliss. 
While thus the pulse of joy beats high 1 

Wliat, but fair woman's yielding kiss. 
Her panting breath and melting eye ? 

" To chase the deer of yonder shades, 
This morning left then- father's pile 

The fau-est of our niountaiu maids. 
The daughters of the proud Glongyle. 

" Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, 
And dropp'd the te.ar, and heaved the sigh 

But vain the lover's wily art. 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

"But thou mayst teach that guardian fair, 
Wliile far with ilary I am flown. 

Of other hearts to cease her care, 
And fuid it hard to guard her own. 

" Touch but thy h.arp, thou soon shalt see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Ummndful of her charge and me, 

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. 

" Or, if she choose a melting t.ale. 

All underneath the gi'eenwood bough, 

Will good St, Oran's rule prevail,' 

Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ?" — 

" Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death. 
No more on me shall rapture rise. 

Responsive to the panting breath. 
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

" E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe. 
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 

I bade my harp's wild wailings flow. 
On me the Seer's sad spu-it came. 

" The last dread curse of .angi-y heaven. 
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe. 

To dash each glimpse of joy was given — 
The gift, the futm-e ill to know. 

" The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn. 

So gayly part from Oban's b.ay. 
My eye beheld her dash'd and torn. 

Far on the rocky Colonsay. 

" Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son. 

Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power 

As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe, 
He left the skuts of huge Benmore. 

2 See Appendix, Note C. 



CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO MINSTRELSY. 591 


" Thou only saw'st their tartans' wave, 
As down Benvoirlich's side they -wound, 

Heard'st but the pibroch,^ answering bravo 
To many a target clanking round. 


And by the watch-fire's glimmermg light. 
Close by the minstrel's side was seen 

A huntress maid, in beauty bright. 
All dropping wet her robes of green. 


■ I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 
I saw the wound his bosom bore. 

When on the serried Saxon spears 
He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. 


All drtipping wet her garments seem ; 

Chill'd was her check, her bosom bare, 
As, bending o'er the dying gleam, 

She wrung f lie moisture from her hair. 


" And thou, who bidst me tliink of bliss. 
And bidst my heart awake to glee. 

And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — 
That heart, Ronald, bleeds for thee : 


With maiden blush, she softly said, 
" gentle huntsman, hast thou seen. 

In deep Glenfinlas' moonhght glade, 
A lovely maid in vest of green : 


" I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; 

I hear thy ^Yarning Spirit cry ; [now . . . 
The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and 

Ko more is given to gifted eye !" 


" With her a Chief in Highland pride ; 

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
The mountam dirk adorns his side. 

Far on the wind his tartans flow ?'' — 


" Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil hour 1 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, 

Because to-morrow's storm may lorn- ? 


" And who art thou ? and who are they ?" 
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 

" And why, beneath the moon's pale ray. 
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ?" — 


" Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
Clangillian's Chieftam ne'er shall fear ; 

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow. 
Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. 


" Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide. 
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle, 

Our father's towers o'erhang her side. 
The castle of the bold Glengyle. 


" E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, 
My Mary's buskins brnsli the dew." 

He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell, 
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. 


" To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer, 

Our woodland course tliis morn we bore. 

And haply met, w^hile w^andering here. 
The son of great Macgilhanore. 


Within an hour return'd each hound ; 

In rush'd the rousers of the deer ; 
Thev howl'd in melancholy sound. 

Then closely couch'd beside the Seer. 


" aid me, then, to seek the pair, 
Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; 

Alone, I dare not venture there. 

Where walks, they say, the slu-ieking ghost."^ 


No Ronald yet ; though midnight came. 
And sad were Moy's proplietic dreams. 

As, bending o'er the dying flame, 

He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 


" Yes, many a slu-ieking ghost walks there ; 

Then, first, my own sad vow to keep, 
Here will I pour my midnight prayer. 

Which still must rise when mortals sleep." — 


Sudden the hounds erect their ears, 
And sudden cease theu- moaning howl ; 

Close press'd to Moy, they mark then- fears 
By shivering limbs and stifled growl. 


" first, for pity's gentle sake. 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! 

For I must cross the haunted brake, 

And reach my father's towers ere day." — 


Untouch'd, the harp began to ring, 
As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 

And shook responsive every strmg. 
As light a footstep press'd the floor. 


" First, thi-ee times tell each Ave-bead, 
And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 

Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 
So shall we safely wend oiu" way." — 


1 Tartans— The full Highland dress, made of the checkered 
(•.affso termed. 


- PitiTOch — A piece of martial music, adapted to the High- 
land bagpipe. 



592 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


" shame to knighthood, strange and foul 


But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 


Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow. 


Was waved by wmd, or wet by dew. 


And slu-oud thee in the monkish cowl. 




Which best befits thy sullen vow. 


Wild mingling with the howling gale, 




Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 


" Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 


High o'er the minstrel's head they sail, 


Tliy heart was froze to love and joy, 


And die amid the northern skies. 


When gayly rung thy raptur'd lyre 




To wanton Morna's melting eye." 


The voice of thunder shook the wood, 




As ceased the more than mortal yell ; 


Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame, 


And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 


And liigh his sable locks arose, 


Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 


And quick his color went and came, 




As fear and rage alternate rose. 


Next dropp'd from high a mangled ana ; 




The fingers strarn'd a half-drawn blade : 


" And thou ! when by the blazing oak 


And last, the Ufe-blood streaming warm, 


I lay, to her and love resign'd. 


Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 


Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke. 




Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind ? 


Oft o'er that head, in battling field, 




Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore ; 


" Not tliine a race of mortal blood. 


That arm the broad claymore could wield. 


Nor old Glengyle's pretended hne ; 


Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 


Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood — 




Thy sire, the Mouarcli of the Mine." 


Woe to Moneira's suUcn rills I 




Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! 


He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme. 


There never son of Albin's hills 


And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer ; 


Shall draw the hunter's shaft a>jen ! 


Then turn'd liim to the eastern clime, 




And sternly shook his coal-black liair. 


E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 




At noon shall shun that sheltering den, 


And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 


Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 


His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; 


The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 


And loud, and liigh, and strange, they rung. 




As many a magic change they find. 


And we — behind the Ciiieftain's shield. 




No more shall we in safety dwell ; 


Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form. 


None leads the people to the field — 


Till to the roof her stature grew ; 


And we the loud hamont must swell. 


Then, mingling with the rising storm. 




With one wild yell away she flew. 


hone a rie' ! hone a rie' 1 




The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! 


Rain beats, hail rattles, whii-lwinds tear: 


And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 


The slender hut in fragments flew ; 


We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! 


1 See Appendix, Note D. 


him. It has been alleged, however, that the poet makes a 




German use of his Scottish materials ; that the legend, as 


" Lewis's collection produced also wiiat Scott justly calls 


briefly told in the simple prose of his preface, is more ajfrctinif 


his ' tirst serious attempts in verse ;' and of tiiese the earliest 


than the lofty and sonorous stanzas themselves ; tliat the 


appears to have been the Glenfinlas. Here the scene is laid in 


vague terror of the original dream loses, instead of gaining, by 


the most favorite district of his favorite Perthshire Highlands ; 


the expanded elaboration of the detail There may be some- 


and the Gaelic tradition on which it wag founded was far more 


thing in these objections : but no man can pretend to be ar 


likely to draw out the secret strength of his genius, as well as 


impartial critic of the piece which firet awoke his own childish 


to arrest tlie feelings of his countrymen, than any suhject with 


ear to the power of poetry and the melody of verse. ^—Lifc oj 


which the stores of German diablerie could have supplied 


Scott, vol. ii. p. 25. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



593 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

How blazed Lord Ronaid's beltane-tree. — P. 589. 

The fires lighted by the Highlanders, on the first of May, in 
compliance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are 
termed Tfie Beltane-tree. It is a festival celehraied with va- 
rious superstitioQs rites, both in the north of Scotland and 
in Wales. 



XOTE B. 



The seer^ s prophetic spirit found. — P. 590. 

I can only describe the second sight, by adopting Dr. John- 
Eon's definition, who rails it " An impression, either by the 
mind opon the eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by which 
things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were 
present." To which I would only add, that the spectral ap- 
pearances, thus presented, usually presage misfortune ; that the 
faculty is painfnl to those who suppose tiiey possess it; and 
that they usually acquire it while themselves under the pres- 
sure of melancholy. 



Note C. 



Will good St. Oran^s rvie prevail 7 — P. 591. 

St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Colnmba, and was 
buried at Icolmkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather 
dubious. According to the legend, he consented to be buried 
alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of the soil, who ob- 
structed tiie attempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columha 
caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days 
had elapsed ; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the as- 
sistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, 
nor a future state ! He had no time to make further discov- 
eries, for Columba caused the earth once more to be shovelled 
over him with the utmost despatch. The chapel, however, and 
the cemetery, was called Relig Ouran ; and, in memory of his 
rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, 
or be baried in that place. This is the rule alluded to in the 
poem. 

75 



Note D. 

And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer. — P. 592. 

St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fonn. 
tains, fitc, in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an 
Abbot of Fittenweem, in Fife ; from wliich situation lie re- 
tired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A. D. 649. 
Wliile engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand 
was observed to send forth such a splendor, as to afford light 
to that with which lie wrote ; a miracle which saved many 
candles to the convent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights 
in that exen-ise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this 
saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St. 
Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7, tells us, that 
Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and 
luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it 
carried at the head of his army. Previous to the Battle of 
Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, ab- 
stracted the relic, and deposited it in a place of security, lest it 
should fall into the hands of the English. Bnt, lo ! while Rob- 
ert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was ob- 
served to open and shut suddenly ; and, on inspection, the 
saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the shrina 
as an assurance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. Bat 
though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan should 
assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at 
Killin, upon Loch Tay. 

In the Scots Magazine for July, 1803, there is a copy of a 
very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which 
James III. confirms, to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Stratb- 
fillan, in Perthsliire, tlie peaceable exercise and enjoynaent of a 
relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral 
staff called the Q,uegrich, which he and his predecessors are 
said to have possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the 
Q,uegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is probably 
the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine. 
The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, farther 
observes, that additional particulars, concerning St. Fillan, are 
to be found in Bellenden's Bocce, Book 4, folio ccxiii., and 
in Pennant's Tour in Scotland, 1772, pp. 11, 15. 

See a note on the lines in the first canto of Marmion. . , 

** Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well, 
Whose spring can phreneied dreams dispel, 
And tlie crazed brain restore," Stc. — Ed. 



594 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tl)c €vc of St. M)n. 



Smaylho'me, or Smallholm Tower, tlie scone of 
tlie following ballad, is situated on tlie northern 
boundary of Roxburghshire, amoug a cluster of 
wild rocks, called Sandiknow'-Crags, the property 
of Hugh Scott, Esq., of Harden [now Lord Pol- 
warth]. The tower is a high square building, sur- 
rounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The cu'- 
cuit of the outer court, being defended on thi'ee 
sides, by a precipice and morass, is accessible only 
fi'odi the west, by a steep and rocky path. The 
apartments, as is usual in a Border keep, or for- 
tress, are placed one above another, and commu- 
nicate by a narrow stair ; on the roof ai'e two bar- 
tizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. The 
inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron 
gate ; the distance between them being nine feet, 
the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the ele- 
vated situation of Smayllio'me Tower, it is seen 
many miles in every direction. Among the crags 
by which it is sm-rounded, one, more eminent, is 
called the Watchfotd, and is said to have been the 
station of a beacon, in the times of war with Eng- 
land. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. 
Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighborhood of 
Smaylho'me Tower. 

This ballad was first printed in Mr. Lewis's 
Talcs of Wonder. It is here published, with some 
additional illustrations, particularly an account of 
the battle of Ancram Moor ; wliich seemed proper 
in a work upon Border antiquities. The catastro- 
phe of the tale is founded upon a well-known Irish 
tradition." This ancient fortress and its vicinity 
formed the scene of the Editor's infimcy, and 
seemed to claim from him this attempt to cele- 
brate them in a Border tale.' 



1 " This placed is rendered interesting to poetical readers, 
by its having been the residence, in early life, of Mr. Walter 
Scott, wlio has celebrated it in Iiis ' Eve of St. John.' To it 
he probably alludes in the introduction to the third canto of 
Marmion. 

* Then rise those crags, that inoDntain tower, 
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour.* " 

Siots Mag. March, 1809. 

^ The following passage, in Dr. Henry IMore's Ji-ppcndix 
to the Antidote against Jithcisvi, relates to a similar phenom- 
enon :^" I confess, that the bodies of devils may not be only 
warm, bnt sindgingly hot, as it was in him that took one of 
Melanctlion's relations by the hand, and so scorched her, that 

1 The farm-hOQSe in the immediate vicinity of Smoilholm. 



<ill)c €oc of St. %o\]\\. 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day. 

He spm'r'd his courser on. 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way. 

That leads to Brotherstone. 



He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 

His baimer broad to rear ; 
He went not 'gainst the English yew, 

To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack' was braced, and his helmet 
was laced. 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, 

FuU ten pound weight and more. 

The Baron return'd in three days space. 

And his looks were sad and sour ; 
And weary was his courser's pace, 

As he reach'd his rocky tower. 

He came not from where Ancram Moor" 

Ran red with English blood ; 
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 

Tet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd. 

His acton pierced and tore. 
His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, — 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage. 
He held him close and stiU ; 



she bare the mark of it to lier dying day. But the examptes 
of cold are more frequent; as in that famous story of Cuntius, 
when he touched the arm of a certain woman of Pentoch, aa 
she lay in her bed, he felt as cold as ice ; and so did the spirit' 
claw to Anne Styles."— iii. 1662, p. 135. 
3 See the Introduction to the third canto of 3Iarmlon. . . 
" It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked clifls were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
I>ay velvet tufts of softest greei. ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wallflower grew," &c. — Ld. 
* The plate-jack is coat-armor; the vaunt- brace, or warn- 
brace, armor for the body ; tlie sperthe, a battle-axe. 
^ See Appendi.t, Note A. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 596 


And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page 


" ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 


His name was English Will. 


I dare not come to thee ; 




On the eve of St. John I must wander alone : 


" Come thou liither, my little foot-page, 


In thy bower I m.ay not be.' — 


Come hither to my knee ; 




Thougli thou art young, and tender of age. 


" ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight 1 


I think thou art true to me. 


Thou shouldst not s.ay me nay ; 




For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet. 


' Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, 


Is worth the whole summer's day. 


And look thou tell me true ! 




Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been. 


" ' And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder 


WTiat did thy lady do ?"— 


shall not sotmd. 




And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair ; 


" My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, 


So, by the black rood-stone,' and by holy St. 


That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 


John, 


For, from height to height, the beacons bright 


I conjm-e thee, my love, to be there 1' — 


Of the English foemen told. 






" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush 


" The bittern clamor'd from the moss. 


beneath my foot. 


The wind blew loud and slu-ill ; 


And the warder his bugle should not blow, 


Yet the craggy pathway she did cross 


Yet there sleejieth a priest in the chamber to the 


To the eiry Beacon Hill. 


east. 




And my footstep he would know.' — 


'■ I watch'd her steps, and silent came 




Where slae sat her on a stone ; 


" ' fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east ; 


No watchman stood by the dreary flame. 


For to Dryburgh- the way he has ta'en ; 


It burned all alone. 


And there to say mass, till three days do pass. 




For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' — 


" The second night I kept her in sight. 




TiU to the lire she came. 


" He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd ; 


And, by Mary's might ! an Ai-med KnigH 


Then he laugli'd right scornfully — 


Stood by the lonely flame. 


' He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that 




'inight, 


" And many a word that warlike lord 


May as well say mass for me : 


Did speak to my lady there ; 




But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast; 


" ' At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits 


And I heard not what they were. 


have power, 




In thy chamber will I be.' — 


" The tlurd night there the sky was fair, 


With that he was gone, and my lady left alone. 


And the moimtain-blast was still, 


And no more did I see." 


As again I watch'd the secret paii-, 




On the lonesome Beacon HiU. 


Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow. 




From the dark to the blood-red high. 


" And I heard her name the midnight hour. 


" Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast 


And name this holy eve ; 


seen. 


And s.ay, ' Come this night to thy lady's bower ; 


For, by Mary, he shall die !" — 


Ask no bold Baron's leave. 






" His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red 


" ' He lifts his speai- -irith the bold Buccleuch ; 


Hght; 


His lady is all alone ; 


His plume it was scarlet and blue ; 


The door she'll undo, to her knight so true, 


On his shield was a hound, in a sUver leash bound, 


On the eve of good St. John.' — 


And his crest was a branch of the yew." — 


1 The b'ack-rcod i^t Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, 


Honorable the Earl of Buchan. It belonged to the order ot 


anil of snpenor sanctity. 


Preraonstratense3.--[The ancient Barons of Newmains wera 


» Drjjorgh Abbe/ is beautifully silnated on the banks of the 


altimately represented by Pir Walter Scott, whose remains now 


Tweed. After its dis*^j!atiQn, it became the property of the 


repose in the cemetery at Drvborgb.— Ed.] 


HalHburtons of Newoi^uns, and is now the seat of the Right 





596 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


* Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 


And oft to himself he said, — 


Loud dost thou lie to me ! 


"The worms around him creep, and his bloody 


For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould. 


grave is deep 


All under the EUdon-tree." — ' 


It cannot give up the dead I" — 


'' Yet hear but my word, my noble lord 1 


It was near the ringing of matin-bell. 


For I heard her name his name ; 


The night was wellnigh done. 


And that lady bright, she called the knight 


When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell 


Sir Richard of Coldinghame." — 


On the eve of good St. John. 


The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow. 


The lady look'd tlirough the chamber fair. 


From high blood-red to pale — 


By the light of a dymg flame ; 


" The grave is deep and dark — and the corpse is 


And she was aware of a knight stood there — 


stiff and stark— 


Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 


So I may not trust tliy tale. 






" Alas ! away, away !" she cried. 


" Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 


" For the holy Virgin's sake !" — 


And EUdon slopes to the plain, 


" Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 


Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, 


But, lady, he will not awake. 


That gay gallant was slain. 






" By Eildon-tree, for long nights three. 


" The varying light deceived thy sight. 


In bloody grave have I lain ; 


And the wild winds drown'd the name ; 


The mass and the death-prayer are said for nie. 


For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks 
do sing. 
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame !" 


But, lady, they are said in vam. 


" By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand, 




Most foully slain, I fell ; 


He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower- 


And my restless sprite on the beacon's height. 


And he mounted the narrow stair, [gate, 


For a space is doom'd to dwell 


To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on 




her wait, 


" At our trysting-place,' for a certain space, 


He found his lady fair. 


I must wander to and fro ; 




But I had not had power to come to thy 


That lady sat in mournful mood; 


bower. 


Look VI over hill and vale ; 


Had'st thou not conjured me so." — 


Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's' wood. 




And all down Teviotdale. 


Love master'd fear — her brow she cross'd ; 




" How, Richard, hast tliou sped ? 


" Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright !" — 


And art thou saved, or art thou lost ?" — 


" Now hail, thou Baron true ! 


The vision shook his head 1 


What news, what news, from Ancram fight ? 




What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" — 


" "ftlio spilleth life, shall forfeit Ufe ; 




So bid thy lord believe : 


" Tlie Ancram Moor is red with gore. 


That lawless love is guilt above, 


For many a soutliron fell ; 


This awful sign receive." 


And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, 




To watch our beacons well." — 


He laid his left palm on an oaken beam ; 




His right upon her hand ; 


The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said : 


The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 


Nnr added the Baron a word : 


For it scorch'd like a fiery brand. 


Then she stapp'd down the stair to her chamber fair. 




And so did her moody lord. 


The sable score, of fingers four. 




Remams on that board impress'd ; 


In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd 


And for evermore that lady wore 


and turn'd. 


A covering on her wrist. 


1 Eildon is a high hill, terminating in three conical snmmifs, 


where Thomas the Rhymer uttered his prophecies. See p. STV 


directly above the town of Melrose, where are the admired ruins 


a Mertoun is tlie beautiful seat of Lord Polwarth. 


of a magnificent monastery. Eildon-tree is said to be the spot 


3 Try sting-place — Place of rendezvous. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



597 



There is a nun in Dryburgh bower, 

Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 
There is a monk in Mebose tower, 

He speaketh word to none. 

1 See Appendix, Note B. 

*■ The next of these composiliona was, I believe, the Eve of 
Si John, in which Scott re-peoples the tower of Smailholm, 
[he awe-inspiring haunt of his infancy ; and here he touches, 
for the tirsl time, the one superstition which can still be ap- 
pealed io with full and perfect effect ; the only one which lin- 
gi rs in minds long since weaned from all sympathy with the 
niauliinery of witches and goblins. And surely this mystery 
was never touciied with more thrilling skill than in that noble 



That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,* 

That monk, who speaks to none — 
That nun was Smaylljo'me'a Lady gay, 

That monk the bold Baron. 

ballad. It is the first of his original pieces, too. in wliicli lie 
uses the measure of his own favorite Minstrels ; a measure 
which the monotony of mediocrity had long and succeasfully 
been laboring to degrade, but in itself adequate to the expre9- 
sion of ite highest thoughts, as well as the gentlest emotions ; 
and callable, in fit hands, of as rich a viiriety of music as any 
other of modern limes. Tiiis was written at Mertoun-house 
in the autumn of 1799." — Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 26. See 
atite, p. 568. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

BATTLB OK ANCRAM MOOR.— P. 594. 

Lord Evkrs, and Sir Brian Latoun, during the year 1544, 
committed tlie most dreadful ravages upon the Scottish fron- 
tiers, compelling most of tlie inhabitants, and especially the 
men of Liddesdale, to take assurance under the King of Eng- 
land. Upon the 17th November, in that year, the sum total 
of their depredations stood thus, in the bloody ledger of Lord 
Evers : — 

Towns, towers, barnekynes, paryshe churches, bastill 

house?, burned and destroyed, , , , 192 

Scots slain, . . , , . 403 

Prisoners taken, ..... 816 

No!t (cattle), 10,386 

Shepe, 12,492 

Nags and geldings, .... 1,296 

Gayt, ...... 200 

Boils of corn, ..... 850 

Insight gear, Stc. (furniture) an incalculable quantity. 

Ml'RDIn's State Papers, vol. i. p. 51. 

For these services Sir Ralph Evers was made a Lord of Par- 
liament. See a strain of exulting congratulation upon his pro- 
motion poured forth by some contemporary minstrel. In vol. i. 
p. 417. 

The King of England had promised to these two barons a 
feudal grant of tlie country, wliich they had thus reduced to a 
desert; upon hearing whicli, Archibald Douglas, the seventh 
Earl of Angus, is said to have sworn to write the deed of in- 
vestiture upon their skins, with sharp pens and bloody ink, in 
rwentment for their having defaced the tombs of his ancestors 
at Melrose. — Oodscroft. In 1545, Lord Evera and Latoun 
again entered Scotland, with an army consisting of 3000 mer- 
cenaries, 1500 English Borderers, and 700 assured Scottish 
men, chieHy Armstrongs, Turnbulls, and otiier broken clans. 
In this second incursion, the English generals even exceeded 
their former cruelty. Evers burned the lower of Broomhoose, 
with its lady (a noble and aged woman, Bays Lesley), and her 

I The editor has found no instance npon record, of this family having 
ttiken flsaiirunce with England. Hence they ueiially suffered dreadfully 
from tho English forays. In Aiifimt, 1544 (the ypar preci'ding Ihc battle), 
Ibe whole landa belonging to Buccleueh, in Weal Teviotdale, were harried 
by Evers; the oulworks, or bannkin, of the tower of lirnnxholn3 bwmed ; 
ft^'htScotta tlain, thirty made priwoers, and an imoieQae prey of horses, 



whole family. The English penetrated as far as Melrose, 
which they had destroyed last year, and which they now again 
jiillaged. As they returned towards Jedburgh, they were fol* 
lowed by Angus at the head of 1000 horse, who was shortly 
after joined by the famous Norman Lesley, with a body of 
Fife-men. The English, being probably unwilling to cross the 
Teviot while the Scots hung upon their rear, halted upon An- 
cram Moor, above the village of that name ; and the Scottish 
general was deliberating whether to advance or retire, when 
Sir Walter Scot!,' of Buccleueh, came up at full speed with a 
small but chosen body of his retainers, the rest of whom were 
near at hand. Bv ihe advice of this experienced warrior (tc 
whose conduct Pitscottie and Buchanan ascribe the success of 
the engagement), Angus withdrew from tlie heigiit which he 
occupied, and drew up his forces behind it, upon a piece of 
low flat ground, called Panier-heugh, or Paniel-heugh. The 
spare horses being sent to an eminence in their rear, appeared 
to the EngHsIi to be the main body of the Scots in the act of 
flight. Under this persuasion, Evers and Latoun hurried pre- 
cipitately forward, and having ascended the hill, which their 
foes had abandoned, were no less dismayed than astonished to 
find the phalanx of Scottish spearmen drawn up, in firm array, 
upon the flat grouml below. The Scots in their tnni became 
the assailants. A heron, roused from the marshes by the tu- 
mult, soared away betwixt the encountering armies: "O!" 
exclaimed Angus, " that I had here my white go^s-hawk, that 
we might all yoke at once !" — Godscroft. The English, 
breathless and fatigued, having the setting sun and wind full 
in their faces, were unable to withstand the resolute and des- 
perate charge of the Scottish lances. No sooner had they be- 
gun to waver, than their own allies, the assured Borderers, 
who had been waiting the event, ihrew aside their red crosses, 
and, joining their countrymen, made a most merciless slaughter 
among the English fugitives, the pursuers calling upon each 
other to " remember Broomhouse !" — Lesley, p. 478. 

In the battle fell Lord Evers, and his son, together with Sir 
Brian Latoun, and 800 Englishmen, many of whom were per- 
sons of rank. A thousand prisoners were taken. Among 
these was a patriotic alderman of London, Read by name, 
who, having contumaciously refused to pay his portion of a 

cattle, and sheep, carried off. The lands npcn Kale Water, belonging to 
the same chiLftftin, were also plundered, and much spoil obtained ; Itiirly 
Scotts slain, and the Moaa Tower (a fortress near Eckford) tmoted wtrj 
tore. Thus Uucirleuch had a long account to settle at Ancram Moor,— 
MuaDiN'a Stalt Papert, pp. 45, -16. 



598 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



henevolence, demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was 
pent by royal authority to serve against the Scots. These, at 
settling his ransom, he found slill more exorbitant in their 
exactions than tlie monarch. — Redpath's Border History, 
p. 5G3. 

Evers was mach regretted by King Henry, who swore to 
avenge his death cpon Angus, against whom he conceived 
himself to have particalar grounds of resentment, on account 
of favors received by the earl at his hands. The answer of 
Angus was worthy of a Douglas : " Is our broth ei>in-law of- 
fended, "i said he, " that 1, as a good Scotsman, have avenged 
my ravaged country, and the defaced tombs of my ancestors, 
upon Ralph Evers? They were belter men ttian he, and I 
was bound to do no less — and will lie take my life for that? 
Ijittle knows King Henry the skirts of Kirnetable :" I can keep 
myself there against all his English host." — Godscroft. 

Such was the noted battle of Ancram INIoor. The spot, on 
which it was fought, is called Lilyard's Edge, from an Ama- 
zonian Scottish woman of that name, who is reported, by tra- 
dition, to have distinguished herself in the same manner as 
Squire Withering ton. 3 The old people point out her monu- 
ment, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have 
been legible within this century, and to have run thus : 

" Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane, 
Little was Iier stature, but great was her fame ; 
Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps. 
And, when her legs were culted off, she fought upon her 
bturaps." 

Vide Account of the Parish of Melrose. 

It appears, from a passage in Stowe, that an ancestor of 
Lord Evers held also a grant of Scottish lands from an English 
monarch. "I liave seen," says the historian, "under the 
broad-seale of the said King Edward 1., a manor, called Ket- 
nes, m tlie county of Forfare, in Scotland, and neere the fui^ 
thest part of the same nation northward, given to John Ure 
ana his beires, ancestor to the Lord Ure, that now is, for his 
Eerviee done in these partes, with market, &c., dated at Laner- 

1 Angoa had married tlie widow of Jamea IV,, aster to Kiiig Henry 

vni. 

i Kirnetable, now called Caimtable, is a mountAiDOOB tract at the head 



cost, the 20th day of October, anno regis, 34." — St()we'9 
JJjinals:, p. 210. This grant, like that of Henry, must have 
been dangerous to the receiver. 



Note B. 
That iiun who rie'er beholds the day. — P. 597. 

The circumstance of the nun, " who never saw the day," is 
not entirely imaginary. About fifty yeai-sago, an unfortunate 
female wanderer took up her residence in a dark vault, among 
the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which, during llie day, she 
never quitted. When night fell, she issued from this miserable 
habitation, and went to the house of Mr, Ilaliburton of New- 
mains, the Editor's great-grandfather, or to tliat of Mr. E,?.- 
kine of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighborhood. From 
their charity, she obtained such necessaries as she could be 
prevailed upon to accept. At twelve, each night, she lighted 
her candle, and returned to her vault, assuring her friendly 
neighbors, that, during her ab=enee, her habitation was ar- 
ranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name of 
Fatlips ; describing him as a little man, wearing heavy iron 
shoes, with which he trampled the clay floor of the vault, to 
dispel the damps. This circumstance caused her to be regard- 
ed, by the well-informed, with compassion, as deranged in her 
understanding ; and by the vulgar, with some degree of teiTor. 
The cause of her adopting this e,vtraordinary mode of life she 
would never explain. It was, however, believed to have been 
occasioned by a vow, that, during the absence of a man to 
whom she was attached, she would never look upon the sun. 
Her lover never returned. He fell during the civil war of 
1745-6, and she never more would behold the light of day. 

The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate wo- 
man lived and died, passes still by the name of the supernatu- 
ral being, with which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed 
imagination, and few of the neighboring peasants dare enter it 
by night.— 1803. * 

of Douglasdale, [See notes to Caetle Dangerous, Waverley Novels, vot. 
xlvii,] 
3 See Chevy Chase. 



€ah\)0i\3 CastU. 



The ruing of Cadyow, or Cadzo-w Castle, the an- 
cient baronial residence of the fiimily of Hamilton, 
are situated upon the precipitous banks of the 
river Evan, about two miles above its junction 
with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclu- 
sion of the Civil Wars, during tlie reign of the un- 
fortunate Mary, to whose cause the house of Ham- 
ilton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, 
which occasioned then- temporary obscurity, and, 
very nearly, their total ruin. The situation of the 
ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and 
creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawling 
torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the 
immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of im- 
mense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, 



which anciently estended through the south of 
Scotland, from the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. 
Some of these trees metisure twenty-five feet, and 
upwards, in circumference ; and the state of deca} , 
in which they now appear, shows that they have 
witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole 
scenery is included in the magnificent and exten- 
sive park of the Duke of Hamilton. There was 
long preserved in tliis forest the breed of the Scot- 
tish wild cattle, until their ferocity occasioned their 
being extirpated, about forty years ago.' Their 
appearance was beautiful, being millr-white, with 

1 The breetl had not been entirely extirpated. Tliere re- 
mained certainly a magnificent herd of these cal*'" in Cadyorf 
Forest within these few years. J 833. — Ed. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



599 



black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulla are de- 
ecribed by ancient authors as Iiaviug ivhite m.anes ; 
but tliose of latter days had lost that peculiarity, 
perhaps bj' intermixtui'e with the tame breed.' 

In detailing the death of the Regent Murray, 
wliich is made the subject of the following ballad, 
it would be injustice to my reader to use otiier 
words than those of Dr. Robertson, whose account 
of that niemoriible event forms a beautiful piece 
of Idstorical painting. 

"Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person 
who committed this barbarous action. He had 
been condemned to deatli soon after the battle of 
Langside, as we have already related, and owed 
his life to tlie Regent's clemency. But part of his 
estate had been bestowed upon one of the Re- 
gent's favorites," who seized his house, and turned 
out his wife, naked, m a cold night, into the open 
fields, where, before next morning, she became 
furiously mad. This injury made a deeper im- 
pression on him than the benefit he had received, 
and from that moment he vowed to be revenged 
of the Regent. Party rage strengthened .and in- 
flamed his private resentment. His kii;smen, the 
Hamiltons, applauded the enterprise. The max- 
in^s of that ag'e justified the most desperate course 
he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed 
the Regent for some time, and watched for au op- 
portunity to strike the blow. He resolved at last 
to wait till his enemy should arrive at Linlithgow, 
through which he was to pass in his way from Sth- 
ling to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a wooden 
g.allery,' which had a window towards the street ; 
spread a feather-bed on the floor to liinder the noise 
of liis feet from being heard ; hung up a black cloth 
behind him, that his shadow might not be observed 
from without ; and, after all this preparation, 
calmly expected the Regent's approach, who had 
lodged, during the night, in a house not far- distant. 
Some indistinct information of the d.anger which 
threatened him had been conveyed to the Regent, 
and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved 
to return by the same gate through which he had 
entered, and to fetch a com2:)ass round the town. 
Rut, :is tlie crowd about the gate was great, and 
he himself un.acquainted with fear, he proceeded 
directly along the street ; and the throng of peo- 
ple obUging him to move very slowly, gave the 
assassin time to take so true an ami, tliat he shot 
him, witli a single bullet, tlirough the lower part 
of his belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman 



I They were formerly kept in the park at Dromlanrig, and 
are still to be seen at Cliillingliam Castle, in Northumberland. 
For thoir nature anil ferocity, see Notes. 

1 This was Sir James Bellenden, Lord Justice-Clerk, whose 
•hameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the i:at.islrophe in 

ibe text. — PPOTTISWOODK. 

This projecting gallery is still shown. The house to whicji 



who rode on his otlier side. His followers m 
stantly endeavored to break mto the house whence 
the blow had come ; but they found the door 
strongly barricadoed, and, before it could be forced 
open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,* which 
stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got 
far beyond their reach. The Regent died the same 
night of his wound." — History of Scotland, book v. 

Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, where 
he was received in triumph ; for the ashes of the 
houses in Clydesdale, which had been bmned by 
Murray's army, were yet smoking ; and party pre- 
judice, the habits of the age, and tlie enormity of 
the provocation, seemed to liis kinsmen to justify 
the deed. After a sliort abode at HamUton, this 
fierce and determined man left Scotland, and 
served in France, under the patronage of the fam- 
ily of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recom- 
mended by h.aving avenged the cause of tlieir 
niece. Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful brother. 
De Tliou has recorded, that an attciupt was made 
to engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, 
the famous Admiral of France, and the buckler ot 
the Huguenot cause. But the character of Both- 
weUliaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary 
trader in blood, and rejected the offer with con- 
tempt and indignation. He had no authority, he 
said, from Scotland to commit murders in France ; 
he had avenged his own just quarrel, but he woidd 
neither, for price nor jjrayer, avenge that of an 
other man. — Thuanus, cap. 46. 

The Regent's death happened 2.3d January, 
1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by contem- 
porary historians, accortling to tlieir religious or 
party prejudices. Tlie triumpli of Blackwood is 
unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat of 
BothwelUiaugh, " who," he observes, " satisfied, 
with a single ounce of lead, liim whose sacrilegious 
avarice liad stripped the metropolitan cliurcli of 
St. Andrews of its covering ;" but lie ascribes it to 
immediate divine inspiration, and the es&ape of 
Hamilton to httle less than the mii-aculous inter- 
ference of tlie Deity. — Jebb, vol. ii. p. 263. Witli 
equal injustice, it was, by others, made the ground 
of a general nationtd reflection ; for, when Mather 
urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted 
the examples, of Poltrot and BothwelUiaugh, the 
other conspirator aaswered, "that neyther Poltrot 
nor Hanibleton did attempt their enterpryse, with- 
out some reason or consideration to lead tli em to 
it ; as the one, by hyre, and promise of preferment 

it was attached was the property of the Arclihishop of St. An- 
drews, a natural brother to the- Duke of Chatelherault, and 
uncle to Bothwellhaugh. This, among otlier circumstances, 
seems to evince the aid wliich Bothwellhaugh received from 
his clan in effecting his purpose. 

4 The gii'i of Lord Joiin Hamilton, Commendator of A^ 
broath 



coo 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



or rewarde ; the other, upon desperate m i n d of re- 
venge, for a lyttle wrong done unto him, as the 
report gnethe, according to the vyle trayterous 
iysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottes." 
— MuEDra's State Papers, voL L p. 197. 



(Ca^ttotD (Eastlc. 

ADDRESSED TO 
THE RIGHT HONORABLE 

LADY ANNE HAMILTON.! 

When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, 

The song went round, the goblet flow'd, 
And revel sped the laughing hours. 

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound. 
So sweetly rung each vaulted wall, 

And echoed light the dancer's bound, 
As miith and music cheer'd the hall. 

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid. 

And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er. 
Thrill to the music of the shade, 

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. 

You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 
And tune my harp, of Border frame, 

On the wild banks of Ev.'mdale. 

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 
From pleasure's lighter scones, canst tiu'n. 

To draw oblivion's pall aside. 

Anil mark the long-forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid I at thy command, ' 

Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand. 
The past returns — the present fliea. 

WTiere, with the rock's wood-cover'd side, 
Were blended late the ruins green, 

.^ise turrets in fantastic pride. 
And feudal banners flaunt between: 

Where the rude torrent's brawling course 
Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe. 

The ashler buttress braves its force. 
And ramparts frown in battled row. 

> Eldest daughter of Archibald, ninth Duke of Hamilton. 
-Ed. 

2 The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was 
/ames, Earl of Arran, Duke of Chatelherault, in France, and 



'Tis night — the shade of keep and spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; 

And on the wave the warder's fire 
Is checkering the moonlight beam. 

Fades slow their Ught ; the east is gray ; 

The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 

And merry himters quit the bower. 

The drawbridge falls — they hurry out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 

As, dashuig o'er, the jovial rout 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 

First of his troop, the Chief rode on ;' 
His shouting merry-men throng behind ; 

The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 

From the thick copse the roebucks bound, 
The startled red-deer scuds the plain, 

For the hoarse bugle's warrior-sound 
Has roused their moimtain haimts again. 

Tlu'ough the huge oaks of Evandale, 

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, 

What sullen roar comes down the gale. 
And drowns the himter's pealing horn ? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase. 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race, 

The Mountain BuU comes thtmdering on, 

Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band. 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow. 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand. 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 

Aim'd well, the Cliieftain's lance has flown ; 

Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan— 

Sotmd, merry huntsmen ! sound the pryse ." 

'Tis noon — against the knotted oak 

The hunters rest the idle spear ; 
Curls through the trees the slender smoke. 

Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 

Proudly the Cliieftain mai-k'd his clan. 
On greenwood lap all careless thrown. 

Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man 
That bore the name of Hamiltou. 

first peer of the Scottish realm. In 1569. he was appointetl 
by dueen Mary her lieutenant-general in Scotland, undw the 
singular title of her adopted father. 
3 gee Appendix Note A. 



CONTRIBUTIONS 


10 MINSTRELSY. 601 


" Why tills not Bothwellhaugh his place, 


And, reeking from the recent deed. 


Still wont our weal and woe to share ? 


He dash'd hia carbine on the ground. 


Why Climes he not our sport to grace? 




Why shares he not our himter's fare i" — 


Sternly he spoke — "'Tis sweet to hear 




In good greenwood the bugle blown, 


Stern Claud replied,' with darkening face 


But sweeter to Revenge's ear, 


(Gray Paisley's haughty lord was he). 


To drink a tyriint's dying groan. 


" At merry feast, or buxom chase, 




iso more the warrior wilt thou see. 


" Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, 




At dawning morn, o'er dale and down, 


" Few suns have set since Woodliouselee^ 


But prouder base-born Murray rode 


Saw Bothwellliaugh's bright goblets foam. 


Through old LinUthgow's crowded town. 


When to his hearths, iu social glee. 




The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. 


" From the wild Border's humbled side," 




In haughty triumph marched he. 


" Tliere, wan from her maternal throes. 


Wliile Knox relax'd his bigot pride. 


His Margaret, beautiful and mild, 


And smiled, the traitorous pomp to sea 


Sate ill her bower, a pallid rose. 




And peaceful nursed her new-born child. 


" But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, 




Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare. 


"0 change accursed 1 past are those days 


The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, 


False Mun-ay's rutliless spoilers came. 


Or change the purpose of Despair ? 


And, for the heai-tli's domestic blaze. 




Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 


" With hackbut bent,' my secret stand. 




Dark as the purposed deed, I chose. 


" What sheeted phantom wanders wild. 


And mark'd, where, mingling in his band. 


Wliere mountain Eske through woodland flows. 


Troop'd Scottish pikes and EngUsh bowa 


Her arms enfold a shadowy cliild — 




Oh ! is it she, the pallid rose 1 


" Dark Morton,' gu-t with many a spear, 




Murder's foul minion, led the van ; 


" The wilder'd traveller sees her glide, 


And clash'd their broadswords m the rear 


And hears her feeble voice with awe — 


The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan." 


' Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride ! 




And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh !' " 


" Glencaun and stout Parkhead" were nigh, 




Obsequious at their Regent's rein, 


He ceaaed^and cries of rage and grief 


And hagg.ird Lindesay's iron eye. 


Burst mingling from tlie kindred band. 


That saw fair Mary weep in vain.'° 


And half arose the kindling Cliief, 




And half unsheathed his Arran brand. 


" 'Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove. 




Proud Mm-ray's plumage floated high ; 


But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock. 


Scarce could his tramphng charger move, 


Rides headlong, with resistless speed, 


So close the minions crowded nigh." 


Wliose bloody poniard's frantic stroke 




Drives to the leap his jaded steed ;' 


" Prom the raised vizor's shade, his eye. 




Dark-rolling, glanced tlie ranks along. 


Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare, 


Anil liis steel truncheon, waved on high. 


As one some vision'd sight that saw, 


Seem'd marshalling the hon throng. 


Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair ? — 




'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 'tis Bothwellhaugh. 


" But yet liis sadden'd brow confess'd 




A passmg shade of doubt and awe ; 


From gory seUe,' and reehng steed. 


Some fiend was whispering in his breast ; 


Sprung the fierce liorseman with a bound. 


' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh !' 


> Fee Appendix, Note B. ^ Ibid. Note C. 


' or this noted person, it is enoogh to say, that he was ac- 


s Ibid. Nole D. 


tive in the murder of David Rizzio, and at least privy to thai 


* Scllc — f'addle. A word used by Spenser, and other an- 


of Darnley. 


cient authors. 


8 See Appendix, Note G. 


*See Appendix, Nole E, 


» Ibid. Note H. 


'Ibid Note F. 
76 


10 Ibid. Note I. " Ibid. Note K. 



602 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



*' Tlie death-shot parts — the cliarger springs — 
AVild '-ises tumult's startling roar! 

And Muiray's plumy helmet rings — 
— Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 

" Wliat joy the raptured youth can feel. 
To hear hw love the loved one tell — • 

Or he, who broaches on his steel 
Tlie wolf, by whom his infant fell I 

" i3ut dearer to my injured eye 
To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 

And mine was ten times trebled joy, 
To hear him groan his felon soul 

" My Margaret's spectre glided near ; 

With pride her bleeding victim saw ; 
And shriek'd in his deatli-deafen'd ear, 

* Kemember injured Bothwellhaugh !' 

" Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 

Spread to the wind tliy banner'd tree !^ 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! — 

Murray is fall'n, and Scotland free !" 

1 An oak. linlf-sawti, with the motto through, is an ancient 
cognizance of the family of Hamilton. 

" Scott spent the Christmas of 1801 at Hamilton Palace, in 
I^cnark^hire. To Lndy Anne Hamilton he had been iniro- 
Ineed by her friend. Lady Charlotte Campbell, and both the 
.ate and the present Dukes of Hamilton appear to have par- 
taken of Lady Anne's admiration for Glenfinlaa. and the Eve 
of St. John. A morning's ramble to the majestic ruins of the 
old baronial cab*leonthe precipitous banks of the Evan, and 
among the adjoining remains of the i»rimeval Caledonian fo^ 
est, suggested to him a ballad, not inferior in execution to any 
that he iiad hitherto produced, and especially interesling as tlie 
first in which he grapples with the woHd of picturesque inci- 
ucnt unfolded in the authentic annaU of Scotland. With the 
niagnificcnt localities before hi.^l, he skilfully interwove the 
daring assassination of the Regent Murray by one of the clans- 
men of 'the princely Hamilton.' Had the subject been ta- 
ken up in after years, we might have liad another Marmion or 
Heart of Mid-Loihiaii ; for in Cadyow Castle we have the ma- 
terials and outline of more than one of tiie noblest ballads. 

" Aliout two years before this piece began to be handed about 
*n Edinburgh, Thomas Campbell had made his appearance 



Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — 
"Murray is falln, and Scotland freed ! 

Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame !'* 

But, see ! the minstrel vision fails — 

The glimmering spears are seen no inore ; 

The shouts of war the on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle, pealing high, 

The blackbird whistles down the vale, 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 

The banner'd towers of Evandale. 

For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed, 

And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, 

Lol high-born Beauty rules the steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
Tlie maids who hst the minstrel's tale ; 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the f:iir banks of Evandale ! 

there, and at once seized a high place in the literary world by 
his ' Pleasures of Hope.' Among the most eager to welcome 
him had heen Stott ; and I find the brother-bard thus express- 
ing himself concerning the MS. of Cadyow ; — 

" ' The ^Trees of Cadyow Castle are perpetually ringing in 
my imagination — 

* Where, mightiest of the beasts of chase 
That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race. 

The mountain bull comes thundering on' — 

and the arrival of Hamilton, when 

' Reeking from the recent deed. 

He dasb'd his carbine on the ground.* 

I have repeated these lines so often on the North Bridge, that 
the whole fraternity of coachmen know me by tongue as I pass. 
To be sure, to a mind in sober, serious street-walking humor, it 
must bear an appearance of lunacy when one stamps with iho 
hurried pace arid fervent shake of the head, which strong, pith 
l)oetry excites.' " — Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 77. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

-sound tfiepryse! — P. 600. 



Prysc — The note blown at the death of the game. — In Ca- 
ledonia olim frcquens crat sylvestris quidam bos, nuncvero 
rarior,qui, colore candidiHsimo, jubam dcnsamet dcmissam 
iiistar Icorn's gesttit, truculentus ac ferus ah humano gencre 
ebkorrens, ut qutpcunque homines vcl maniI}Jts contrectdrint, 
vel fialitu perjiavcrint, ub iis mtiltos post dies omnino absti' 
Uuerunt. .id hoc tanta audacia huic bovi indita erat, ut 



non aohim irritatvs equites furenter prosternercS, scd ne 
tantilhtm laccssitus iimnes promiscue homines corr^^bus ac 
ungulis pctcrit ; ac canum, qui apud nus ferocissimi sunt, 
impetus plane contemneret. Ejus carncs eartilaginastt, scd 
saporis suavissimi. Erat is olim per illam vastissimam 
CatcdoniiE sij/vam frcquens, sed humana ingluvic jam as* 
suwptus tribus tantnm locis est rcliquus, StrivHingii, Cum'* 
bernalditr, et KincarnitB.-~M.iV:sL£Us, ScotiK Descriptio, p, 
13. — [See a note on Casttt Dangerous, Waverley Novels, 
vol. xlvii. — Ed ] 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



603 



Note B. 
Stern Claud rejjlied.—V. 601. 

Lord Claud Hainillon, second son of the Dtike of Chatel- 
hpraiilt, and t-omnieiulator of the Abbey of Paisley, acted a 
distinguished part during the troubles of Q,ut?en Mary's ri'ign, 
nnd remained analterably attaciied to the cause of that un- 
fortunate princess. He led the van of her army at tlie fatal 
bailie of Langside, and was one of tlie commanders at t)ie 
Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given complete success 
to the Queen's faction. He was ancestor of the present Mar- 
^uis of Abercorn 



Note C. 

WoodkouscJec.—P. 601. 
This barony, stretching along the banks of tlie Esk, near 
Auchendiimy, belonged to Botliwellhaugh, in riglit of his 
wife. Tlie ruins of the mansion, from whence she was ex[)el- 
led in the brutal manner which occasioned her death, are still 
to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popular report 
tenants them with the restless ghost of the Lady Bothwell- 
haugh ; whom, however, it confounds with Lady Anne Both- 
well, whose Ijament is so popular. This spectre is so tenacious 
of her rights, that a part of the sloncs of the ancient edifice 
having been employed in building or repairing the present 
VVuOtlhou«elee, she has deemed it a part of her privilege to 
haunt that liouse also ; and. even of very late years, has ex- 
cited considerable disturbance and terror among the domestics. 
This is a more remarkable vindication oi \heriffhts of ghosts, 
as the present Woodhoaslee, which gives his title to the Hon- 
orable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of the College of 
Justice, is situated on the slope of the Pentland hills, distant 
at least four miles from her proper abode. She always ap- 
pears in white, and with her child in her arms. 



Note D. 
Drives to the leap his jaded steed. — P. 601. 
Birrel informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, being closely pxir^ 
fued, " after that spuraiid wand had failed him, he drew forth 
his dagger, and slrocke his horse behind, whilk caused the 
horse to leap a very brode stanke [i. e. ditch], jiy whilk means 
heescapit, and gat away from all the rest of the horses," — 
Birrel's Diary, p. 18. 



Note E. 

From the. wild Bordir''s humbled side. — P. 601. 
H'urray's death took place shortly after an expedition to the 
rtorders ; wliich is tlius commemorated by the autlior of his 
EU'gy :- 
*' So having stablischt all things in this sort, 
To Liddisdaill agane tie did resort. 
Throw Ewisdail, E-kdail, and all the dailU -ode he, 
And al>JO lay tliree nights in Cannabie, 
VV'hair na prince lay thir hundred yeiris before. 
Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir sa sair ; 
And, that thay suld na mair thair thift allege, 
Threescore and twelf he brocht of thame in pledge. 
Syne wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordoor ; 
Than mycbt the rasch-bos keep ky on the Border." 

Scottish Poems, I6th century, p. 232. 



Note F. 

With hackbut ipiif.— P. 601. 
Hackbut bent — Gun cock'd. The carbine, with which the 
Regent was shot, is preserved at Hamilton Palace. It is a 



bra.<>s piece, of a middling length, very small in the bore, and, 
what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been rifled oi 
indented in the barrel. It had a matchlock, for which a mod- 
ern firelock has been injudiciouslv substituted. 



Note G. 



The wild Macfarlnnes^ plaided clan. — P. 601 . 

This clan of Lennox Highlanders were attached to the Re- 
gent Murray. Hollinshed. speaking of the battle of Langside, 
says, " In this batayle the valiancie of an Heiland gentleman, 
named Macfarlane, stood the Regent's part in great steede ; 
for, in the hottest brunte oi ttie fighte, he came up with two 
hundred of his friendes and countrymen, and so manfully gave 
in upon the flankes of the Queen's people, that he was a great 
cause of the disordering of them. This Macfarlane iiad been 
lately before, as 1 have heanl, condemned to die, for some out- 
rage by him committed, and obtayning pardon tlirough suyte 
of the Countess of Murray, he recompensed that clemencie by 
this piece of service now at this batayle." Calderwood's ac- 
count is less favorable to the Macfarlanes. He states that 
" Macfarlane, with his Highlandmen, fled from tlie wing 
where they were set. The Lord Lindsay, who stood nearest 
to them in the Regent's battle, said, ' Let them go ! I shall fill 
their place belter:' and so, stepping forward, witli a comi)any 
of fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spears were now 
spent, with long weapons, so that they were driven back by 
force, being before almost overthrown by the avaunt-guard and 
harqucbusiers, and so were turned to flight." — Calderwood's 
Ma. apad Keith, p. 480. Melville mentions the flight of the 
vanguard, hut slates it to have been commanded by Morton, 
and composed chiefly of commoners of the barony of Renfrew. 



Note H. 

Olencairn and stout Parkhead mere nigh. — P. 601. 

The Earl of Glencaim was a steady adherent of the Regent. 
George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl 
of Morton, whose horse was killed by the same ball by which 
Murray fell. 



Note I. 



haggard JAndesay' s iron eye, 

Thai saw fair Miry weep in vain. — P. 601. 

Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most ferocious and 
brutal of the Rt-geiit's faction, and, as such, was employed to 
extort Marv'a eignature to the deed of resignation presented to 
her in Lochleven castle. He discharged his commission with 
Uie most savage rigor ; and it is even said, tliat when the 
weeping captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes from 
the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron 
glove. 



Note K. 



So close the minions crowded nigh. — P. 601. 

Not only had the Regent notice of the intended attempt 
upon his life, but even of the very house from which it was 
threatened. With that infatuation at which men wonder, 
after Buch events have happened, he deemed it would be a 
sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot. 
But even this was prevented by the crowd : so that Bothwell- 
haugh had time to take a deliberate aim. — Spottiswoodk. 

p. 233. BUCOANAN. 



604 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



€l)c (3xa\) !3votl)cr. 



A FRAGMENT. 



The imperfect state of this ballad, which was 
written several years ago, is not a circumstance 
affected for the purpose of giving it that peculiar 
interest which is often found to arise from ungrati- 
fied curiosity. On the contrary, it was the Editor's 
intention to have completed the tale, if he had 
found himself able to succeed to his own satijifac- 
tion. yielding to the opinion of persons, whose 
jvidgment, if not biassed by the partiahty of friend- 
sliip, is entitled to deference, he has preferred 
nserting these verses as a fragment, to his inten- 
tion of entirel}' suppressing them. 

The tradition, upon wliich the tale is founded, 
regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, 
near Lasswade, in Mid-Lotliian. This building, 
now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally 
n.amed Burndale, from the following tragic advoji- 
ture. The barony of Gihnerton belonged, of yore, 
to a gentleman named lieron, who had one beau- 
tiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by 
the Altbot of Newbattle, a richly endowed .abbey, 
u]ion tlie banks of the South Esk, now a scat of the 
Marquis of Lotliian. Heron came to the knowledge 
of tliis cucumstauce, and learned also, that tlie 
lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the 
connivance of the lady's nurse, who hved at tliis 
house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He 
formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, unde- 
terred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical 
character, or by the stronger claims of natural 
affection. Clioosing, therefore, a dark and windy 
night, when the objects of his vengeance were 
engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a 
stack of dried thorns, and other combustibles, 
whlcli he had caused to be piled against tlie house, 
and reduced to a pile of glowing iishes the dwell- 
ing, with all its inmates.' 

The scene with which tlie ballad opens, was 
suggested by tlie following curious passage, ex- 
tracted from the Life of Alexander Peden, one of 
the wandering and per-secuted teacliers of the sect 
of Canieronians, during the reign of Charles II. and 
liis successor, Jaihes. This person was supposed 
by his followers, and, perhaps, really beUeved him- 

J This tradition was commDnicatecl to me liy John Clerk, 
L^sq., of Elilin, autlior of an Kss<nj upon .N'aval Tactics, who 
•*ill be remembered by posterity, as having taught the Gi^iiius 



self, to be possessed of supernatural gifts ; for ihn 
wild scenes whicli they frequented, and tlie con- 
stant dangers which were incurred tlirough their 
proscription, deepened upon their minds the gloom 
of superstition, so general in that age. 

" About the same time he [Peden] came to An- 
drew Norniand's house, in the parish of Alloway, 
in the sliire of Ayr, being to preach at night in liis 
barn. After he came in, he halted a httle, leaning 
upon a chair-back, witli his face covered ; when he 
lifted up his liead, lie said, ' They are in this house 
that I have not one word of salvation unto ;' he 
halted a little again, saying, ' Tliis is strange, that 
the devil will not go out, thtit we may begin om* 
work !' Tlien there was a womtm went out, ill- 
looked upon almost all her life, and to her dying 
hour, for a witch, with many presumptions of the 
same. It escaped me, in the former passages, 
wh<at John Muirhead (whom I have often men- 
tioned) told me, that wlien he came from Irelantl 
to Gallowiiy, he was at family-worsliip, and giving 
some notes upon the Scripture read, wlien a very 
ill-looking man came, and sat down within tlie 
door, at the back of the haUan [partition of tlie 
cottage] : immediately he halted and said, ' There 
is some unliappy body just now come into this 
house. I charge him to go out, and not stop my 
mouth !' This person went out, and he insisted 
[went on], yet he saw him neither come in nor go 
out." — 7^10 Life aiid Prophrcics of Mr. Alexander 
Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at^New Glenluce, 
in Gallowntj, part iL § 26. 

A friendly correspondent remark.^, "that the 
incapacity of proceeding in the performance of a 
religious duty, when a contaminated person is 
present, is of much higher antiquity than the era 
of the Reverend Mr. Alexander Peden." — Vide 
Hijc]ini Fabidas, cap. 26. " 3Iedca Corintho exnl, 
Athenas, ad jEyeiim Pandionis filiwn devenit in 
hospitium, eigne nnpsit. 

" Postea sacerdos Diance Medeam exagi- 

tare ccepit, regique negabat sacra caste facere posse, 
eo quod in ea eivitate essct nmlier venefica et seele- 
rata ; tuiic exulatur." 

of Britain to concentrate her tliunders, and to launch them 
affainst her foes with an u&erring aim. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



60S 



®l)c ©rajj I3rotl)cr. 

The Pope he was saying the high, higli mass, 

All on Saint Peter's day, 
With the power to him given, by the saints in 
heaven, 

To wash men's sins away. 

The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, 

And the people kneel'd around. 
And from each man's soul his sins did pass, 

As he kiss'd the holy ground. 

And all, among the crowded throng. 

Was still, both lunb and tongue, 
While, through vaulted roof and aisles aloof, 

The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word he quiver'd for fear. 

And falter'd in the sound — 
And, when he would the chalice rear. 

He di'opp'd it to the ground. 

" The breath of one of evil deed 

Pollutes our sacred day ; 
He has no portion in our creed. 

No part in what I say. 

" A being, whom no blessed word 

To ghostly peace can bring ; 
A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd. 

Recoils each holy thing. 

" Up, up, unhtippy ! haste, arise I 

My adjuration fear ! 
I charge thee not to stop my voice, 

Nor longer tarry here !" — 

Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd. 

In gown of sackcloth gray ; 
Far journeying from his native field. 

He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights so drear, 

I ween he had not spoke, 
And, save with bread and water clear. 

His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential flock, 

Seem'd none more bent to pray ; 

But, when the Holy Father spoke, 
He rose and went his way. 

Again unto his native land 

His weary course he drew. 
To Lotliian's fair and fertUe strand, 

And Pentland's mountains blue. 



His unblest feet his native seat, 

'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; 
Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet 

RoUs to the eastern main. 

And lords to meet the pilgrim came, 

And vassals bent the knee ; 
For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, 

Was none more famed than he. 

And boldly for his country, still, 

In battle he had stood. 
Ay, even when on the banks of Till 

Her noblest pour'd their blood. 

Sweet are the paths, passing sweet ! 

By Eske's fair streams that run. 
O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep. 

Impervious to the sun. 

Tliere the rapt poet's step may rove. 

And yield the muse the day ; 
There Beauty, led by timid Love, 

May shun the tell-tale ray ; 

From that fair dome, where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free,' 
To Auchendinny's hazel glade,* 

And haunted Woodhouselee.' 

Wlio knows not Melville's beechy grove * 

And Roslin's rocky glen,' 
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love," 

And classic Hawthornden !' 

Yet never a path, from day to day, 

The pilgrim's footsteps range. 
Save but the soUtary way 

To Burndale's ruiu'd grange. 

A woeful place was that, I ween. 

As sorrow could desire ; 
For nodding to the fall was each crumbling 
wall. 

And the roof was scathed with fire. 

It fell upon a summer's eve, 

While, on Carnethy's bead. 
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams 

Had streak'd the gray with red ; 

And the convent bell did vespers tell, 

Newbattle's oaks among, 
And mingled with the solemn knell 

Oiu- Ladye's evening song : 



I See Appendb:, Notes 1 to 7 



606 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, 

Came slowly down the wind. 
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, 

As liis wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was. 

Nor ever raised his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary place, 

Wliich did all in ruins lie. 

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire. 

With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Gray Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 

" Now, Chi-ist thee save !" said the Gray Bro- 
ther ; 

" Some pilgiim thou seemest to be." 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, 

Nor answer again made he. 

" come ye from east, or come ye from west, 
Or bring reliques from over the sea ; 

Or come ye from the shrine of St. James the 
divine. 
Or St. John of Beverley ?" — 

1 The contemporary criticism on this noble ballad was all 
feeble, but laudatory, with the exception of the following re- 
mark : — " The painter is justly blamed, whose figures do not 
correspond with his landscape — who assembles banditti in an 
Elysium, or bathing loves in a lake of storm. Tlie same adap- 
tation of parts is expedient in the poet. The stanzas — 

* Sweet are thy paths, O passing sweet !' 
to 

' And classic Hawthornden,' 

disagreeably contrast with the mysterious, gloomy character 
of the ballad. Were these omitted, it would merit high rank 
for the terrific e-^pectation it excites by tlie majestic intro- 
duction, and the awful close." — Critical Review, November, 
1803.— Ed. 



" I come not from the shrine of St. James the 
divine. 

Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a curse from our father, tlie Pope, 

Wliich for ever will cling to me." — 

" Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so ! 

But kneel thee down to me, 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, 

That absolved thou mayst be." — 

" And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, 

That I should shrive to thee, [and heaven 

When He, to whom are given the keys of eartt 
Has no power to pardon me ?" — 

"0 1 am sent from a distant clime, 

Five thousand miles away, 
And all to absolve a fold, foul crime. 

Done here 'twLxt night and day." 

Tlie pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand, 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Gray Brother laye.' 



"Then came The Gray Brother, founded on another super- 
stition, which seems to have been almost as ancient as the be. 
lief in ghosts ; namely, that the holiest service of the altaj 
cannot go on in the presence of an unclean person — a heinous 
sinner unconfessed and unabsolved. The fragmentary form ol 
this poem greatly heightens the awfulness of its impression ; 
and in construction and metre, the verses which really belong 
to the story appear to me the happiest that have ever been 
produced e-xpressly in imitation of the ballad of the middle 
a"e. In the stanzas, previously quoted, on the scenery of the 
Esk, however beautiful in themselves, and however interest- 
ing now as marking the locality of the composition, he must 
be allowed to have lapsed into another strain, and produced a 
pannvs pnrpureus which interferes with and mars the genera) 
texture." — Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 26. 



APPENDIX. 



K'OTES 1 to 7. 

SCENERY OF THE ESK.— P. 605. 

I The barony of Pennycoik, the property of SirGeorge Clerk, 
Rarl., is iield by a singular tenure ; the proprietor being bound 
to sit upon a large rocky fragment called the Buckstane, and 
wind three blasts of a horn, when the King shall come to hunt 
oil the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. Hence the family 
Have adopted as their crest a demi-forester proper, winding a 



horn, witli the motto. Free for a Blast. The beautiful man 
Bion-liouse of Pennycuik is much admired, both on account ol 
the architectore and surrounding scenery. 

a Anchendinny, situated upon the Eske, belo\* Pennycuik, 
the present residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, E«q. 
author of the Man of Fedn\g, ^-c— Edition 1803. 

3 " Haunted Woodhouselee."— For the traditions connected 
with this ruinoas mansion, see Ballad of Cadijow Castle, Note, 
p. 603. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



607 



4 Melville Castle, the seat of the Right Honorable Lord 
Melville, to whom it gives the title of Viscount, is delightfully 
Bitnated ujion the Eske, near Lasswade. 

6 The niins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the 
ancient family of St. Clair. The Gothic chapel, whicli is still 
in beautiful preservation, with the romantic and woody dell 
in which they are situated, belong to the Right Honorable 
the Earl of Rosslyn, the representative of the former Lords of 
Roslin. 

6 The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged of old to the 
famous Earl of Morton, but is now the residence of the noble 
family of Buccleuch. The park extends along the Eske, 
whii'h is there joined by its sister stream of tlie same name. 

' Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A 
house of more modern date is enclosed, as it were, by the 
ruins of the ancient castle, and overhangs a tremendous preci- 



pice upon the banks of the Eske, perforated by winding caves, 
which in former times were a refuge to the oppressed patriots 
of Scotland. Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who 
journeyed from London on foot in order to visit him. The 
beauty of tiiis striking scene has been much injured of late 
years by the indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now 
looks in vain for tlie leafy bower, 

" Where Jonson sat in Drummond's social shade." 

Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source till it joins 
the sea at Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boa.-*! such 
a varied succession of the most interesting objects, as well as 

of the most romantic and beautiful scenery. 1803 

— The beautiful scenery of Hawthornden has, since the above 
note was written, recovered all its proper ornament of wood 
1831. 



tOar-Song 



ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS. 



** JVemiius. Is not peace the end of arms ? 

" Caratack. Not where the cause implies a general conquest. 
Had we a difference with some petty isle, 
Or with our neighbors, Britons, for our landmarks. 
The taking in of some rebellious lord, 
Or making head against a sliglit commotion. 
After a day of blood, peace might be argued ; 
But whet« we grapple for the land we live on, 
The liberty we hold more dear than life. 
The gods we worship, and, next these, our honors. 
And, with those, swords that know no end of battle — 
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbor. 
Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance. 
And, wliere the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest. 
And, where they march, but measure out more ground 

To add to Rome 

It must not be — No ! as they are onr foes. 

Let's use the peace of honor — that's fair dealing ; 

But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman, 

Thut thinks to graft himself into my stock, 

Must first begin his kindred under ground, 

And be allied in ashes." ^-^ Bonduea. 



The following 'War-Song was written during the 
apprehension of an invasion.' The corps of volun- 
teers to which it was addressed, was raised in 
1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed 
at their own expense. It still subsists, as the 
Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cav- 
alry, conmianded by the Honorable Lieutenant- 
Colonel Dundas.' The noble and constitutional 

1 The song originally appeared in the Scots Magazine for 
1802.— Ed 



meastu-e of arming freemen in defence of their own 
rights, was nowhere more successful than in Edin- 
burgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and 
disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of 
cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps 
of artUlery, each capable of serving twelve gun-s. 
To such a force, above all others, might, in similar 
circumstances, be applied the exhortation of oior 
ancient Galgacus : " Proinde ituri in acian, et mar 
jores vesiros ct posteros coffitate." 1812. 



Ular-Song 



ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS 

To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies, 

The bugles soimd the call ; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas. 
The voice of battle's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all 1 

From high Dunedin's towers we come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils sun'ound, 
With Scotland's hardy tliistle crown'd ; 

We boast the red and blue.^ 

3 Now Visconnt Melville.— 1831. 
8 The royal colors. 



608 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown 

Dull Holland's tardy train ; 
Their ravisli'd toys though Romans mourn ; 
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 

And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; 

Oh ! had they maiifd the avenging call' 

Their brethren's miirder gave, 
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patriot valor, desperate grown. 

Sought freedom in the grave ! 

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple born. 
Dress our pale cheek in timid snule. 
To hail a master in our isle, 

Or brook a victor's scorn ? 

No I though destruction o'er the land 

Come pom'ing as a flood. 
The sun, that sees our falling day. 
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway. 

And set that night in blood 

^ The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the 
fatal 10th August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to re- 
mark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded 
the death of their hravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered 
in discharge of their duty, encouraged and authorized the 
progressive injustice, by which the Alps, once the seat of the 



For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 

Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, 
To guard our king, to fence our law, 

Nor shall their edge be vain. 

If ever breath of British gale 

Shall fan tlie tri-color, 
Or footstep of invader rude, 
With rapine foul, and red with blood, 

Pollute otu- happy shore, — 

Then farewell home ! and farewell friends ! 

Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 
"Where charging squadrons furious ride, 

To conquer or to die. 

To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 

High Botmds oiu- bugle-call ; 
Combined by honor's sacred tie, 
Om' word is Laws a-nd Liberty ! 

March forward, one and all !" 

most virtuous and free people upon the Continent, have, at 
length, been converted into tiie citadel of a foreign and military 
despot. A state degraded is half enslaved. — 1812. 

2 Sir Walter Scott was, at the time when lie wrote thia 
song. Quartermaster of the Edinburgh Light Cavalry. See 
one of the Epistles Introductory to Marmion. — Ed. 



EHD OF CONTKIBUTIONS TO MINSTKELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BOBDEB. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



C09 



iSalUbs, 



TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN, &c. 



tDUliom anb ^elcn. 

[1796.'] 

miTATED FKOM THE " LENOEE " OF BURGEE. 



The Author had resolved to omit the following 
version of a ■well-known Poem, in any collection 
T\'liich he might make of his poetical trifles. But 
the pubhshers having pleaded for its admission, 
the Author has consented, though not unaware of 
the disadvantage at which this youthful essay (for 
it was written in 1795) must appear with those 
which have been executed by much more able 
hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor of Norwich, 
and that of ilr. Spencer. 

The following Translation was written long be- 
fore the Author saw any other, and originated in 
the following circumstances ; — A lady of high rank 
in the hterary world read this romantic tale, as 
translated by Mr. Taylor, in the house of the cele- 
brated Professor Dugald Stewait of Edinburgh. 
The Author was not present, nor indeed in Edin- 
burgh at the tune ; but a gentleman who had the 
pleasure of hearing the ballad, afterwards told 
him the story, and repeated the remarkable cho- 
rus — 

'* Tramp ! tramp ) across the land they epeeBe, 
Splash ! splash ! across the sea ; 
Hurrah ! The dead can ride apace ! 
Dost fear to ride with me V ' 

In attempting a translation, then intended only 
to circulate among friends, the present Author did 
not hesitate to make use of this impressive stanza ; 
for which freedom he has since obtained the for- 
giveness of the ingenious gentleman to whom it 
properly belongs. 

1 The Chase and William and Helen ; Two Ballads, 

from the German of Gottfried Angnstus Biirger. Edinborgh : 

Printed by Mundell and ?on, Royal Banji Close, for Manners 

and Miller, Parliament Square ; and sold by T. Cadell, jun., 

77 



WILLIAM AND HELEN 



From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 

And eyed the dawning red : 
" Alas, my love, thou tarriest long I 

art thou false or dead ?" — 

IL 

With gallant Fred'rick's princely powei 

He sought the bold Crusade ; 
But not a word from Judah's wars 

Told Helen how he sped. 

in. 

With Paynim and with Saracen 

At length a truce was made. 
And every knight return'd to dry 

The tears his love had shed. 

IV. 

Our gallant host was homeward botmd 

With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the laiu'el in each plume, 

The badge of victory. 

V. 

And old and yoimg, and sire and son, 

To meet them crowd the way, 
With shouts, and mirth, and melody. 

The debt of love to pay. 

VL 

Full many a maid her true-love met. 

And sobb'd in his embrace. 
And flutt'ring joy in tears and smiles 

Array'd full many a face. 

and W. Davies, in the Strand, London. 1796. 4to. — Se« 
" Essay on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad," ante, p. 566, 
and JJfe of Scott, vol. i. chapters 7 .and 8. 



610 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



VII. 


XVII. 


Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; 

She sought the host in vain ; 
For none could tell her William's fate, 

If faithless, or if slain. 


"No sacrament can quench tliis fire. 

Or slake this scorcliing pain ; 
No sacrament can bid the dead 

Arise and Uve agam. 


VIII. 


XVIII. 


The martial band is past and gone ; 

She rends her raven hair, 
And in distraction's bitter mood 

She weeps -with wild despair. 


" break, my heart, — break at once ! 

Be thou my god, Despaii- ! 
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, 

And vain each fruitless prayer." — 


IX. 


XIX. 


" rise, my child," her mother said, 
" Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 

A perjured lover's fleeting heart 
No tears recall again." — 


" enter not in judgment, Lord, 

With thy frail child of clay ! 
She knows not what her tongue has spoke ; 

Impute it not, I pray ! 


X. 


XX. 


" mother, what is gone, is gone, 
What's lost for ever lorn : 

Death, death alone can comfort me ; 
had I ne'er been bom ! 


" Forbear, my chUd, this desperate woe, 
And tm-n to God and grace ; 

Well can devotion's heavenly glow 
Convert thy bale to bliss." — 


XI. 


XXL 


" break, my heart, — break at once ! 

Drink my Hfe-blood, Despair 1 
No joy remains on earth for me, 

For me in heaven no share." — 


" motlier, mother, what is bliss ! 

mother, what is bale ! 
Without my William what were heaven. 

Or with liini what were hell 1" — 


XII. 


XXIL 


" enter not in judgment. Lord !" 

The pious mother prays ; 
" Impute not guilt to thy frail child 1 

She knows not what she says. 


Wild she aiTaigns the eternal doom. 
Upbraids each sacred power. 

Tin, spent, she sought her silent room. 
All in the lonely tower. 


XIII. 


XXIIL 

STio Vionf lipr 'hrpn«f slip ■WTimo- lipr Tinnrlq. 



turn to God and grace I 
His will, that turn'd thy bhss to bale. 
Can change thy bale to bliss." — 

XIV. 
" mother, mother, what is bliss ! 

mother, what is bale ? 
My William's love was heaven on earth, 

Without it earth is hell. 

XV. 

" Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, 
Since my loved William's slain ? 

I only pray'd for William's sake. 
And all my prayers were vain." — 

XVL 
" take the sacrament, my child. 

And check these tears that flow ; 
By resignation's humble prayer, 

hallow'd be thy woe !" — 



Till sun and day were o'er, 
And through the glimmering lattice shone 
The twinkling of the star. 

XXIV. 
Then, crash ! the heavy drawbridge fell 

That o'er the moat was hung ; 
And, clatter ! clatter I on its boards 

The hoof of courser rung. 

XXV. 

The clank of echoing steel was heard 

As off the rider bounded ; 
And slowly on the winding stair 

A heavy footstep sounded. 

XXVL 
And hark I and hark ! a knock — Tap ! tap 1 

A rustling, stifled noise ; — 
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ; — 

At length a wliispermg voice. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



6U 



XXVII. 

Awake, awake, arise, my love 1 

How, Helen, dost thou fare ? [weep'st ? 

Wak'st thou, or sleep'st i laugh'st thou, or 

Hast thought on me, my fair J" — 

XXVIII. 
" My love ! my love I— so late by night ! — 

I waked, I wept for thee : 
Much have I borne since dawn of mom ; 

Wbere, William, couldst thou be ?" — 

XXIX. 

" We saddle late — from Hungary 

I rode since darkness fell ; 
And to its bourne we both return 

Before the matin-bell." — 

XXX. 
" rest this night witliin my arms, 

And warm thee in their fold 1 
Chill howls through luawthorn bush the wind : — 

My love is deadly cold." — 

XXXI. 

" Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush I 

This night we must away ; 
The steed is wight, the spiu' is bright ; 

I cannot stay till day. 

XXXII. 
" Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mount'st behind 

Upon my black barb steed : 
O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles. 

We haste to bridal bed." — 

XXXIII. 

* To-night — to-night a hundred miles ! — 

dearest William, stay 1 
The bell strikes twelve — dark, dismal hour 1 

wait, my love, till day !" — 

XXXIV. 
" Look here, look here — the moon shines clear — 

Full fast I ween we ride ; 
Mount and away ! for ere the day 

We reach our bridal bed. 

XXXV. 
" The black barb snorts, the bridle rings ; 

Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee I 
The feast is made, the chamber spread. 

The bridal guests await thee." — 

XXXVL 
Strong love prevail'd : She busks, she bounes. 

She mounts the barb behind, 
And round her darling William's waist 

Her lily arms she twined. 



xxxvn. 

And, hurry ! hurry ! off they rode, 

As fast as fast might be ; 
Spurn'd fiom the courser's thundering heela 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

XXXVIIL 
And on the right, and on the left, 

Ere they could snatch a view, 
Fast, fast each momitain, mead, and plain, 

And cot, and castle, flew. 

XXXIX. 

" Sit fast — dost fear ? — The moon shines clear- 
Fleet goes my barb — keep hold 1 

Fear'st thou ?" — " no 1" she faintly said ; 
" But why so stern and cold ? 

XL. 

" What yonder rings ? what yonder sings ? 

Why shrieks the owlet gray !" — 
" 'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song. 

The body to the clay. 

XLL 

" With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, 

Ye may inter the dead : 
To-night I ride, with my young bride, 

To deck our bridal bed. 

XLIL 
" Come with thy choir, thou coflin'd guest, 

To swell our nuptial song ! 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast ! 

Come all, come all along I" — 

XLIIL 

Ceased clang and song ; down sunk the bier ; 

The shrouded corpse arose : 
And, hurry I hurry 1 all the train 

The thundering steed pursues. 

XLIV. 
And, forward ! forward ! on they go ; 

High snorts the straining steed ; 
Thick pants the rider's laboring breath. 

As headlong on they speed. 

XLV. 
" William, why this savage haste ? 

And where thy bridal bed ?" — 
" 'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill. 

And narrow, trustless maid." — 

XL VI. 

" No room for me ?" — " Enough for both ; — 
Speed, speed, my barb, thy course 1" — 

O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge, 
He drove the furious horse. 



.312 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XLVII. 


LVII. 


Tramp ! tramp ! along the land tliey rode, 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 

The scourge is -wight, the spur is bright. 
The tlashing pebbles ilee. 


Tramp I tramp I along the land they rode, 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 

The scourge is red, the spm- drops blood. 
The flashing pebbles flee. 


XLVIII. 


LVIII. 


Fled past on right and left how fast 
Each forest, grove, and bower ! 

On right and left fied past how fast 
Each city, town, and tower 1 


" Hurrah I hurrah I well ride the dead ; 

The bride, the bride is come ; 
And soon we reach the bridal bed. 

For, Helen, here's my home." — 


XLIX. 


LIX. 


" Dost fear i dost fear » The moon shines clear. 

Dost fear to ride with me ? — 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride 1" — 

" William, let them be !— 


Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolved an iron door. 
And by the pale moon's setting beam 

Were seen a church aud tower. 


L. 


LX. 


" See there, see there ! Wliat yonder swings 
And creaks 'mid whistling rain ?" — 

" Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel ; 
A murderer in his chain. — 


With m.any a shriek and cry whiz round 
The birds of midnight, scared ; 

And rustling like autumnal leaves 
Unhallow'd ghosts were heard. 


LI. 


LXI. 


" Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride." — 


O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale 
He spurr'd the fiery horse. 

Till sudden at an open grave 
He check'd the wondrous course. 


LH. 


LXII. 


And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash 1 
The wasted form descends ; 

And fleet as wind thi-ough hazel bush 
The wild career attends. 


The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 
Down drops the casque of steel, 

Tlie cuirass leaves his shrinking side; 
The spur his gory heel. 



LIII. 
Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode. 

Splash ! .splash ! along the sea ; 
Tlie scourge is red, the spur drops blood, 

The flasliing pebbles flee. 

LIV. 
How fled what moonshine faintly show'd I 

How fled what darkness hid ! 
How fled the earth beneath their feet. 

The heaven above their head 1 

LV. 
" Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines dear. 

And well the dead can ride ; 
Does f;iithful Helen fear for them ?" — 

" leave in peace the dead !'' — 

LVL 
" Barb ! Barb ! methinks I hear the cock 

The sand will soon be run : ^ 
Barb 1 Barb ! I smell the morning air ; 

The race is welhiigh done." — 



LXIII. 
Tlie eyes desert the naked skull, 

Tlie mould'ring flesh the bone, 
Till Helen's Uly arms entwine 

A ghastly skeleton. 

LXIV. 
The furious barb snorts fire and foam. 

And, with a fearful bound. 
Dissolves at once in empty air. 

And leaves her on the ground. 

LXV. 

Half seen by fits, by fits half heard. 

Pale spectres flit along. 
Wheel round the maid in di.smal dance, 

And howl the funeral song ; 

LXVL 
" E'en when the heart's with anguish clelt, 

Revere the doom of Heaven, 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be forgiven 1" 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



613 



Tins i3 a translation, or rather an imitation, of 
the Wilde Jagcr ol' the German poet Biirger. The 
tradition upon wliioh it is founded bears, that for- 
merly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, 
named Faulkenburg, was so much addicted to the 
pleasures of the chase, and otherwise so extremely 
profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this 
unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other 
days consecrated to religious duty, but accompa- 
nied it with the most unheard-of oppression upon 
tlie poor peasants, who were under his vassalage. 
RTien this second Nimrod died, the people adopted 
a superstition, founded probably on the many va- 
rious uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a Ger- 
man forest, during the silence of the night. They 
conceived they still beard the cry of the Wild- 
grave's hounds ; and the well-known cheer of the 
deceased hunter, the sounds of his horses' feet, and 
the rusthng of the branches before the game, the 
pack, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly dis- 
crimmated ; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, 
visible. Once, as a benighted Chasseur heard this 
infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the 
halloo, with which the Spectre Huntsman cheered 
his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, 
" Gluck zu Fatkenburgh !" [Good sport to ye, 
Falkenburgh !] " Dost thou wish me good sport !" 
answered a hoarse voice ; " thou shalt share the 
game ;" and there was thrown at him what seemed 
to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring 
Chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and 
never perfectly recovered the personal effects of 
tliis ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with 
some variations, is universally believed all over 
Germany. 

The French had a similar tradition concerning 
an aerial hunter, who infested the forest of Foun- 
taiubleau. He was sometimes visible ; when he 
appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a 
taU grisly figure. Some account of him may be 
found in " Sully's Memoirs," who says he was caUed 
Le G-rand Veiicur. At one time he chose to hunt 
so near the palace, that the attendants, and, if I 
mistake not, Sully liimself, came out into the 
court, supposing it was the sound of the king re- 
tm'ning from the chase. This phantom is else- 
where called Saint Hubert. 

The superstition seems to have been very gen- 
eral, as appears from the following fine poetical 
description of this phantom chase, as it was heard 
in the wilds of Ross-shire. 

" Ere since of old. the haughty thanes of Ro3a, — ■ 
So to the simple swain tradition tella, — 
Were wont witli clans, and ready vassals throng'd. 
To wake the bounding stag, or guilty wolf. 



There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon, 

Beginning faint, but rising still more loud, 

And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds, 

And horns, hoaree winiled, blowing far and keen:— 

Forthwith the hubbub multiplies ; the gale 

Labors with wilder shrieks, and rit'er din 

Of hot pursuit ; the broken cry of deer 

Mangled by throttling dogs ; the shouts of men, 

And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow hill. 

Sudden the grazing heifer in tile vale 

Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's ears 

Tingle with inward dread. Aghast, be eyes 

The mountain's height, and all the ridges round. 

Yet not one trace of living wight discerns, 

Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he stands. 

To what, or whom, he owes bis idle fear, 

To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to fiend ; 

But wonders, and no end of wondering finds." 

^/ionia— reprinted in Scottish Descriptive Pocma, 
pp. 167, 168. 

A posthtmious miracle of Father Lesley, a Scot- 
tish capuchin, related to liis being buried on a hill 
haunted by these unearthly cries of boimds and 
huntsmen. After his sainted relics had been de 
posited there, the noise was never heard more. 
The reader will find this, and other miracles, re- 
corded in the life of Father Bonaventura, which U 
written in the choicest Italian. 



THE "WILD HUNTSMAN. 
[1796.'] 

The 'Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, 
To horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo 1 

His fiery courser snuffs the morn. 

And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 

Tlie eager pack, from couples freed, 

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake ; 

WbUe answering hound, and horn, and steed. 
The mountain echoes startling wake. 

The beams of God's own hallow'd day 
Had painted yonder spire with gold, 

And, calling sinful man to pray, 

Loud, long, and deep the bell had trjl'd. 

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ' 
When, sptu'ring from opposing sides. 

Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. 

'Wlio was each Stranger, left and right, 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

The right-hand steed was silver white, 
The left, the swarthy hue of bell. 



1 Published (1796) with William and Helen, and entitlo* 

'Th£ CHiCB." 



614 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


The right-hand horseman, young and fair, 
His smile was like the morn of May ; 

The left, from eye of tawny glare, 
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 


Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
The left still cheeruig to the prey ; 

Tlie impetuous Earl no warning heeds, 
But fiu^ious holds the onward way. 


He waved his huntsman's cap on high. 
Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! 

AVhat sport can earth, or sea, or sky. 
To match the princely chase, afford V — 


" Away, thou hound I so basely born. 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow !" — 

Then loudly rmig his bugle-horn, 
" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !" 


" Ce.ase thy loud bugle's changing knell," 
Cried the fan- j'outh, with silver voice ; 

*' And for devotion's choral swell. 
Exchange the rude miliallow'd noise. 


So said, so done : — A smgle bound 

Clears the poor laborer's humble pale ; 

Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 


" To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear. 
Yon beU yet summons to the fane ; 

To-day the Warning Spirit hear. 

To-morrow thou mayst mom'n in vain." — 


And man and horse, and hound and horn. 

Destructive sweep the field along ; 
While, joyuig o'er the wasted corn. 

Fell Famine marks the maddening throng 


" Away, and sweep the glades along !" 
The Sable Hunter hoarse replies ; 

" To muttering monks leave matin-song, 
And bells, and books, and mysteries." 


Again uproused, the timorous prey 

Scours moss and moor, and liolt and hill 

Hard run, he feels his strength decay. 
And trusts for hfe his suuple skill. 


The Wildgrave spiur'd his ardent steed, 
And, launching forward witli a bound, 

" Who, for thy chowsy priesthke rede. 
Would leave the jovial hom and hound ? 


Too dangerous solitude appear'd ; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd ; 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 


" Hence, if our manly sport offend ! 

With pious fools go chant and pray : — 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend ; 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark away !"' 


O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill. 
His track the steady blood-hounds trace ; 

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still. 
The furious Earl pursues the chase. 


The Wildgrave spurr'd liis courser light. 
O'er moss and moor, o'er liolt and hill ; 

And on the left and on the right. 
Each Stranger Horseman followed stiU. 


Full lowly did the herdsman fall ; — 
" spare, thou mible Baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's little all ; 

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care 1" — 


Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, 
A stag more white than mountain snow ; 

And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 
" Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho !" 


Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds. 
But furious keeps the onward way. 


A heedless wretch has cross'd the way ; 

He gasps the thundermg hoofs below ; 
But, live who can, or die wlio may, 

StiU, "Forward, forward !" on they go. 


" Unmanner'd dog ! To stop my sport 
Vain were thy cant and beggar whine. 

Though human spirits, of thy sort. 

Were tenants of these carrion kine 1"— 


See, where yon simple fences meet, 

A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd ; 

See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandman with toil embrown'd : 


Again he winds his bugle-hom, 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho I' 

And tlu-ough the herd, in ruthless scorn. 
He cheers liis furious hounds to go. 


" mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, 
" Earn'd by the sweat these brows ha-^c pour'd. 

In scorchhig hour of fierce July." 


In heaps the throttled victims fall ; 

Down sinks their mangled herdsman near , 
The murderous cries the st.ig appal, — 

Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. 



BALLADS FKOM THE GERMAN. 615 


"With blood besmear'd, and white with foam, 


And, from a cloud of .swarthy red. 


While bi{; tlie tears of anguish pour, 


The awful voice of thunder spoke. 


He seeks, amid the forest's gloom. 




Tlie humble hermit's hallow'd bower. 


" Oppressor of creation fair ! 




Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool I 


But man and horse, and horn and houn i, 


Scorner of God 1 Scourge of the poor I 


Fast ratthng on his traces go ; 


The measure of thy cup is full. 


The sacred chapel rung around 




With, " Hark away ! and, hoUa, ho I" 


" Be chased for ever through the wood ; 




For ever roam the affrighted wild ; 


All mild, amid the rout profane. 


And let thy fate instruct the proud. 


The holy hermit pour'd his prayer ; 


God's meanest creature is his child." 


" Forbeai- with blood God's house to stain ; 




Revere his altar, and forbear 1 


'Twas hush'd : — One flash, of sombre glare, 




With yellow tinged the forests browm ; 


" The meanest brute has rights to plead, 


Uprose the Wildgrave's bristUng hair. 


Wliich, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride. 


And horror chiU'd each nerve and bone. 


Draw venge:mce on the rutldess head : — 




Be warn'd at length, aud turn aside." 


Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill ; 




A rising wind began to smg ; 


Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; 


And louder, louder, louder still, 


The Black, wild whooping, points the prey : — 


Brought storm and tempest on its wing ' 


Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds. 




But frantic keeps the forward way. 


Earth heard the call ; — her entrails rend; 




From yawning rifts, with mauy a yell, 


" Holy or not, or right or wrong, 


Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend 


Thy altar, and its rites, 1 spurn ; 


The misbegotten dogs of hell. 


Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, 




Not God himself, shall make me turn !" 


What ghastly Huntsman next arose. 




Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 


He spurs his horse, he winds his horn. 


His eye Uke midnight lightning glows, 


" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !" — 


His steed the swarthy hue of hell 


But off, on wliirlwmd's pinions borne. 




The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 


The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn. 




With many a shriek of helpless woe ; 


And horse and man, and horn and hound, 


Behind him hound, and horse, and horn. 


And clamor of the chase, was gone ; 


And, " Hark away, aud holla, ho !" 


For hoofs, aud howls, and bugle-sound, 




A deadly silence reigu'd alone. 


With wUd desp.ai]-'s reverted eye, 




Close, close beliind, he marks the tlu-ony. 


Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around ; 


With bloody fangs and eager cry ; 


He strove m vam to wake his horn. 


In frantic fear he scours along. — 


In vain to call : for not a sound 




Could from liis anxious hps be borne. 


Still, still shall last the dreadful chase. 




Till time itself shall liave an end ; 


He Ustens for his trusty hounds ; 


By day, they scour earth's cavern'd space, 


No distant baying reaoh'd his ears : 


At midnight's witching hour, .ascend. 


His courser, rooted to the ground. 




The quickening spur unmmdful bears. 


This is the horn, and hound, and horse. 




That oft the lated peasant hears ; 


Still dark and darker frown the shade3, 


AppaU'd, he signs the frequent cross. 


Dark as the darkness of the grave ; 


When the wild din mvades his eai's. 


And not a sound the still invades. 




Save what a distant torrent gave. 


The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 




For human pride, for human woe, 


High o'er the sinner's himibled head 


When, at his midnight mass, he hears 


At length the solemn silence broke 


The infernal cry of, " Holla, ho 1" 



616 



. SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



arje Jfre=3&Ina. 



' The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curees, were 
Qpon hitn." — Eastern Tale. 

[1801.] 



T/iis ballad was written at the request of Mr. Lfwis, 
to be inserted in his "Tales of Wonder.'" It is 
the third in a series of four ballads, on the stib- 
jcet of Elementary Spirits. The story is, how- 
ever, partly historical ; for it is recorded, that, 
daring the strurfgles of the Latin kingdom of 
.Jerusalem, a Knight-Tnnplar, called Saint-Alban, 
deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Chris- 
tians in many combats, till he wasjinally routed 
and slam, in a co?iJlict with King Maldwin, un- 
•-r the lealls of Jerusalenn. 



Bold knights and fail- dames, to my harp give an 

ear, 
Of love, and of "war, and of wonder to hear ; 
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your 

glee. 
At the tale of Count Albert, and fail- Rosalie. 

see you that castle, so strong and so high ? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ? 
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land, 
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand ?— 

" Now palmer, gray palmer, tell unto me, 
Wliat news bring you home from the Holy Coun- 

trie ? 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the 

land?"— 

" well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, 
For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have ; 
And well fare ma nobles by Mount Lebanon, 
For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have 



A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung ; 
O'er the pahuer's gray locks the fair chain has she 

flung : 
" palmer, gray palmer, this chain be thy fee, 
For the news thou hast brought from the Holy 

Countrie. 

" And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, 
saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave J 

1 Pnblisli.-d in ISOl See ontf. p. 573. 



Wien the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross 

rush'd on, 
saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?" — 

" O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows ; 
O lady, fair lady, the stream pm-e it flows ; 
Yom' castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on 

high; 
But, lady, fair lady, aU blossoms to die. 

" The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt 

falls. 
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorcli'd walls ; 
The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope is 

gone ; 
Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon." 

she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed; 
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her 

need ; 
And she has ta'en sliipping for Palestine's land; 
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand. 

SniiiU thought had Count Albert on fan- Rosalie, 
Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, 

had he ; 
A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, 
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 

" Christian, brave Cliristian, my love wouldst 

thou be ; 
Tlu-ee things must tliou do ere I hearken to thee : 
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou 

take ; 
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore, 
Alone, and in silence, thi'ce nights shalt thou 

wake; 
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and 

hand. 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land ; 
For my lord and my love then Count Albert I'll 

take. 
When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake." 

He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled 

sword. 
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord ; 
He has ta'en .the gi-een caftan, and turban put on. 
For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

And in thf dread cavern, deep, deep under 

ground, 
Wliich fifty steel gates and steel portals surround, 



BALLADS FROM THE GERM A]*. 



aif 



He hiis watcli'd until daybreak, but sight saw he 

noue, 
Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. 

Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed, 
Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed ; 
They search'd all his garments, and, under his 

weeds, 
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. 

Again in the caTern, deep, deep under gi'ound. 
He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whis- 
tled round ; 
Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh. 
The flame burn'd unmoved, and naught else did 
he spy. 

Loud murmur'd the priests, and amazed was the 

King,- 
While many dark spells of their witchcraft they 

sing; 
They search'd Albert's body, and, lo I on his bi-east 
Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impress'd. 

The priests they erase it with care and with p.iin. 
And the recreant return'd to the cavern again ; 
But, as he descended, a whisper there fell : 
It was his good angel, who bade him farewell ! 

High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, 
And he turn'd him five steps, half resolved to 

retreat ; 
But his heart it was hardend, his purpose was 

gone, 
^\^len he thought of the Maiden of fair Lebanon. 

Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce 
trode, 

When the winds from the four points of heaven 
were abroad. 

They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, 

And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire- 
King. 

Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh. 
The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high ; 
In volcanic explosionsthe mountains proclaim 
The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame. 

Unmeasured in height, undistingiush'd in form. 
His breath it wa» lightning, his voice it was storm ; 
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame, 
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmcr*d through 
smoke, ' " . 

\ni Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he 
spoke : 



" With tliis brand shalt thou conquer, thus long 

and no more, 
Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Vu-gin adore." 

The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon ; and 

see 1 
The recreant receives the charmed gift on his knee : 
The thunders gi-owl distant, and faint gleam the 

fires. 
As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom retires. 

Count Albert has arm'd hun the Paynim among, 
Though Ills heart it was false, yet his arm it was 

strong ; 
And the Red-cross wax'd faint, and the Crescent 

came on. 
From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave. 

The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave ■ 

Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of 

Saint John, 
With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on 

The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets repUed, 
The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each 

side ; 
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew 
Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin 

unto. 

Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did 

wield. 
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cros." 

shield ; 
But a Page thrust him forward the monarch before, 
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. 

So fell was the d'mt, that Count Albert stoop'd 

low 
Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddlebow ; 
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head,— 
" Bonne Grace, Noire Dame .'" he imwittingly said. 

Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was 

(^'er. 
It sprung fi-om his grasp, and was never seen more ; 
But true men have said, that the Ughtning's red 

wing 
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King. 

He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntJetcd h.and ; 
He stretch'd, with one buffet, that Page on the 

strimd ; 
As back from the striphng the broken casque 

roU'd, 
You mifht see the blue eyes, and the ringlets o! 

gold. 



618 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Slioi't time had Count Albert in horror to stare 
On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood- 
clotted hair ; 
For down eame the Templars, Uke Cedron in flood. 
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. 

The Saracens, Curdmans, and IshmaeUtes yield 
Til tlie scallop, the saltier, and crossleted shield; 
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead. 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. — 

Oil. who is yon Payiiim hes stretch'd 'mid the 

slain i 
And who is yon Page lying cold at liis knee ? — 
Oh, who but Coimt Albert and fair Rosalie 1 

Tlie Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound, 
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound : 
Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring ; 
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King, 

Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell. 

How the Red-cross it conquered, the Crescent it 

feU: 
And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, 'mid their 

glee. 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



iyrcTrcr (cfe ani 01ice. 



[1801.] 



This tale is imitated, rather than translated, from 
a fragment introduced in Goethe's " Claudiua von 
Villa Bella," where it is sung by a member of a 
gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the fam- 
ily, while his companions break into tlie castle. It 
owes any little merit it may possess to my friend 
Mk. Lewis, to suhom it was sent in an extremely 
rude state ; and w/io, after so?ne material improve- 
ments, published it in his *' Tales of Wonder." 



Feedeeick leaves the land of France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to measure. 

Careless casts the parting, glance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in his prancing steed, 

Keen to prove his untried blade, 

Hope's g.ay dreams the soldier lead 
Over mountain, moor, and glade. 



Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn. 

Lovely Alice wept alone ; 
Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, 

Hope, and peace, and honor flown. 

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs ! 

See, the tear of anguisli flows !-^ 
Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 

Loud the laugh cf phrensy rose. 

Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd ; 

Seven long days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brought liis aid, 

As the vUlage bell struck four. 

Far from her. and far from France, 
Faithless Frederick onward rides ; 

Marking, blitlie, the morning's glance 
Mantling o'er the moimtain's sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound, 
As the tongue of yonder tower. 

Slowly, to the hills around. 

Told the fourth, the futed hour 1 

Starts the steed, and snuffs the air. 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 

Bristles high the rider's hair, 

Struck with strange mysterious fears. 

Desperate, as his terrors rise. 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days, and seven long nights. 
Wild he wander'd, woe the wliile ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fright. 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seventh sad night descends ; 

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour ; 
While the deafening tlnuider lends 

All the terrors ol its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil. 

Where liis head shall Frederick hide f 

Where, but in yon ruin'd aisle, 
By the Ughtning's flash descried ? 

To the portal, dank and low. 

Fast his steed the wanderer bound . 

Down a ruin'd stau-case slow. 

Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him lie I 
Glimmering liglits are seen to gUde !- 

" Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 
Deign a sinner's steps to guide 1" 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



619 



Often lost their quivering beam. 
Still the lights move slow before, 

Till they rest their ghastly gleam 
Kight against an ken door. 

riiundoring voices from within, 
ilix'd with pe.ils of laughter, rose ; 

As they fell, a solenm strain 
Lent its wild and wondrous close I 

Midst the din, he seem'd to hear 

Voice of friends, by death removed ;— 

Well he knew that solemn air, 
'Twas the lay that AUce loved. — 

Hark I for now a solemn kuell 

Four times on the still night broke ; 

Four tunes, at its deaden'd swell, 
Echoes fi'om the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthen'd clangors die, 

Slowly opes the iron door ! 
Straight a banquet met his eye, 

But a funeral's form it wore ! 

CofEns for the seats extend ; 

AU with black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since number'd with the dead ! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound. 
Ghastly smiling, pomts a seat ; 

All arose, with thundering sound ; 
All the expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wave, 
Wild their notes of welcome swell ; — 

" Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 
Perjured, bid the light farewell I" 



<!ll]c Battle of 0cmpacl). 



[1818.] . 

These verses are a literal translation of an an- 
cient Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sempach, 
fought 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which 
the Swiss cantons estabUshed their independence ; 
the author, Albert Tchudi, denominated the Sou- 
ter, from his profession of a shoemaker. He was 
a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed highly among his 
countrymen, both for his powers as a Meister- 
Slnger, or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier ; 
so that he might share the praise conferred by 
Collms on ^schylus. that — 



" Not alone he nnrsed the poet's flame, 

But reach'd from Virtue's h.ind the patriot steel. 

The circumstanco of their being written by a 
poet retm-niug from the well-fought field he de- 
scribes, and in which his country's forttme was 
secured, nmy confer on Tchudi's verses an interest 
which they are not entitled to claim from their 
poetical merit. But b,allad poetry, the more lit- 
erally it is translated, the more it loses its simpli- 
city, without acquiring either grace or strength ; 
and, therefore, some of the faults of the verses 
must be imputed to the translator's feeling it a 
duty to keep as closely as possible to his original 
Tlie various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, 
and disproportioned episodes, must be set dowu 
to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age. 

The mihtary antiquary will derive some amuse- 
ment from the minute particulars which the niiir- 
tial poet has recorded. The mode in which the 
Austrian men-at-arms received the charge of the 
Swiss, was by formhig a phalanx, wliieh they de- 
fended with their long lances. The gallant Wink- 
elreid, who sacrificed his own life by rusliing among 
the spe.irs, clasping in his arms as many as he 
could gr.isp, and thus opening a giip in those iron 
battalions, is celebrated in Swiss liistory. When 
fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length of 
their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their de- 
fensive armor, rendered the Austrian men-iit-arms 
a very unequal match for the light-jirmed moun- 
taineers. The victories obtained by the Swiss over 
the German cliivalry, hitherto deemed as formi- 
dable on foot as on horseback, led to important 
changes in the art of war. The poet describes the 
Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks 
from their boots ere they cotdd act upon foot, in 
allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often 
mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III., 
Archduke of Austria, called " The handsome man- 
at-arms," was .slain in the Battle of Sempach, with 
the flower of his chivalry. 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH.' 

'Twas when among oiu' linden-trees 

The bees had housed in swarms 
(And gray-hair'd peasants say that these 

Betoken foreign arms). 

Then look'd we down to Willisow, 

llie land was all in flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 

1 This translation fii^t appeared in Blackwood's EdtDborgh 
Magazine for February, 1818. — Ed. 



e20 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


The Austrian nobles made their vow, 


The peaks they hew'd from their boot-poiiits 


So hot their heart and bold, 


Might weUuigh load a wain.' 


■' On Switzer carles we'U trample now, 




And slay both young and old." 


And thus they to each other said, 




" Yon handful down to hew 


With clarion loud, and banner proud, 


Will be no boastful tale to tell. 


From Zurich on the lake, 


The peasants are so few." — 


In martial pomp and fair array, 




Their onward march they make. 


Tlie gallant Swiss Confederates there 




They pray'd to God aloud. 


" Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 


And he display'd liis rainbow fair 


Ye seek the mountain strand, 


Against a swarthy cloud. 


Nor wot ye what shall be your lot 




In such a dangerous land. 


Then heart and pulse tlu-obb'd more and moro 




With courage firm and liigh. 


" I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins, 


And down the gooil Confederates bore 


Before ye farther go : 


On the Austrian chivahy. 


A skii-mish in Helvetian hills 




May send your souls to woe." — 


The Austrian Lion' 'gan to growl, 




And toss Ilia mane and taU ; 


" But where now shall we find a priest 


And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt, 


OiU' shrift that he may hear ?" — 


Went whistling forth hke hail. 


" The Switzer priest' has ta'en the field. 




He deals a penance drear. 


Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there, 




The game was nothing sweet ; 


" Right heavily upon your head 


The boughs of many a stately tree ' 


He'll lay his band of steel ; 


Lay shiver'd at their feet. 


And with his trusty partisan 




Your absolution deal." — 


The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast. 




So close tlieir spears tliey laid ; 


'Twas on a Monday morning then. 


It chafed the gallant Wiukelreid, 


Tlie corn was steep'd in dew. 


Who to his comrades said — 


And merry maids had sickles ta'en, 




When tlie host to Sempach drew. 


" I have a virtuous wife at home. 




A wife and kifant son ; 


The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 


I leave them to my country's care, — 


Together have they jom'd ; 


This field shall soon be won. 


The pith and core of manhood stern. 




Was none cast looks behind. 


" These nobles lay their spears right thick. 




And keep full firm array. 


It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 


Yet shall my charge tlieir order break. 


And to the Duke he said, 


And make my brethien way." 


" Yon little band of brethren true 




Will meet us undismay'd." — 


He rush'd against the Austrian band. 




In desperate career. 


" Hare-castle,^ thou heart of hare 1" 


And with his body, breast, and hand, 


Fierce Oxenstern replied. — 


Bore down each hostile spear. 


" Shalt see then how the game wiU fare," 




The taunted knight replied. 


Four lances splinter'd on his crest, 




Six sliiver'd in his side ; 


There was lacing then of helmets bright, 


Still on the serried files he press'd — 


And closing riuiks amain ; 


He broke their ranks, and died. 


1 A!! the Swiss clergy who were ahle to bear arms fougnt id 


turned upwards, and so long, that in some cases they were 


.his patriotic war. 


fastened to the knees of the wearer with small chains. When 




they alighted to fight upon foot, it would seem that the Aus- 


In tlie original, Haasenstcin, or ffarc-stone. 


trian gentlemen found it necessary to cut oflT these peaks, that 


3 This seems to allude to the preposterODS fashion, during 


they might move with the necessary activity. 


the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks 


< A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 621 


This patriot's eelf-devoted deed 
First tamed the Lion's mood, 

And the four forest cantons freed 
From thraldom by his blood. 


The fisher's back was to them turn'd, 
The squire liis dagger drew, 

Hans saw his shadow in the lake, 
The boat he overthrew. 


Right where liis charge had made a lane. 

His valiant comrades burst, 
With sword, and axe, and partisan, 

And hack, and stab, and thrust. 


He 'whelm'd the boat, and as they strove, 
He stunn'd them with his oar, 

" Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, 
You'U ne'er stab boatman more. 


The daunted Lion 'gan to whine. 
And granted ground amain. 

The Mountain Bull' he bent his brows. 
And gored his sides agaia 


" Two gilded fishes in the lake 
This morning have I caught. 

Their silver scales may much avail. 
Their carrion flesh is naught." 


Then lost was banner, spear, and shield. 

At Sempach in the flight. 
The cloister vaults at Konig's-field 

Hold many an Austrian knight. 


It was a messenger of woe 
Has sought the Austrian land : 

" Ah I gracious lady, evil news 1 
My lord lies on the strand. 


It was the Archduke Leopold 

So lordly would he ride. 
But he came against the Switzer churls, 

And they slew him in his pride. 


" At Sempach, on the b.attle-field. 
His bloody corpse lies there." — 

" Ah, gi-acious God !" tlie lady cried, 
" What tidings of despair !" 


The heifer said unto the buU, 
" And shall I not complain ? 

There came a foreign nobleman 
To milk me on the plain. 


Now would you know the minstrel wight 

Who sings of strife so stern, 
Albert the Souter is he hight, 

A burgher of Lucerne. 


" One thrust of thine outrageous horn 
Has gaU'd the knight so sore. 

That to the churchyard he is borne. 
To range our glens no more." 


A merry man was he, I wot, 
The night he made the lay. 

Returning from the bloody spot, 
Where God had judged the day. 



An Austrian noble left the stour. 

And fast the flight 'gan take ; 
And he arrived in luckless hour 

At Sempach on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher call'd 

(His name was Hans Von Rot), 
" For love, or meed, or charity, 

Receive us in thy boat I" 

Their anxious call the fisher heaid, 

And, glad the meed to win, 
His shallop to the shore he steer'd, 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 

Hans stoutly row'd his way. 
The noble to his follower sign'd 

He should the boatman slay. 

* A pOQ on the Urus, or wild-bull, which gives name to 
the Canton of Uri. 

2 The translation of the Noble Moringer appeared originally 
in the Edinburgh Annual Register lor 1816 (jtublished in 



®l)e ^oble iltonnger. 



AN ANCIE.NT BALLAD. 



TRANSLATED FEOM THE GERMAN. 
[1819.'] 

The original of these verses occurs in a collection 
of German popular songs, entitled, Sammlung 
Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, published by 
Messrs. Busching and Von der Hagen, botli, and 
more especially tlie last, distinguished for their 
acquaintance with the ancient popular poetry and 
legendary history of Germany. 

In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, it is 

1819). It was composed during Sir Walter Scott's severe and 
alarming illness of April, 1819, and dictated, in the intervals 
of exquisite pain, to his daughter Sophia, and his friend Wil- 
liam Laidlaw. — Ed. See Life of Scott, vol. vi. p. 71. 



622 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



stated to have oeen extracted from a manuscript 
Chrouicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to Saint 
Leonard iu Weisenliorn, which bears the date 1633 ; 
and the song is stated by tlie author to have been 
generally sung in the neighborhood at that early 
period. Thomaim, as quoted by tlie German Ed- 
itor, seems faithfully to have believed the event 
he narrates. He quotes tombstones and obituaries 
to prove the existence of the personages of the 
ballad, and discovers that there actually died, on 
the 11th May, 1349, a Lady Von Neuffen, Count- 
ess of Marstetten, who was, by birth, of the house 
jof iloriuger. This lady he supposes to have been 
Moriuger's daughter, mentioned in the ballad. He 
quotes the same authority for the death of Berek- 
hold Von Neuffen, in the same year. The editors, 
on the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of Pro- 
fessor Smith of Ulm, who, from the language of 
the ballad, ascribes its date to tlie 15th century. 

Tlie legend itself turns on an incident not pecu- 
liar to Germany, and which, perhaps, was not un- 
likely to happen in more instances than one, when 
crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their 
disconsolate dames received no tidings of their 
fate. A story, very similar in circumstances, but 
without the miraculous machinery of Saint Thom- 
as, is told of one of tlie ancient Lords of Haigh-hall 
in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of the 
late Countess of Balcarras ; and the particulars are 
represented on stained glass upon a window in 
that ancient manor-house.' 



THE NOBLE MORINGER. 

L 

0, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian 

day. 
It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he 

lay; 

He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was 

as sweet as May, 
And said, "Now, lady of my heart, attend the 

words I say. 

IL 

" Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant 
sbruie. 

And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave 
the laud that's mine ; 

Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou 
wilt pledge thy fay, 

Tliat thou for my return wilt wait seven twelve- 
months and a day." 

1 See Introduction to " The Betrothed," Waverley Novels, 
vol. xxxvii. 



IIL 

Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troub- 
led in her cheer, 

" Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order 
takest thou here ; 

And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy 
lordly sway. 

And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far 
away ?" 

IV. 

Out spoke the noble Moringer, " Of that have thou 

no care. 
There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds 

hving fair; [my state, 

Tlie trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and 
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my 

lovely mate. 



"As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow 

which I have plight. 
When I am far m foreign land, Femember thy true 

knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain 

were sorrow now. 
But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath 

heard his vow." 

VL 
It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him 

bonne. 
And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer 

and with gown : 
He flimg the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with 

miniver. 
He dipp'd liis hand in water cold, and bathed his 

forehead fair. 

VH. 

" Now bear," he said, " Sir Chamberlain, true vas- 
sal art thou mine, 

And such the trust that I repose ui that proved 
worth of thme. 

For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and 
lead my vassal train. 

And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return 
again." 

VIIL 
The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily 

said he, 
" Abide, my lord, and rule yom- own, and take 

this rede from me ; 
That woman's faitli's a brittle trust — Seven 

twelve-months didst thou say ? 
rU pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the 

seventh (all day." 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



G23 



IX. 

The noble Baron turn'd hira round, his heart was 

full of care, 
Hi3 gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Mars- 

tetten's heir. 
To whom he spoke right anxiously, " Thou trusty 

squire to me, 
WUt thou receive this weighty trust when I am 

o'er the sea ! 

X. 

" To watch and ward my castle strong, and to 

protect my land, 
And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal 

band ; 
And pledge thee for my lady's faith tiU seven 

long yeai's are gone, 
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by 

Saint John ?" 

XI. 

Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, 
and young, 

And readily he answer made with too presump- 
tuous tongue ; 

' My noble lord, cast care away, and on your jour- 
ney wend, [have end. 

And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage 

xn. 

Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly 

tried. 
To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and 

with your vassals ride ; 
And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and 

so dear, 
ril gage my head it knows no change, be absent 

thirty year." 

xin. 

rhe noble Moringer took cheer when thus he 
heard him speak, 

And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow 
left his cheek ; 

A long adieu he bids to all — hoists topsails, and 
away. 

And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelve- 
mouths and a day. 

XIV. 
It was the noble Moringer within an orchard 

slept. 
When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding 

vision crept ; 
And whisper'd in his ear a voice, " 'Tis time, Sir 

Knight, to wake. 
Thy lady and thy heritage another master take. 



XV. 

"Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds 
another rem. 

And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vas- 
sal train ; 

And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once 
and fair. 

This night witliin thy fathers' hall she weds Mars 
tetten's heir." 

XVL 

It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his 

beard, 
" Oh would that I had ne'er been born ! what 

tidings have I heard ! 
To lose my lordship and my lands the less would 

be my care. 
But, God I that e'er a squire untrue should wed 

my Lady fair. 

XVIL 

" good Saint Thomas, hear," he pray'd, " my 

patron Saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my hind even wliile I pay my 

vow 1 [name. 

My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of 
And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the 

shame." 

xvin. 

It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard 
his pilgrim's prayer. 

And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'er- 
power'd his care ; 

He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd be- 
side a rill. 

High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a 
mill. 

XIX. 

The Moringer he started up as one from spell un- 
bound. 

And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all 
around ; 

" I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the 
stream I know. 

Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd his 
pilgrim's woe !" 

XX. 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he 

drew, 
So alter'd was his goodly form that none their 

master knew ; [charity, 

The Baron to the miller said, " Good friend, for 
Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may 

there be }" 



624 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXI. 

The miller answered him again, " He knew of little 
news, 

Save that the Lady of the land did a new bride- 
groom choose ; 

Her husband died in distant land, such is the con- 
stant word. 

His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy 
Lord. 

XXII. 
" Of him I held the Uttle mill which wins me living 

free, 
God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind 

to me ! 
And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and 

millers take theh toll. 
The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both 

cope and stole." 

xxnL 

It was the noble Mormger to climb the hill began. 
And stood before the bolted gate a woe and 

weary man ; 
"Now help me, every saint in heaven that can 

compassion take. 
To gain the entrance of my hall this woeful match 

to break." 

XXIV. 
His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad 

and slow. 
For heart and head, and voice and h.and, were 

heavy all with woe ; 
And to the warder thus he spoke : " Friend, to thy 

Lady say, 
A pilgi-im from Saint Thomas-land craves harbor 

for a day. 

XXV. 

" Pre wander'd many a weary step, my strength 
is wellnigh done, 

And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no mor- 
row's sun ; 

I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's 
bed and dole. 

And for the sake of Moringer's, her once-loved 
husband's souL" 

XXVL 

It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame 
before, 

" A pilgrim, worn and travel-toU'd, stands at the 
castle-door ; 

And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for har- 
bor and for dole. 

And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's 
soul." 



XXVIL 

The Lady's gentle heart was moved, " Do up the 
gate," she said, 

" And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet 
and to bed ; 

And since he names my husband's name, so that 
he Usts to stay, 

These towers sh.all be his harborage a twelve- 
month and a day." 

XXVIIL 

It was the stalwart wai'der then undid the portal 

broad, 
It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold 

strode ; 
"And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said, 

" though from a man of sin. 
That the true lord stands here once more his 

castle-gate within." 

XXIX. 

Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad 
and slow ; [Lord to know ; 

It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd then- 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe 

and wrong. 
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd Uttle 
space so long. 

XXX. 

Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come 

was evening hour. 
The time was nigh when new-made brides rethe 

to nuptial bower ; 
" Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, " hath been 

both firm and long, 
No guest to harbor in om- halls till he shall chant 

a song." 

XXXL 

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he 

sat by the bride, 
" My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, " lay shalm 

and harp aside ; 
Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule 

to hold. 
And well his guerdon wUl I pay with garment and 

with gold." — 

XXXII. 

" Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the 

pilgrim sung, 
"Nor golden meed nor giirment gay, unlocks lus 

heavy tongue ; 
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as 

rich as thine. 
And by my side as fair a bride witli all her charmi 

was mine. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



625 



xxxni. 

" But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew 

eilver-hair'd, 
For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left 

this brow and beard ; 
Once ricli, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's 

latest stage. 
And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of fi'o- 

zen age." 

XXXIV. 

It was the ncrt)le Lady there this woeful lay that 

hears, 
And for the aged pilgrim's gi-ief her eye was 

dimm'd with tears ; 
She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker 

take. 
And bear it to the palmer poor to quafi" it for her 

sake. 

XXXV. 

It was the noble Moringer thiit dropp'd amid the 

wine 
A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so 

tine : 
Now hsten, gentles, to my song, it tells you but 

the sooth, 
'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his 

bridal truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then to the cupbearer he said, " Do me one kindly 

deed. 
And should my better days return, full rich shall 

be thy meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so 

gay. 

And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palm- 
er gray." 

XXXVII. 

The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon 
denied, 

The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the 
bride ; 

" Lady," he said, " your reverend guest sends this, 
and bids me pray. 

That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palm- 
er gray." 

xxxvin. 

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it 
close and near, 

Then you might hear her shriek aloud, " The Mor- 
inger is here !" 
79 



Then might you see her start from seat, while tears 

in torrents fell. 
But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies best 

c:m teU. 

XXXIX. 

But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and every 
saintly power, 

That had return'd the Moringer before the mid- 
night hour ; 

And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was 
there bride. 

That had like her preserved her troth, or been so 
sorely tried. 

XL. 

" Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, " to con 
stant matrons due, 

Who keep the troth that they have plight, so stead- 
fastly and true ; 

For count the term howe'er you will, so that you 
count aright. 

Seven twelve-months and a day are out when bolls 
toll twelve to-night." 

XLL 

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falcliion there 
he drew, 

He kneel'd before the Moringer, and down his wea- 
pon threw ; 

" My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were 
the words he said, 

" Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take 
thy vassal's head." 

XLIL 

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud cUd 
say, 

" He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd seven twelve- 
months and a day ; 

My daughter now hath fifteen years, fiime speaks 
her sweet and fair, 

I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for 
my heir. 

XLHL 

" The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the 

old bridegroom the old. 
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punfr 

tually were told ; 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my 

castle gate, 
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a d.ay too 

late." 



626 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



FaOM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

{The Ejrl-King is a goblin that haunts the Black 
Forest in Thuringia. — To be read by a candle 
particularlg long in the s?iujf.) 

0, WHO rides by night tliro' tlae woodland so wild ? 
It is the fond father embracing bis child ; 
And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, 
To hold himself fast, iind to keep Iiimself warm. 

" father, see yonder ! see yonder !" he says ; 
" My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze ?" — 
" 0, 'tis the Erl-KJng witli his crown and his shroud." 
" No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud." 

{The Erl-King speaJcs.) 
" come and go with me, thou loveliest child ; 
By many a g.ay sport shall thy time be beguiled ; 
My mother keeps for thee full many a fan- toy, 
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy." 

" 0, father, my father, and did you not hear 
The Krl-King whisper so low in my ear ?" — 

1 1797. *' To Miss Christian Rutherford. — I send a gob- 
lin story. You see I have not altogether lost the faculty of 
rhyming. I assure you there is no small impudence in attempt- 



" Be stiU, my heart's darling — my cliild, be at ease ; 
It was but the wild blast as it simg thro' the trees." 

Erl-King. 
" O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy ! 
My daughter shall tend thee witli care and with joy ; 
She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and ihro' 

wild. 
And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child." 

" father, my father, and saw you not plain. 
The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past tlu'o the 

rain !" — 
" yes, my loved treasiu'c, I knew it full soon ; 
It was the gray willow that danced to the moon." 

Erl-King. 
" come and go with me, no longer delay, 
Or else, siUy child, I will drag thee away." — 
" O father ! father ! now, now keep youi' hold. 
The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold 1" 

Sore trembled the father ; he spmT'd thi-o' the wild 
Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child ; 
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread. 
But, clasp'd to his bosom, the infant was dead .'" 

ing a version of that ballad, as it has been translated by Lewis, 
. . . . W. S."—Life, vol. i. p 378. 



EMD OF BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN 



Clerical aub iftiscclUneous Jpicrcs, 

IN THE ORDER OF THEIR COMPOSITION OR PUBLICATION. 



JIufaenile 3ltne». 

FEOiC TIEGIL. 



1782.— .^TAT. 11. 



" Scott's autobiography tells us that his transla- 
tions in verse from Horace and Virgil were often 
approved by Dr. Adams [Rector of the High School, 
Edinburgh]. One of these little pieces, written in 
a weak boyish scrawl, within pencilled marks still 
visible, had been carefully preserved by his moth- 
er ; it was found folded up in a cover, inscribed 
by the old lady— 'J/y Walter' s first lines, 1782.'" 
— LocKHAET, life of Scott, vol. i. p. 129. 

In awful ruins .^tna thunders nigh, 
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky 
Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they aspire, 
From their dark sides there bursts the glowing 

fire ; 
At other times huge balls of fire are toss'd. 
That Uck the stars, and in the smoke are lost : 
Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions torn. 
Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne 
With loud explosions to the starry skies. 
The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies. 
Then back again with greater weiglit recoils, 
WMle .lEtna thundering from the bottom boils. 



©n a STJunlJer Storm. 



1783.— ^T. 12. 



" In Scott's Introduction to the Lay, he alludes 
to an original effusion of these ' schoolboy days,' 
prompted by a thimder-storm, which he says, ' was 
much approved of, until a malevolent critic sprung 

1 " ft must, I think, be allowed that these lines, though 
«f the class to which the poet him-ielf modestly ascribes 
ibem, and not to be compared with the efforts of Pope, still 



up in the shape of an apothecary's blue-buskined 
wife,' Ac. Ac. These lines, and another short piece 
' On the Setting Sun,' were lately found wrapped 
up in a cover, inscribed by Dr. Adam, ' Walter 
Scott, July, 1783.'" 

Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll. 
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole. 
Yet 'tis thy voice, my God, that bids them fly. 
Thy arm directs those Ughtnings through the sky. 
Then let the good thy mighty name revere. 
And harden'd sinners thy just vengeance fear. 



>n tj)e Sctlfufl Sun. 



1783. 



Those evening clouds, that setting ray, 
And beauteous tints, serve to display 

Their great Creator's praise ; 
Then let the short-Uved thing call'd man, 
Whose life's comprised within a span, 

To Him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening clouds, 

And tints, so gay and bold. 
But seldom think upon our God, 

Who tinged these clouds with gold 1' 



SDe Vtolet. 



1797. 



It appears from the Life of Scott, vol L p. 333, 
that these lines, first published in the English 

less of Cowley at the same period, show, nevertheless, praise- 
worthy dexterity for a boy of twelve." — Life of Scotl, vol. i. 
p. 131. 



628 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Minstrelsy, 1810, were written in 1797, on occa- 


When Clyde, despite his sheltermg wood. 


sion of the Poet's disappointment in love. 


Must leave his channel dry ; 




And vainly o'er the hmpid flood 


The violet in her green-wood bower, 


The angler guides his fly ; 


Where birchen boughs with liazels mingle. 




May boast itself the fairest flower 


If chance by Bothwell's lovely braes 


In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 


A wanderer thou hast been. 




Or hid thee from the summer's blaze 


Tliough fan- her gems of azure hue. 


In Blantyre's bowers of green, 


Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining; 




I've seen an eye of lovelier blue, 


Full where the copsewood opens wild 


More sweet through wat'ry lustre shining. 


, Thy pilgrim step hath staid. 




Where Bothwell's towers, m ruin piled. 


The suBomer sun that dew shall dry, 


O'erlook the verdant glade ; 


Ere yet the day be past its moiTow ; 




Nor longer in my false love's eye 


And many a tale of love and fear 


Bemain'd the tear of parting sorrow. 


Hath mingled with the scene — 




Of Bothwell's banks that bloom'd so dear, 




And Bothwell's bonny Jean. 


STo a 21 ati^. 


0, if with rugged minstrel lays 


WITH FLOWEKS FROM A ROMAN WALL. 


Unsated be thy ear. 




And thou of deeds of other days 
Another tale wUt hear, — 


1797. 


Written in 1797, on an excursion from Gillsland, 


Then aU beneath the spreading beech, 


in Cumberland. See Life, vol. i. p. 365. 


Flimg careless on the lea. 




The Gothic muse the tale shall teach 


TaJie these flowers which, purple waving. 


Of Bothwell's sisters three. 


On the ruin'd rampart grew. 




Where, the sons of freedom braving, 


Wight Wallace stood on Deckmont head, 


Rome's imperial standards flew. 


He blew his bugle round. 




Till the wild bull in Cadyow wood 


Warriors from the breach of danger 


Has started at the sound. 


Pluck no longer laurels there ; 




They but yield the passing stranger 


St. George's cross, o'er Bothwell hung. 


Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair. 


Was waving far and wide. 




And from the lofty tuiTet flung 




Its crimson blaze on Clyde ; 


iTragmcnte. 


And rismg at the bugle blast 


That marked the Scottish foe, 




Old England's yeomen muster'd fast, 




And bent the Norman bow. 


(1.) BOTHWELL CASTLE. 




Tall in the midst Sir Aybner' rose. 




Proud Pembroke's Earl was he — 


1799. 


While" ..... 


The following fragment of a ballad written at 






Bothwell Castle, in the autumn of 1799, was first 


(2.) THE SHEPHERD'S TALE.' 


printed in the Life of Su- Walter Scott, vol il p. 28. 


Wlien fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bowers 


1799. 


Are mellowing in the noon ; 




When sighs round Pembroke's ruin'd towers 


"Anotheb imperfect ballad, in which he had 


The sultry breath of June ; 


meant to blend together two legends familiar to 


> Sir Aylmer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, Edward the 


tie, the ruins of which attest the magnificence of the invader 


First's Governor of Scotland, usually resided at Bothwell Cas- 


—Ed. s Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 31. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



629 



every reader of Scottish history and romance, has 
been found in the same portfolio, and the hand- 
writing proves it to be of the same eai'ly date." — 
LocikUART, vol. il p. 30. 



And ne'er but once, my son, he says, 

Was yon sad cavern trod. 
In persecution's iron d.iys, 

When the land was left by God. 

From Bewlie bog, with sLiughter red, 

A wanderer hither drew. 
And oft he stopt and tum'd his bead. 

As by fits the night wind blew ; 

For trampling round by Cheviot edge 

Were heard the troopers keen. 
And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge 

The death-shot flash'd between. 

The moonbeams through the misty shower 
On yon dark cavern fell ; [white, 

Through the cloudy night the snow gleam'd 
Which sunbeam ne'er could queU. 

" Yon cavern dart is rough and rude, 

And cold its jaws of snow ; 
But more rough and rude are the men of blood, 

That hunt my life below ! 

" Ton spell-bound den, as the aged tell, 

Was hewn by demon's hands ; 
But I had lourd' meUe with the fiends of hell. 

Than with Clavers and his band." 

He heard the deep-mouth'd bloodhound bark. 

He heard the horses neigh, 
He plunged him in the cavern dark, 

And downward sped his way. 

Now faintly down the winding path 
Ciime the cry of the faulting hound. 

And the mutter'd oath of baulked wrath 
Was lost in hollow sound. 

He threw liim on the flinted floor, 

And held his breath for fear ; 
He rose and bitter cursed his foes, 

As the sounds died on his ear. 

" bare thine arm, thou battling Lord, 

For Scotland's wandering band ; 
Hash from the oppressor's grasp the sword, 

And sweep him fi'om the land ! 

1 Lourd ; i. e. liefer — rather. 



" Forget not thou thy people's groans 
From d.ark Dunnotter's tower, 

Mix'd with the seafowl's shrilly moans. 
And ocean's bursting roar 1 

" O, in fell Clavers' hour of pride, 

Even in liis mightiest day. 
As bold he strides through conquest's tide, 

stretch him on the clay ! 

"His widow and his Uttle ones, 

may their tower of trust 
Remove its strong foundation stones, 

And crush them m the dust I" — 

" Sweet prayers to me," a voice repUed, 
" Thi'ice welcome, guest of mine I" 

And gUmmering on the cavern side, 
A Ught was seen to shine. 

An aged man, in amice brown. 

Stood by the wanderer's side. 
By powerful chai'm, a dead man's arm 

The torch's light suppUed. 

From each stiff finger, stretch'd upright, 

Arose a ghastly flame. 
That waved not in the blast of night 

Which through the cavern came. 

0, deadly blue was th.at tapei-'s hue, 

That fl.amod the cavern o'er, 
But more deadly blue w.is the ghastly hue 

Of his eyes who the taper bore. 

He liiid on his head a hand like lead, 

As heavy, pale, .and cold — 
" Vengeance be tliine, thou guest of mme, 

If thy heart be tu-m and bold. 

" But if faint thy heart, and caitiff fear 

Thy recreant sinews know. 
The mouutain erne thy heart shall tear. 
Thy nerves the hooded crow." 

The wanderer raised liim undismay'd : 

" My soul, by dangers steel'd. 
Is stubborn as my border blade, 

Which never knew to yield. 

" And if thy power can speed the hour 

Of vengeance on my foes. 
Theirs be the fate, from bridge and gate 
To feed the hooded crows." 

The Brownie look'd him in the face. 
And his color fled with speed — 

" I fear me," quoth he, " uneath it will b« 
To match thy word and deed. 



0-iO SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


" In ancient days -srhen English bands 


The casque hung near each cavalier ; 


Sore ravaged Scotland fair, 


The plumes waved mournfully 


The sword and shield of Scottish land 


At every tread wliich the wanderer made 


Was valiant Halbert Kerr. 


Tlu-ough the hall of gramarye. 


" A warlock loved the warrior well. 


The ruddy beam of tlie torches' gleam 


Sir Michael Scott by name. 


Tliat glared tlie wan-iors on. 


And he sought for his sake a spell to make, 


Reflected liglit from armor bright, 


Should the Southern foemen tame. 


In noontide splendor shone. 


" ' Look thou,' he said, ' from Cessford head, 


And onward seen in lustre sheen. 


As the July sun sinks low, 


Still lengthening on the siglit, 


And when ghmmeriug wliite on Cheviot's height 


Through the boundless liall stood steeds in staU. 


Thou shall spy a wreath of snow. 


And by each lay a sable knight. 


The spell is complete which shall bring to thy 




feet 


Still as the dead lay each horseman dread, 


The haughty Saxon foe.' 


And moved nor limb nor tongue ; 




Each steed stood stiff as an earthfast cliff, 


" For many a year wrought the wizard here, 


Nor hoof nor bridle rung. 


In Clieviot's bosom low. 




Till tlie spell was complete, and in July's heat 


No sounds through all the spacious hall 


Appear'd December's snow : 


The deadly still divide. 


But Cesiford's Halbert never came 


Save where echoes aloof from the vaulted roof 


The wondrous cause to know. 


To the wanderer's step replied. 


" For years before in Bowden aisle 


At length before his wondering eyes, 


The warrior's bones had lain, 


On an iron column borne. 


And after short while, by female guile, 


Of antique sliape, and giant size. 


Sir Michael Scott was slain. 


Appear'd a sword and horn. 


" But me and my brethren in this cell 


" Now choose thee here," quoth his leader, 


His mighty charms retain, — 


" Thy venturous fortune try ; 


And he that can queU the powerful speU 


Thy woe and weal, thy boot and bale. 


Shall o'er broad Scotland reiga" 


In you brand and bugle lie." 


He led him through an u-on door 


To the fatal brand he mounted hia hand. 


And up a winding stair. 


But his soul did quiver and quail ; 


And in wild amaze did the wanderer gaze 


The hfe-blood did start to Iiis shuddering heart 


On the sight which open'd there. 


And left him wan and pale. 


Tlirongh the gloomy night flash'd ruddy light, — 


The brand he forsook, and the horn he took 


A thousand torches glow ; 


To 'say a gentle sound ; 


The cave rose higli, hke the vaulted sky. 


But so wUd a blast from the bugle brast, 


O'er stalls in double row. 


That the Cheviot rock'd aroimd. 


In every stall of that endless hall 


From Forth to Tees, from seas to seas, 


Stood a steed in barbing bright ; 


The awful bugle rung ; 


At the foot of each steed, all arm'd save the head, 


On Carlisle wall, and Berwick withal, 


Lay stretch'd a stalwart knight. 


To arms the warders sprung. 


In each mail'd hand was a naked brand ; 


With clank and clang the cavern rang. 


As they lay on the black bull's liide, 


Tlie steeds did stamp and neigh ; 


Each visage stern did upwards turn. 


And loud was the yell as each warrior fell 


With eyeballs fix'd and wide. 


Sterte up with hoop and cry. 


A lanncegay strong, fuU twelve ells long, 


" Woe, woe," they cried, " thou caitiff cowarii. 


By every warrior hung ; 


That ever thou wert born ! 


At each pommel there, for battle yare, 


Why drew ye not the knightly sword 


A Jedwood axe was e'ung. 


Before ye blew the horn ?" 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



631 



The morning on the mountain shone, 

Ami on the bloody ground 
Hurl'd from the cave with shiver'd bone, 

The mangled ■WTeteh was found. 

And still beneath the cavern di-ead, 
Among the glidders gray, 

A shapeless stone with Hchens spread 
Marks where the wanderer lay.' 
****** 



(3.) CHEVIOT. 



1799. 



Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 
And pensive mark the hngering snow 

In all his scaurs abide, 
And slow dissolving from the hill 
In many a sightless, somidless rill, 

Feed sparkling Bowmont's tide. 

Fair shines the stream by bank and lea, 
As wimpUng to the eastern sea 

She seeks TiU's sullen bed, 
Indenting deep the fatal plain, 
Where Scotland's noblest, brave in vain, 

Around their monarch bled. 

And westward lulls on hills you see. 
Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea 

Heaves high her waves of foam, 
D.irk and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's wold 
To the proud foot of Cheviot roU'd, 

Earth's mountain billows come. 



^ " The reader may be interested by comparing with this 
ballad the author's prose version of part of its legend, as given 
in one of the last works of his pen. He says, in the Letters 
on D.-monology and Witchcraft, 1830 : — ' Thomas of Ercil- 
downe, during his retirement, lias been supposed, from time to 
time, to be levying forces to take the field in some crisis of 
his country's fate. The story has often been told of a daring 
horse-jockey liaving sold a black horse to a man of venerable 
and antii^oe appearance, who appointed the remarkable hil- 
lock upon Eildon hills, called the Lucken-hare, as the place 
where, at twelve o'clock at night, he should receive the price. 
He came, his money was paid in ancient coin, and he was in- 
vited by his customer to view his residence. The trader in 
horses followed his guide in the deepest astonishment through 
several long ranges of stalls, in each of which a horse stood 
motionless, while an armed warrior lay equally still at the 
charger's feet. ' All these men,' said the wizard in a whisper, 
* will awaken at the battle of Sheriirmuir.' At the extremity 
of this extraordinary depot hung a sword and a horn, which 



(4.) THE REIVER'S WEDDING. 



1802. 



In " The Reiver's Wedding," the Poet had evi- 
dently designed to blend together two traditional 
stories concerning his own forefather.'?, the Scots 
of Harden, which are dctaUed in the first chap- 
ters of his Life. The biographer adds : — " I know 
not for what reason, Lochwood, the ancient for- 
tress of the Jolmstones in Annaiidale, has been 
substituted for the real locality of liis ancestor's 
drumhead Wedding Contract." — Life, vol. ii p. 94. 



will ye hear a mii'thful bourd J 

Or will ye hear of cotn'tesie ? 
Or wiU hear how a gallant lord 

Was wedded to a gay ladye ? 

" Ca' out the kye," quo' the village herd. 

As he stood on the knowe, 
" Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's ten. 

And bauld Lord Wilham's cow." — 

" Ah ! by my sooth," quoth WilUam then, 

" And stands it that way now. 
When knave and churl have nine and ten. 

That the Lord has but his cow ? 

" I swear by the Ught of the Michaelmas moon, 

And the might of Mary high. 
And by the edge of my braidsword brown. 

They shall soon say Harden's kye." 

He took a bugle frae his side. 

With names carved o'er and o'er — 

Full many a chief of meikle pride 
That Border bugle bore — ' 



the prophet pointed out to the horse-dealer as containing the 
means of dissolving the spell. The man in confusion took 
the horn and attempted to wind it. The horses instantly 
started in their stalls, stamped, and shook their bridles, tho 
men arose and clashed their armor, and the mortal, terrified at 
the tumult he had excited, dropped the horn ("rom his hand. 
A voice like that of a giant, louder even than the tumult 
around, pronounced these words : — 

' Woe to the coward that ever he was bom, 
That did not draw the sword before he blew the horn.' 

A whirlwind expelled the horse-dealer from the cavern, th« 
entrance to which he could never again find. A moral might 
be perhaps extracted from the legend namely, that it is better 
to be armed against danger before bidding it defiance." 

2 This celebrated horn is still in the possession of the chief 
of the Hardeu family, Lord Polwarth. 



S32 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He blew a note baith sharp and hie, 
Till rock and water rang around — 

Tliree score of moss-troopers and three 
Have mounted at that bugle sound. 


The sister, Jean, had a full fair skin. 
And Grace was bauld and braw ; 

But the leal-fast heart her breast within 
It weel was worth them a'. 


The Michaelmas moon had enter'd then. 

And ere she wan the fuU, 
Te might see by her light in Harden glen 

A bow o' kye and a bassen'd bull. 


Her father's pranked her sisters twa 

With meikle joy and pride ; 
But Margaret maun seek Dimdi*ennan's wa'— 

She ne'er can be a bride. 


And loud and loud in Harden tower 
The quaigh gaed round wi' meikle glee ; 

For the EngUsh beef was brought in bower, 
And the Enghsh ale fiow'd merrilie. 


On spear and casque by gallants gent 
Her sisters' scarfs were borne, 

But never at tilt or tournament 
Were Margaret's colors wora 


And mony a guest from Teviotside 
And Yarrow's Braes were there ; 

Was neTer a lord in Scotland wide 
That made more dainty fare. 


Her sisters rode to Thu-lstane bower. 

But she was left at hame 
To wander round the gloomy tower. 

And sigh young Harden's name. 


They ate, they laugh'd, they sang and quaff 'd, 

TlU naught on board was seen, 
When knight and squire were boune to dine, 

But a spur of silver sheen. 


" Of all the knights, the knight most fair. 

From Yarrow to the Tyne," 
Soft sigh'd the maid, " is Harden's heir. 

But ne'er can he be mine ; 


Lord William has ta'en his berry brown steed — 

A sore shent man was he ; 
" Wiiit ye, my guests, a little speed — 

Weel feasted ye shall be." 


" Of all the maids, the foulest maid 

From Teviot to the Dee, 
Ah !" sighing sad, that lady said, 

" Can ne'er young Harden's be." — 


He rode him down by Falsehope burn, 

His cousin dear to see. 
With hun to take a riding turn — 

Wat-draw-the-sword was he. 


She looked up the briery glen, 

And up the mossy brae, 
And she saw a score of her father's men 

Yclad in the Johnstone gray. 


And when he came to Falsehope glen. 

Beneath tlio trysting-tree. 
On the smooth green was carved plain,' 

" To Lochwood bound are we." 


fast and fast they downwards sped 
The moss and briers among. 

And in the midst the troopers led 
A shackled knight along. 


" O If they be gane to dark Lochwood 
To drive the Warden's gear. 


****** 


Betwixt our names, I ween, there's feud ; 
I'll go and have my share : 


Srije 33arli's Sncantatfoti 


" For httle reck I for Johnstone's feud, 

The Warden though he be." 
So Lord William is away to dark Lochwood, 

With riders barely three. 

The Warden's daughters in Lochwood sate, 

Were all both fair and gay. 
All save the Lady Margaret, 
And she was wan and wae. 


WKITTEN XJNDEE THE THREAT OF INVASION Dl iTlTt 
AUTtMN OF 1804. 

The forest of Glenmore is drear, 

It is all of black pme and the dark oak-tree ; 
And the midnight wind, to the moimtain deer, 

Is whistling the forest luUaby : 
The moon looks tlu-ough the driftmg storm, 
But the troubled lake reflects not her form, 


» " At Linlon. in Roxburghshire, there is a circle of stones 
inrrounding a smooth plot of tnrf, called the Tryst, or place 
of appointment, which tradition avers to have been the ren- 
dezPOQS of the neighboring wairiois. The name of the leader 


wa3 cot in the tnrf, and the arrangement of ihe letters an- 
nounced to his followers the coarse which he bad taken."— 
Introduction to the Minstr^sy, p. 185. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



633 



For the waves roll whitening to the land, 
And dasli against the shelvy strand. 
Tlu're is a voice among the trees, 

Tliat nlin^■Ies with the groaning oalr — 
That mingles with the stormy breeze. 

And the lake-waves dashing against the rock ; — 
Tliere is a voice within the wood, 
The voice of tlie bard in fitful mood; 
His song was louder than the blast, 
As the bard of Glenmore through the forest past. 

" Wake ye from your sleep of death. 
Minstrels and bards of otlier days ! 
For the midnight wind is on the heath, 

And the midnight meteors dimly bla^e : 
The Spectre with his Bloody Hand,' 
la wandering through the wild woodland ; 
The owl and the raven are mute for dread, 
And the time is meet to awake the dead ! 

" Souls of the mighty, wake and say, 

To what high strain your harps were strung. 
When Locldin plow'd her billowy way. 

And on your shores her Norsemen flung ? 
Her Norsemen train'd to spoil and blood, 
SkiU'd to prepare the Raven's food, 
All, by your harpings, doom'd to die 
On bloody Lai'gs and Loncarty.^ 

"Mute are ye all ? No murmurs strange 
Upon the midnight breeze sail by ; 

Nor tlu'ough the pines, with wliistling change 
Mimic the harp's wild harmony ! 

Mute are ye now ? — Ye ne'er were mute, 

When Murder with his bloody foot, 

And Rapiue with liis iron hand. 

Were hovering near yon mountain strand. 

" yet awake the strain to tell. 

By every deed in song enroU'd, 
By every cliief who fought or fell. 

For Albion's weal in battle bold ; — 
From Coilgach,^ first who roU'd his car 
Through the deep ranks of Roman war. 
To hun, of veteran memory dear, 
Who victor died on Aboukir. 

' By all their swords', by all their scars, 

By aU their names, a mighty spell ! 
By all their wounds, by all their wars, 

Arise, the mighty strain to tell ! 
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, 
More impious than the heathen Dane, 
More grasping than aU-gr:isping Rome, 
Gaul'a ravening legions hither come I" 



- Tlie forest of Glenmore is haaoted by a spirit called Lbam- 
^firp or Re<i-lian{i. 
80 



The wind is hush'd, and still the lake — 
Strange murmurs fill my tinkling ears. 
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake, 

At the dread voice of other years — 
" When targets clash'd, and bugles rung. 
And blades round waniors' heads were flung, 
The foremost of the band were we. 
And hymn'd the joys of Liberty !" 



• tllbcllnn. 



1805. 



In the spring of 1S05, a yming r/entlnnan of tal- 
ents, and of a ino^t amiable disposltio7i, perished 
bij losing his way on the viountain Hellvellyn. 
His remains were not discovered till three months 
afterwards, when they were found gttarded by a 
faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant du- 
ring frequent solitary rambles through tlte milds 
of Cumberlayid and Westmoreland. 



I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, 

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty 

and wide ; [ling. 

All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yel- 

And stai'ting around me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was 

bending. 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wan- 
derer had died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown moim- 
tain-heather. 
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in 
decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather, 
TiU the moimtain winds wasted the tenantless 
clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended. 
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, 
Tile much-loved remains of her master defended. 
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou tliihk that his silence waa 
slumber ? 
When the wind waved his garment, how oft 
didst thou start ? 

3 Wiiere the Norwegian invader of Scotland received two 
bloody defeats. 3 Tiie Galgactts ofTacitas. 



6^4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I Tow many long days and long weeks didst thou 

number. 
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy 

heart? 
And, oh, -was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er 

him — 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
iiid thou, little guiirdian, iilone stretch'd before 

him — 
Unlionor'd the Pilgrim from life should depart ? 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has 
yielded, 
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted 
hall ; 
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded. 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches 

are gleaming ; 
In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are 

beaming, 
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature. 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain 
lamb, 
When, wUder'd, he drops from some cliif huge in 
stature. 
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch by tliis desert lake 

lying. 
Tliy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 



Sfie Sjitng 33arli.' 



1806. 



Air — Daffydz OangToen. 
Tlic Wehh tradition bears, th<it a Bard, on his 
death-bed, demanded his harp, and played tfte air 
to which these verses are adapted; reqicesting 
that it might be performed at his funeral. 



lliNos EsTLiNN, lament ; for the moment is nigli. 
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die : 

1 This and tlie following were written for Mr. George Thom- 
Mn*3 Welsh Airs, and are contained in his Select Melodies, 
vol. i. 



No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave. 
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing 
wave. 

n. 

In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade 
Unhonor'd shall flourish, unlionor'd shall fade ; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and tlie tongue. 
That view'd them with raptme, with rapture that 
sung. 

in. 

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, 
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; 
But where is the harp shall give life to their name ? 
And where is the bard shall give heroes their feme ? 

IV. 
And oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair, 
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark 

hair; 
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye. 
When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall 

die? 

V. 
Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene, 
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 

VI. 

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, 

Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy 
maids! 

And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can 
tell, 

Farewell, my loved Harp ! my last treastu'e, fare- 
well ! 



Srjc 'Norman j!gorsc»s!)ot- 



1806. 



Am— The IVar-Sotig of the Men of OlamoTgan. 

The Wehh, inhabiting a motmtainovs counlr;/, and 
possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were 
ttsualhj miable to encounter the shock of the 
Anglo-Korman cavalry. Occasionally, hmcever, 
thci/ vvre successful in repelling the hn'aders ; 
and the follmdng ver-^es are supposed to celebrate 
the defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pem- 
broke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstow, 
Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. lii/niny is 
a slreatn which divides the counties of Monmouth 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 635 


and Glamorgan : Caerphilt, the scene of the sup- 


All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow, 


posed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by 


Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to tlie 


the ruins of a very ancient castle. 


flood. 




" saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend 
ing : 

Sweet Virgin ! who hoarest the suppliant's cry. 




I. 


Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 


Red glows tlip forgo in Striguil's bounds, 


My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die !" 


And hammers din, and anvil sounds, 


.* 


And armorers, witli iron toil, 


All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle 


Barb many a steed for battle's broil. 


With the breezes they rise, with the breezes 


Fold fall the hand which bends the steel 


they fail. 


Around the courser's thundering heel, 


Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's 


That e'er shall dint a sable wound 


dread rattle. 


On fiiir Glamorgan's velvet ground ! 


And the chase's wild clamor, came loading the 




gale. 


II. 


Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary ; 


From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn. 


Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 


Was heard afar the bugle-horn ; 


Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, 


And forth, in banded pomp and pride, 


Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien 


Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 




They swore, their banners broad should gleam, 


" save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying ! 


In crimson light, on Rymny'' stream ; 


save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ! 


They vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel 


Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying, 


The Norman charger's spui ung heeL 


And fast through the woodland approaches the 
foe." 
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow. 


III. 


And sooth they swore — the sun arose. 


And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with 


And Rymny's wave with crimson glows ; 


despair ; 


For Clare's red banner, floating wide, 


And when the sun sank on the sweet lake of Toro^ 


RoU'd down tlie streara to Severn's tide ! 


For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair 


And sooth they vow'd — the trampled green 




Show'd where hot Neville's charge had been : 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 






A Norman horseman's oirdling blood ! 


Cfie SP^ilnict- 


IV. 




Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil. 


1806. 


That arm'd stout Clare for Cambriiin broil ; 




Their orphans long the art may rue. 


" OPEN the door, some pity to shoTr 


For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. 


Keen blows the northern wind ! 


No more the stamp of armed steed 


Tlie glen is white with the drifted snow. 


Sliall dint Glamorgiin's velvet mead; 


And the path is hard to find. 


Nor trace be there, in early sprmg. 




Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. 


" No outlaw seeks your castle gate, 




From chasing the King's deer. 




Tliough even an outlaw's wretched state 
Might claim compassion here. 




ffjc IfaafU of Sioro.' 






" A weary Palmer, worn and weak, 


- 


I wander for my sin ; 


1806. 


open, for Our Lady's sake ! 
A pilgrim's blessing win ! 




O, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Tore, 




And weak were the whispers that waved the 


" I'll give you pardons from the Pope, 


dark wood. 


And reliques from o'er the sea ; 


1 Tliia, and the tbree following, were first pnblished in Ha- 


Or if for these you will not ope 


liyn'si Collection of Scottish Aire. Edio. 1806. 


"i'et open for charity. ^ 



636 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


" Tlie bare is croucliing in her form. 


expecting to see her in that place, rode on without 


The hart beside the liind ; 


recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The 


An aged man, aniid the storm, 


lady was unable to support the shock ; and, after 


No shelter can I find. 


a short struggle, died in the amis of her attend- 




ants. Tliere is an incident similar to this tradi- 


" You bear the Ettrick's sullen roar 


tional tale in Count Hamilton's " Fleur d'Epine." 


Dark, deep, and strong is he, 




And I must ford the Ettrick o'er. 
Unless you pity me. 








lovers' eyes are sharp to see. 


" The iron gate is bolted bard, 


And lovers' ears in bearing ; 


At which I knock in vain ; 


And love, m life's extremity. 


The owner's heart is closer barr'd. 


Can lend an hour of cheering. 


Who bears me thus complain. 


Disease had been in Mary's bower, 




And slow decay from mourning. 


"Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant, 


Tliough now she sits on Neidpath's tower, 


When old and frail you be, 


To watch her love's returning. 


You never may the shelter want. 




That's now denied to me." 


All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 




Her form decay 'd by pining. 


The Ranger on his couch lay warm, 


Till through her wasted hand, at night, 


And heard him plead in vain ; 


You saw the taper shining ; 


But oft amid December's storm. 


By fits, a sultry hectic hue 


He'll hear that voice again : 


Across her cheek was flying ; 




By fits, so ashy pale she grew, 


For lo, when tlu*ough the vapors dank, 


Her maidens thouglit her dying. 


Morn shone on Ettrick fair. 




A corpse amid the alders rank. 


Yet keenest powers to see and hear, 


The Palmer welter'd there. 


Seem'd in her frame residing ; 




Before the watch-dog prick'd liis ear, 




She heard her lover's riding; 
Ere scarce a distant form was ken'd, 






She knew, and waved to greet him ; 


Zbc iHat'D o{ NciUpat)). 


And o'er the battlement did bend, 




As on the wing to meet him. 

He came — he pass'd — a heedless gaze, 
Aa o'er some stranger glancing ; 


1806. 




7'kcre is a tradition in Tmeeddalc, that, when Neid- 


Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase. 


path Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited bti the 


Lost m his courser's prancing — 


Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted be- 


The castle arch, whose hollow tone 


tween a daitffhter of that 7wble family, and a son 


Returns each whisper spoken. 


■)f the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As 


Could scarcely catch the feeble moan, 


the alliance was thou(/ht unsuitable by her pa- 


Which told her lieart was brokea 


rents, the young man went abroad. Jhiring his 




absence, the lady fell into a consumption ; and 
at length, as the only means of saving her life. 






hi-r father consented that her lover should be re- 


, 


called. On the day when he was expected to pass 


BJiranlicrrnii OTfllfe. 


thrmigh Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, tlie 
yottng lady, though much exhausted, caused Jier- 




1806. 


self to be carried to the balcony of a house in 
Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might 






see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eager- 


All joy was bereft me the day that you left me 


ness gave such force to her organs, that she is 


And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide- 


said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at 


sea; 


an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unpre- 


weary betide it ! I wandcr'd beside it. 


pared for the change in lur appearance, and not 


And bain'd it for parting my Willie and me. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



637 



Far o'er the wave hast thou foUow'd thy fortune, 
Oft fouglit tlie squadrons of Fi'ance and of Spain ; 

Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting, 
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they 
wore wailing, 
I sat on the beach wi' the teai- in my ee, 
And tliought o' the biirk where my Willie was 
sailing, 
And wish'd that the tempest could a' blow 
on me. 

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring. 
Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame. 

Music to me were tlie wildest winds' roaring, 
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean 
faem. 

"Wlien the lights they did blaze, and the guns they 
did rattle, 

And blithe was each heart for the great victory, 
In secret I wept for the dangers of battle. 

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. 

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, 
Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar ; 

And trust me, I'U smile, though my een they may 
glisten ; 
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war. 

And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 
'tween lovers. 
When there's naething to speak to the heart 
thro' the ee ; 
IIow often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, 
And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. 

Till, at times — could I help it ? — I pined and I 

ponder'd, 

If love could change notes like the bu:d on the 

tree — 

Now m ne'er ask if tliine eyes may hae wander'd, 

Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. 

\\ elcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through 
channel, 

riardships and danger despising for fame, 
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal. 

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame 1 

Enough, now thy story in annals of glory 

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and 
Spain ; 
No more shalt thou grieve me, no more sh;dt thou 
leave me, 
I never will part with my Willie again. 



JBealti) to aiorU JfaelbfUe.' 



1806. 



Air — Carrickfergus, 

" The impeachment of Lord Melville was among 
the first measures of the new (Whig) Goveniineut; 
and personal aft'ection and gratitude graced as well 
as heightened the zeal with which Scott watched 
the issue of this, in liis eyes, vindictive proceeding ; 
but, though the ex-minister's ultimate acquittal 
was, as to all t*he charges involving his personal 
honor, complete, it must now be allowed that the 
investigation brought out many circumstances by 
no means creditable to his discretion ; and the re- 
joicings of his friends ought not, therefore, to have 
been scornfully jubilant. Such they were, how- 
ever — at least in Edinburgh ; and Scott took liLs 
share in them by inditing a song, which was sung 
by James Ballantyne, and received with clamorous 
applauses, at a public duiner given in honor of the 
event, on the 2'7th of June, 1806." — Ltfc, vol. ii. p. 
322. 



Since here we ai-e set in array roimd the table. 
Five himdred good fellows well met in a hall. 
Come listen, brave boys, and I'll sing as I'm able 
How innocence triumph'd and pride got a fall. 

But push round the claret — 

Come, stewards, don't spare it — 
With rapture you'U drink to the toast that I give : 

Here, boys. 

Off with it merrily — 
Melville for ever, and long may he live ! 

What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pursuing, 

Pitt banish'd Rebellion, gave Treason a strmg ? 

Why, they swore on their honor, for Arthur 

O'Connor, 

And fought hard for Despard agamst country 

and king. 

Well, then, we knew, boys, 
Pitt and Melville were true boys, 
And the tempest was raised by the friends of 
Reform. 
Ah, woe ! 

Weep to his memory ; 
Low lies the pilot that weather'd the storm ! 

And pray, don't you mind when the Blues first 
were raising. 
And we scarcely could think the house safe o'er 
our heads ? 



1 Published on a broadside, and reprinted in the Life ol 
Scott, 183T. 



638 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Whou villaiua and coxcombs, French politics 
praising, [beds ! 

Drove peace from our tables and sleep from our 
Our hearts they grew bolder 
When, musket on shoulder, 
Stepp'd forth our old Statesmen example to give. 
Come, boys, never fear. 
Drink the Blue grenadier — 
Here's to old H^vkey, and long may he live ! 

They would turn us adrift ; though rely, sir, upon 
it— 
Our OTvn faithful chronicles wairant us that 
The free mountaineer and his bonny blue bonnet 
Have oft gone as far as the regular's hat. 
We laugh at their tauntuig. 
For all we are wanting 
Is hcense our life for our country to give. 
Otf with it merrily. 
Horse, foot and artillery, 
Each loyal Volunteer, long may he live ! 

'Tis not us alone, boys — the Army and Navy 

Have each got a slap 'mid their pohtic praidis ; 
CoRNWALLis caahier'd, that watch'd winters to 
save ye. 
And the Cape call'd a bauble, unworthy of thanks. 
But vain is their taunt. 
No soldier shall want 
The thiuiks that his country to valor can give : 
Come, boys, 
Drink it otf merrily, — 
Sitt David and Pofham, and long may they live ! 

And then our revenue — Lord knows how they 
view'd it, 
WliUe each petty statesman talk'd lofty and big ; 
But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whitbread had 
brew'd it. 
And the pig-iron duty a sliame to a pig. 
In vain is their vaunting, 
Too sm'ely there's wanting 
What judgment, experience, aud steadiness give : 
Come, boys, 
Drink about merrily, — 
Health to sage Melville, and long may he live ! 

Our King, too — our Princess — I dare not say more, 

sir, — 
May Providence watch them with mercy and 

might ! 
WTiile there's one Scottish hand that can wag a 

claymore, sir, 

1 The Magistrates of Edinburgh had rejected an application 
for illumination of the town, on the arrival of the news of 
Lord Melville's acquittal. 

3 First published in the continuation of Strutt's Queenhoo- 



They shall ne'er want a friend to stand up for 
their right. 

Be daum'd he that dare not, — 
For my part, I'll spare not 
To beauty afflicted a tribute to give : 
Fill it up steadily, 
Drink it off readily — 
Here's to the Princess, and long may she live 1 

And since we must not set Auld Reekie in glorj'. 
And make her brown visage as light as her 
heart ;' 
TiU each man illumine his own upper story. 
Nor law-book nor lawyer shall force us to part. 
In Grekville and Spencek, 
And some few good men, sir, 
High talents we honor, shght difference forgive ; 
But the Brewer we'U hoax, 
Tallyho to the Fox, 
And drink Melville for ever, as long as we live 1" 



J^untfnfl Sonfl.^ 



1808. 



Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

On the mountain dawns the day, 

All the jolly chase is here. 

With hawk, and horse, and bunting-spcar 1 

Hotmds are in their couples yelMng, 

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelUug, 

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are steaming, 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming : 

And foresters have busy been. 

To track the buck in thicket green ; 

Now we come to chant our lay, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the green-wood haste away , 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made, 
Wlien 'gainst the oak Iiis antlers fray'd ; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
" WaJ^en, lords and ladies gay." 

hall, 1808, inserted in the Edinburgh Annual Register of the 
same year, and set to a Welsh air in Thomson's titUct Melo- 
dies, vol. iii. 1817. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



639 



Louder, louder chant the lay, 

Waken, lords and ladies gay I 

Tell tliem youth, and rairtli, and glee, 

Run a course as well as we ; 

Time, stem huntsman ! who can baulk. 

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ; 

Tliink of this, and rise with day. 

Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM. 



1808. 



My wayward fate I needs must plain. 

Though bootless be the theme ; 
I loved, and was beloved again. 

Yet all was but a dream : 
For, as her love was quickly got. 

So it was quickly gone ; 
No more I'll bask in flame so hot. 

But coldly dwell alone. 

Not maid more bright than maid was e'er 

My fancy shall beguile. 
By flattering word, or feigned tear, 

By gesture, look, or smile : 
No more I'll call the shaft fan' sliot. 

Till it has fanly flown. 
Nor scorch me at a flame so hot ; — 

I'll rather freeze alone. 

Each ambush'd Cupid I'll defy, 

In cheek, or chin, or brow. 
And deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's vow : 
I'll lightly liold the lady's heart. 

That is but lightly won ; 
I'll steel my breast to beauty's art, 

And learn to Uve alone. 

The flaunting torch soon blazes out, 

The diamond's ray abides ; 
The flame its glory hurls about. 

The gem its lustre hides ; 
Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine. 

And glow'd a diamond stone, 
But, since each eye may see it sliine, 

I'U darkling dwell alone. 

1 Publislietl anonymously in tlie Eiliriburgh Annual Regis- 
ter of 1808. Wriling to his brother Thomas, the author says, 
" The Resolve is mine ; and it is not — or, to be less enigmati- 
•"al. it is an old tragment, which I coopered up into its present 
•tate with the purpose of quizzing certain judges of poetry, 
who have been extremely delighted, and declare that no living 



No waking dream shall tinge my thought 

With dyes so bright and vain. 
No silken net, so shghtly wrought, 

Sliall tangle me again : 
No more I'll pay so dear for wit, 

rU Uve upon mine own. 
Nor shall wild passion trouble it, — 

I'll rather dwell alone. 

And thus I'll hu.sh my heart to rest, — 

" Thy loving labor's lost ; 
Tliou shalt no more be wildly blest, 

To be so strangely crost ; 
The widow'd turtles mateless die, 

The phcEni.x is but one ; 
Tliey seek no loves — no more will I — 

I'll rather dwell alone." 



JEjittaj)!),' 

DESIGNED FOR A MOITOMENT 

IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF 

THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD. 

Amid these aisles, where once his precepts show'd 
The Heavenwai'd pathway wliich in life he trod, 
Tliis simple tablet marks a Father's bier. 
And those he loved in life, in death are near ; 
For Iiim, for them, a Daughter bade it rise. 
Memorial of domestic chtxrities. [spread. 

Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble 
In female grace the willow droops her head ; 
Wliy on lier branches, silent and unstrung. 
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ; 
Wliat poet's voice is smother'd here in dust 

Till waked to join the chorus of the just, 

Lo ! one brief line an answer sad supplies, 
Honor'd, beloved, and moiu*n'd, here Seward lies ; 
Her worth, her warmth of lieart, let friendship say ; 
Go seek her genius in her hving lay. 



^roIoQue 

TO MISS BAILLIe's PLAT OF THE FAMILY LEGEND.' 



1809. 



'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh, 
Tlu-ough forests tinged with russet, wail and tlie ; 

poet could write in the same exquisite taste." — Life of Santy 
vol. iii. p. 330. = Edinburgh Annual Register, 1809. 

3 Miss Baillie's Fnmihj l^rgrnd was produced with consid- 
erable success on the Edinburgh stage in the winter of 1809-10. 
Tliis prologue was spoken ou that occasion by the Author's 
friend, Mr. Daniel Terry. 



640 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand. 
We list the legends of our native land, 
Link'd as they come with every tender tie, 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, 
■ Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. 
AVhether on India's bm-ning coasts he toil, 
Or till Acadia's' winter-fetter'd soil. 
He hears with throbbing lieiirt and moisten'd eyes, 
And, as he hears, what deal' Ulusious rise ! 
It opens on his soul his native dell. 
The woods wild waving, and the water's swell ; 
Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain, 
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; 
The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told. 
By gray-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old, 
The infant group, that hush'd theii' sports the 

while, 
And the dear maid who listea'd with a smile. 
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, 
Is denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, 
And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind i 
Oh no ! For She, within whose mighty page 
Each tyrant Passion shows liis woe and rage, 
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, 
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er has raised the sail 
By Mull's dark coast, has heard tliis evening's tale. 
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar. 
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells w'hate'er to-night 
Our humble stage sliaU offer to your sight ; 
ProutUy preferr'd that first our efforts give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live ; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve 
The fihal token of a Daughter's love. 



ffije 3Poaci)er. 

WF.ITTES IN IMITATION OF CRABBE, AND PUBLISHED 
IX THE EDI.VBURGH AX^TUAL REGISTEK OF 1 S09.^ 

Welcome, grave Stranger to our green retreats, 
Where health with exercise and freedom meets 1 
Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosopliic plan 
By nature's limits metes the rights of man ; 
Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls, 
Now gives full value for true Indian shawls : 
O'er court, o'er customliouse, his shoe who flings, 

1 Acadia, or Nova Scotia. 



Now bilks excisemen, and now bulhes kings. 
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind 
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind : 
Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees, 
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese 
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe, 
Our buckskiim'd justices expound the law. 
Wire-draw the acts that fix for wu'es the pain, 
And for the netted partridge noose tlie swain; 
And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke 
The last hght fetter of the feudal yoke. 
To give the denizens of wood and wild, 
Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. 
Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fail- London's 

race, 
Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase. 
And long'd to send them forth as free as when 
Pour'd o'er Chantilly the Parisian train. 
When musket, pistol, bhmderbuss, combined. 
And scarce the field-pieces were left behind ! 
A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismayed 
On every covey fired a bold brigade ; 
Xa Douce Huma7iite approved the sport, 
For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt , 
Shouts patriotic solemnized the day. 
And Seine re-echo'd Vive la JAberte ! 
But mad Citoyen, meek Monsimr again. 
With some few added hnks resumes his chain. 
Then, since such scenes to France no more are 

known. 
Come, view with me a hero of thine own ! 
One, whose fi'ee actions vindicate the cause 
Of sUvan hberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'er- 
tops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse, 
Leaving between deserted isles of land. 
Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand ; 
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen. 
Or straggUng hoUies spread a brighter green. 
Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep, 
Our scarce mark'd path descends yon dingle deep : 
Follow — but heedful, cautious of a trip, — 
In earthly mire philosophy may shp. 
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream. 
Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steiun. 
We reach the frail yet barricaded door 
Of hovel form'd for poorest of the poor ; 
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives. 
The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say. 
Rise in the progress of one night and day 
(Tliough placed where still the Conqueror's bests 

o'erawe, 
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law), 

2 See Life of Scott vol. iii. p. 399. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



641 



The buikloi' claims the uncuviable boon, 
To teuimt dwelling, framed as slight and soon 
As \rigw:uu wild, that shrouds the native frore 
On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.' 

Approach, and through the unlatticed window 

peep — 
Nav, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep ; 
Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun 
Stoop to tlie west, the plunderer's tods are done. 
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate 

hand, 
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand ; 
Wiule round the hut ai'e in disorder hiid 
The tools and booty of his lawless trade ; 
For force or fraud, resistance or escape. 
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. 
His pilfer'd powder in yon nook he hoards. 
And the iilch'd lead the church's roof affords — 
(Hence shall the rector's congregation fret. 
That while his sermon's tby his walls are wet.) 
The tish-spear barb'd, the sweeping net are there. 
Doe-hides, and pheasant plmncs, and skins of hare, 
Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. 
Barter'd for game from chase or warren won, 
Yon cask holds moonlight,^ run when moon was 

none ; 
And late-snatched spoils lie stoVd in hutch apart. 



Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest : 
What scenes perturb'd are acting in liis breast 1 
His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain, 
And his dU.ated nostril toils in vain ; 
For short and scant the breath each effort draws. 
And 'twist each effort Nature claims a pause. 
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretch'd, 
His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch'd, 
Wliile the tongue falters, as to utterance loth, 
Sounds of dire import — watchword, threat, and 

oath. 
Though, stupefied by toU, and drugg'd with gin, 
The body sleep, the restless guest within 
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade. 
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay'd. — 

" Was that wild start of terror and despair, 
Those bursting eyeballs, and that wilder'd air, 
Signs of compunction for a murder'd hare ? 
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch, 
For grouse or partridge massacred in March !" — 

No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with awe, 
There is no wicket in the gate of law ! 

1 SQch is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending 
greatly to increase tlie varioos settlements of thieves, smug- 
glers, and deer-stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts 
presiding judge wears as a hadge of office an antique stir- 
Hl 



He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal, must undo each bar : 
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride. 
Will join to storm the breach, and force the barriei 
wide. 

That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dreaa. 
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black 

Ned, 
Was Edward Mansell once ; — the lightest heart. 
That ever play'd on hoUilay liis part 1 
The leader he in every Christmas game, 
The harvest feast grew blither when he came. 
And Kvelicst on the chords the bow did gliuico, 
When Edward named the tune and led the dance. 
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong, 
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song ; 
And if he loved a gun, liis father swore, 
" 'Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er, 
Himself had done the same some thirty years bo- 
fore." 

But he whose humors spurn law's awful yoke, 
Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are 

broke, 
The common dread of justice soon allies 
Tlie clown, who robs the warren, or excise. 
With sterner felons train'd to act more dread. 
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. 
ITien, as in plagues the foul contagions pass. 
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, — 
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives 

draw, 
Their hope impunity, then' fear the law ; 
Theu- foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same, 
Tdl the revenue baulk'd, or pilfer'd game. 
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads 
To darker villany, and du-er deeds. 

WUd howl'd the wind the forest glades along, 
And oft the owl renew'd her dismal song; 
Around the spot where erst he felt the wound. 
Red William's spectre walk'd his midnight roimd. 
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look. 
From the green marshes of the stagnant brook 
The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook ! 
The waning moon, with storm presaging gleam. 
Now gave and now witliheld her doubtful beam ; 
The old Oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them high, 
Bellowing and gro.ining to the troubled sky — ■ 
'Twas then, that, couch'd amid the brushwood sere. 
In Malwood-walk young Mansell watch'd the deer : 
The fattest buck received his deadly shot — 
The watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. 

rnp, said to have been that of William Rufus. See Mr 
William Rose's spirited poem, entitled " Tlie Red King." 

*' To the bleak coast of savant Labrador." — Falconer 

2 A cant terra for smuggled spirits. 



1)42 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their 

strife, 
O'erpower'd at length the Outlaw drew his knife. 
Next morn a corpse was found upon the full — 
The rest his waking agony may teU ! 



S n 2 . 



Oh, say not, my love, with that mortified air, 
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, 

Nor bid me to maids that .ire younger repair. 
For those raptures that stiU are thine own. 

Though April his temples may wreathe with the 
vine. 

Its tendrils in infancy curl'd, 
•Tis the ardor of August matures us the wuie, 

Wiose life-blood enUvens the world. 

Tliough thy form, that was fashion'd as hght as a 
fay's. 

Has assumed a proportion more round, 
And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's, at gaze 

Looks soberly now on the ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet me again. 

Thy steps still with ecstasy move ; 
Enough, that those dear sober glances retain 

For me the kind language of love. 



iiTbe aSolD Btasoon;' 



THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. 



1812. 



'TwAs a Mar^chal of France, .and he fain would 

honor gain. 
And he long'd to take a passing glimce at Portu- 
gal from Spain ; 
With his flymg guns this gallant gay. 
And boiisted corps d'armi5e — 
he fear'd not our dragoons, with their long swords, 
boldly riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, <fec. 

To Carapo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down. 
Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sack'd the 
town, 

1 This song was written shortly after the battle of Badajos 
(April, 1812), for a Yeomanry Cavalry dinner. It was first 
printed in Mr. George Tliomsoii's Collection of Select Melo- 
dies, and stands in vol. vi. of the last edition of tliat work. 



When, 'twas peste I morbleu 1 mon General, 
Hear the English bugle-call 1 
And behold the light dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de riil, cfec. 

Right about went horse and foot, artillery .and all. 
And, as the devil leaves a house, they tumbled 
through the wall ;^ 
They took no time to seek the door. 
But, best foot set before — ■ 
O they ran from oin- dragoons, with then- long 
swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, lic. 

Those valiant men of France they had scarcely fled 

a mile. 
When on their flank there sous'd at once the Brit- 
ish rank and file ; 
For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then 
Ne'er minded one to ten. 
But came on like fight dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de r.al, Ac. 

Three hundred British lads they made three thou- 
sand reel. 
Their hearts were made of EngUsh oak, then swords 
of Sheflield steel. 
Their horses were in Yorksliire bred, 
And Beresford them led ; 
So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long swords, 
boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, <fec 

Then here's a health to Wellington, to Beresford, 

to Long, 
And a single word of Bonaparte before I close my 
song : 
The eagles that to fight he brings 
Should serve his men with wings, 
Wlien they meet the bold dragoons, with theii 
long swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, Ac. 



©n tje ittassacvc of esicncoe.' 



18U. 



" In the beginning of the year 1692, an action -f 
unexampled barbarity disgraced the government 

3 In their hasty evacuation of Campo Mayor, the French 
palled down a part of the rampart, and marched oat over the 
glacis 

3 First published in Thomson's Select Melodies, 1814. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



C4y 



of King William III. in Scotland. In the August 
preceiling, a proclamation had been issued, offering 
an indeniiiity to such insurgents as should take the 
oaths to the King and Queen, on or before the last 
day of December; and the chiefs of such tribes as 
had been in arms for James, soon after took advan- 
tage of the proclamation. But Miicdonald of Glen- 
coe was prevented by accident, ratlicr than by de- 
sign, from tendering his submission within the lim- 
ited time. In the end of December he went to 
Ccilonel Hill, who commanded the garrison in Fort 
William, to take the oaths of allegiance to the gov- 
ernment ; and the latter having furnished him with 
a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, sheriff of the county 
of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to 
Inveriu-y, to make his submission in a legal manner 
before tliat magistrate. But the way to luverary 
lily through almost impassable mountains, the sea- 
son was extremely rigorous, and the whole coun- 
try was covered with a deep snow. So eager, 
however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before 
the limited time should expire, tliat, though the 
road lay witliin half a mile of his own house, he 
stopped not to visit his family, and after various 
obstructions, arrived at Inverary. The time had 
elapsed, and the sheriff hesitated to receive his 
submission ; but Macdonald prevailed by his im- 
portunities, and even tears, in inducing that func- 
tionary to administer to him the oath of allegiance, 
and to certify the cause of his delay. At this time 
Sir John Dairy mple, afterwards Earl of Stair, being 
in attendance upon William as Secretary of State 
for Scotland, took advant,age of Macdonald's neg- 
lecting to take the oath within the time prescribed, 
and procured from the king a warrant of military 
execution against that chief and his whole clan. 
This was done at the instigation of the Earl of 
Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had 
plundered, and whose treachery to government in 
negotiating with the Highland clans, M.acdonald 
himself had exposed. The King was accordingly 
persuaded that Glencoe was the main obstacle to 
tlie pacification of the Highlands ; and the fact of 
the unfortunate chief's submission having been con- 
cealed, the sanguinary orders for proceeding to 
military execution against his clan were in conse- 
quence obtained. The warrant was both signed 
and countersigned by the King's own hand, and 
the Secretary urged the officers who commanded 
in the Highlands to execute their orders with the 
utmost rigor. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in 
Argyle's regiment, and two subalterns, were or- 
dered to repair to Glencoe on the first of Febru- 
ary with a hundred and twenty men. Campbell, 
being uncle to young Macdonald's wife, was re- 
ceived by tlie father with all mamier of friendship 
and hospitality. The men were lodged at free 
quarters hi the houses of his tenants, and received 



the kindest entertainment. Till the 1.3th of the 
month the troops Uved in the utmost harmony and 
famUiarity with the people ; and on the very night 
of the massacre the officers passed the evenuig at 
cards in Macdonald's house. In the night. Lieu- 
tenant Lindsay,.witli a party of soldiers, called in 
a friendly manner at his door, and was instantly 
admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising 
to receive his guest, was shot dead tlu-ough tlie 
back with two bullets. His wife had already 
dressed ; but she was stripped naked by tlie sol- 
diers, who tore the rings off her fingers with their 
teeth. The slaughter now became general, and 
neither age nor mfirmity was spared. Some wo- 
men, in defending their children, were killed ; boys 
imploring mercy were shot dead by officers on 
whose knees they hung. In one place nine per- 
sons, as they sat enjoying themselves at t.ible, were 
butchered by the soldiers. In Inverriggon, Camp- 
bell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by 
the soldiers, and then shot at intervals, one by one. 
Nearly forty persons were massacred by the troops ; 
and several who fled to the moimtams perished by 
famine and the inclemency of the season. Those 
who escaped owed their lives to a tempestuous 
night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had re- 
ceived the charge of the execution from Dah-ym- 
ple, was on his march with four hundred men, to 
guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe ; 
but he was obhged to stop by the severity of the 
weather, which proved the safety of the unfortu- 
nate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laid 
the houses in ashes, and carried away the cattU 
and spoil, which were divided among the officers 
and soldiers." — Article " Beitai.n ;" Encijc. Britaiir 
nica — Neil} Edition. 



" TELL me. Harper, wherefore flow 
Thy wayward notes of wail and woe, 
Far down the desert of Glencoe, 

Where none may fist their melody ? 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, 
Or to the dun-deer gl.ancing by. 
Or to the eagle, that from high 

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy !" 

" No, not to these, for they have rest, — 
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, 
The stag his lair, the erne her nest, 

Abode of lone security. 
B«i those for whom I pour the lay, 
Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain-gray. 
Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, 

Could screen from treach'rous cruelty, 

" Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum, 
Tlie very liousehold dogs were dumb, 



644 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Unwont to bay at guests that come 

In guise of hospitality. 
His blithest notes the piper plied, 
Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
The dame her distaff flung aside, 

To tend her kindly housewifery. 

" The hand that mingled in the meal. 
At midnight drew the felon steel. 
And gave the host's kind breast to feel 

Meed for his hospitality I 
The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand, 
At midnight arm'd it with the brand. 
That bade destniction's flames expand 

Then- red and fearful blazonry. 

" Then woman's shiiek was heard in vain. 

Nor infancy's impitied plain, 

More than the warrior's gi"oan, could gain 

Respite from ruthless butchery ! 
The winter wind that whistled shrill, 
The snows that night that cloked the hill. 
Though wild and pitiless, had still 

Far more than Southern clemency. 

" Long have my harp's best notes been gone, 
Few are its strings, and faint their tone. 
They can but sound in desert lone 

Their gray-haii''d master's misery. 
Were each gray hau- a minstrel string. 
Each chord should imprecations fling. 
Till startled Scotland loud should ring. 

' Revenge for blood and treachery !' " 



gov a' tjat an' a' tljat.' 

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE. 



1814. 



Though right be aft put down by strength, 

As mony a day we saw that, 
Tlie true and leilfu' cause at length 

Shall bear the grie for a' that. 
For a' that an' a' that, 

Guns, guillotines, and a' that. 
The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her right. 

Is queen again for a' that ! 

We'll twine her in a friendly knot 
With England's Rose, and a' that ; 

rhe Shamrock shall not be forgot. 
For Wellmgton made braw that. 



1 Song al the first meeting of the Pitt Cluh of Seotland ; and 
naUished in the Scots Magazine for July, 1814. 



The Thistle, though her leaf be rude, 
Yet faith we'll no misca' that. 

She shelter'd in her solitude 
The Fletu'-de-Us, for a' that. 

The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine 

(For Blucher's sak>> hurra that), 
The Spanish OUve, to., shall join. 

And bloom in peace for a' that. 
Stout Russia's Hemp, so surely twined 

Around our wreath we'll draw that. 
And he that would the cord unbind, 

Shall liave it for his gra-vat ! 

Or, if to choke sae puir a sot, 

Yotn* pity scorn to thraw that. 
The Devil's elbow be his lot. 

Where he may sit and claw that. 
In spite of shght, in spite of might. 

In spite of brags, an' a' that, 
The lads that battled for the right, 

Have won the day, an' a' that 1 

There's ae bit spot I had forgot, 

America they ca' that ! 
A coward plot her rats had got 

Their father's flag to gnaw that : 
Now see it fly top-gallant high, 

Atlantic winds shall blaw that. 
And Yankee loon, beware your croun. 

There's kames in hand to claw that ! 

For on the land, or on the sea. 
Where'er the breezes blaw that. 

The British Flag shall bear the grie, 
And win the day for a' that ! 



FOR THE ANNTVEESAET MEETING OK TB£ PITT CLUB 
OF SCOTLAKD. 



1814. 



0, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen. 
When the brave on Marengo lay slaughter'<l in 
vain. 
And beholding broad Europe bow'd down by her 
foemen, 
Pitt closed in liis anguish the map of her reign ! 
Not tlie fate of broad Emope could bend his brave 
spirit 
To take for his country the safety of shame ; 
O, then in her triumph remember his merit. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



64.:, 



Round the liusbandman's head, while he traces the 
furrow, 
Tlie mists of the winter may mingle with rain. 
He may plough it with labor, and sow it in sorrow, 
And sigh wliile he fears he has sow'd it in vain; 
TTe miij' die ere liis children shall re.ap iu their 
gladness. 
But the blithe h,arvest-home shall remember his 
claim ; 
And their jubilee-shout shall be soften'd with sad- 
ness, 
While they hallow the goblet that flows to his 



Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, 

In toils for our country preserved by his care, 
Tliough he died ere one ray o'er the nations as- 
cended, 

To light the long darkness of doubt and despair ; 
The storms he endured in our Britain's December, 

The perUs his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame. 
In her glory's rich harrest shall Britain remember, 

And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. 

Nor forget His gray head.who, all dark in afiliction. 

Is deaf to the tale of our victories won. 
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection. 

The shout of his people applauding liis Son ; 
By his firmness unmoved in success and disaster. 

By liis long reign of virtue, remember his claim ; 
With our tribute to Pirr join the praise of his 
Master, 

Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad 
measure, 
The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, 
To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright 
treasure, 
Tlie wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that 
obey'd ; 
Fill Wellington's cup till it beam like liis glory, 
Forget not our own brave Dalhousu: and 
Gr^me ; 
A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their 
story. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame. 

1 " On the 30th of July, 1814, Mr. Hamilton,* Mr. Erskine.f 
and Mr. DulT.t Comniissionera. along with Mr. {now Sir) Wal- 
ter Seott, and the writer, visited the Lighthoose ; the Com- 
missioners being then on one of their voyages of Inspection, 
noticed in the Introduction. They breakfasted in the Library, 
when Sir Walter, at the entreaty of the party, opon inscribing 
his name in the Alhnm, added these interesting lines." — Ste- 
venson's Account of the Bell-Rock Lifrkthovse, 1824. 
Scott's Diary of the Voyage is now poblished in the 4th volume 
of his Life. 

3 These linea were written in the Album, kept at the Sound 
of Ulva Inn in the month of August, 1814. 



|)|)avos Sloquftut.' 

Fak in the bosom of tlie deep. 

O'er these wide shelves my watch I keep ; 

A ruddy gem of changeful light, 

Bound on the dusky brow of night, 

The seaman bids my lustre hail. 

And scorns to strike his timorous sail. 



2. rnc0,' 



ADDEESSED TO RANALD MACDON.\LD, ESQ., OF STAFFA." 



1814. 



Staffa, sprung from high Macdonald, 
Worthy branch of old Clan-Ranald ! 
Staffa ! king of all kind fellows I 
Well befall thy hills and vaUeys, 
Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows- 
Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder. 
Echoing the Atlantic thunder ; 
Mountains which the gray mist covers. 
Where the Cliieftain spirit hovers. 
Pausing while his pinions quiver, 
Stretch'<l to quit our land for ever ! 
Each kind influence reign above thee ! . 
Warmer heart, 'twixt this and Staffa 
Beats not, than in heart of Staffa 1 



Hettcv fn I'crse 

ON THE VOTAGE WITH THE COMSnSSIONEKS OF 
NORTUEEN LIGHTS. 

" Of the letters which Scott wrote to his friends 
during those happy six weeks, I have recovered 
only one, and it is, thanks to the leisure of the 
yacht, in verse. The strong and easy heroics of 
the first section prove, I think, that Mr. Canning 
did not err when he told him that if he chose he 
might emulate even Dryden's command of that 

3 Afterwards Sir ReginaUl Macdonald Stewart Seton of 
StatTa, Allanton, and Touch, Baronet. He died 16th April, 
1838, in his 61st year. Tlie reader will find a warm tribute to 
Staffa's character as a Highland landlord, in Scott's article OB 
Sir Joim Carr's Caledonian Sketches. — Miscellaneous Prost 
Works, vol. six. 



* The late Robert Hamilton, Esq., Advocate, long Sheriff-Depnto ft 
Lanarkbsire, and aftem'ards one of the Principal Clerks of Session in Scot* 
land-died ii> 1^31. 

t Aaen\-ards Lord Kinneder. 

I The late Adam DufT, Esq., Sheriff Depute of the county of Edinburgli. 



'ilG 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



noble measure ; and the dancing anapiests of the 
second, show that he could with equal facility 
have riviilled the gay graces of Cotton, Anstey, or 
Moore." — Lockhakt, Life, vol. iv. p. 372. 



TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, 

t£'c. (£'c. (tc. 

Lighthouse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick, 
Zetland, 8lli August, 1814. 

Hr:.\i.TH to the chieftain from liis clansman true I 
From her true minstrel, liealth to fair Buccleuch ! 
Health from the isles, where dewy Morning weaves 
Her cha])let with the tints that Twilight leaves ; 
AVliere hite the sun scarce vanish'd from the sight, 
And his bright pathway graced the short-hved 

night. 
Though darker now as autumn's shades extend. 
Tile north winds whistle and the mists ascend ! 
Health from the land wliere eddying whirlwinds 

toss 
The storm-rock'd cradle of the Cape of Noss ; 
On outstretch'd cords tlie giddy engine slides. 
His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, 
And he that lists such desperate feat to try, 
May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky, 
And feel the mid-ail' gales around him blow. 
And see the billows rage five hundred feet below. 

Here, by each stormy p^ak and desert shore, 
The hardy islesraan tugs the darmg oar, 
Practiseil alike his venturous course to keep, 
Tlirough the white breakers or the pathless deep, 
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain 
A wretched pittance from the niggard main. 
And when the worn-out drudge old ocean leaves, 
Whiit comfort greets him, and what hut receives ? 
Lady ! the worst yom' presence ere has cheer'd 
(Wiien want and sorrow fled as you appear'd) 
Were to a Zetlander as the high dome 
Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble borne. 
Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow, 
Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow ; 
But rocks on rocks, m mist and storm array'd. 
Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade. 
With many a cavern seam'd, the dreary haunt 
Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 
Wild round their rifted brows, with frequent cry 
As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly. 
And from their sable base, with sullen sound. 
In sheets of whitening foam the waves rebotind. 

Tet even these coasts a touch of envy gain 
From those whose land has known oppression's 

chahi ; 
For here the industrious Dutchman comes once 

more 



To moor his fishing-craft by Bressay's shore , 
Greets every former mate and brother tar. 
Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of war, 
Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage done. 
And ends by blessing God and Wellington. 
Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest, 
Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest; 
Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth. 
And wakes the land with brawls and boisteroui! 

mirth. 
A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow 
The captive Norseman sits in silent woe, 
And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. 
Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway 
His destined course, and seize so mean a prey ; 
A bark with planks so warp'd and seams so riven, 
She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven : 
Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none 
Can hst his speech, and understand his moan ; 
In vain — no Islesman now can use the tongue 
Of the bold Norse, from whom their lineage 

sprtmg. 
Not thus of old the Norsemen hither came, 
Won bj' the love of danger or of fame ; 
On every storm-beat cape a shapeless tower 
Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their 

power ; 
For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latian land. 
Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand ; 
A race severe — the isle and ocean lords. 
Loved for its own delight the strife of swords ; 
With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied. 
And blest their gods that they in battle died. 

Such were the sires of Zetland » simple race. 
And still the eye may faint resemblance trace 
In the blue eye, taU form, proportion fair. 
The limbs athletic, and the long Ught hair — 
(Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel sing.s. 
Of fair-htiir'd Harold, first of Norway's Kings) ; 
But their high deeds to scale these crags confined, 
Their only warfare is with waves and wind. 

Wliy should I talk of Mousa's castled coast ? 
Wliy of the horrors of the Sumburgh Rest ? 
May not these bald disjointed lines suflice, 
Penn'd wliile my comrades whirl the rattUng 

dice — 
While down the cabin skylight lessening sliine 
The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and wme ! 
Imagined, while down Mousa's desert day 
Our well-trimm'd vessel urged her nimble way. 
While to the freshening breeze she lean'J her side 
And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide ? 

Such are the lays that Zetland Islea supply ; 
Drench'd with the drizzly spray and dropping sky 
Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I. W- Sno'iT 



LYKICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



617 



P03TSCEIPTUM. 

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aog. 13, 1814. 

In respect that your Grace hag couuuiasiou'd a 
Kraken, 
You will please be inform'd that they seldom are 

taken ; 
It is January two years, the Zetland folks say, 
Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway bay ; 
He lay in the offing a fortniglit or more, 
Uut the devil a Zetlander put from the shore, 
Though bold in the seas of the North to assail 
The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and 

whale. 
If your Grace tliinks I'm writing the thing that is 

not, 
You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott — 
(He's not from our clan, though liis merits de- 
serve it, 
But springs, I'm inform'd, from the Scotts of Scot- 

starvct) ;' 
lie qucstion'd the folks who beheld it with eyes, 
But they difl'er'd confoundedly as to its size. 
For instance, tlie modest and diffident swore 
That it seem'd like the keel of a ship, and no 

more — 
Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more 

liigh, 
Said it rose Uk an island 'twixt ocean and sky — 
But all of the hulk had a steady opinion 
That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's do- 

nimion — ■ 
And I tliink, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly 

would wish. 
To cumber your house, such a kettle of fish. 
Had your order related to night-caps or hose. 
Or mittens of worsted, there's plenty of those. 
Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ! 
And direct me to send it — by sea or by maU ? 
Ilie season, I'm told, is nigh over, but still 
I could get yon one fit for the lake at Bowhill. 
InQoed, as to whales, there's no need to be thrifty. 
Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty, 
Pursuetl by seven Orkneymen's boats and no more, 
Betwi.xt Truffncss iuid Lufthess were di'awn on the 

shore ! 
You'll ask if I saw tliis same wonderful sight ; 
I own that I did not, but easily might — 
For tliis mighty shoal of leviathans lay 
On our loe-beam a mile, in the loop of the b.ay, 
And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the spoil, 
AixAf inching (so term it) the blubber to boil; 
(Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection 
Tliat awjikes at the thoughts of this odorous dis- 
section). 

1 The PcotU of Scotstarvet, and other families of the name 
n Fife ariU elsewhere, tlaim no kindred willi the great clan 
-iiV*3 Uorder, — and thet armorial bearings are different 



To see this huge marvel full fain would we go, 
But Wilson, the wind, and the cm-rent, said no. 
We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I must 

stare 
Wlien I flunk that iu verse I have once call'd it 

fair; 
'Tls a base httle borough, both dirty and mean — 
There is notliing to hear, and there's naught to bi 

seen, 
Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate lui 

rangued, 
And a palace that's built by an earl that was 

hang'd. 
But, farewell to Kirkwall — .aboard we are going. 
The anchor's a-peak, and the breezes are blowing : 
Our commodore caUs all his band to their places, 
And 'tis time to release you — good night to your 

Graces ! 



iJcrses from tUaDcrUg. 



1814. 



" The following song, which has been since bor- 
rowed by the worshipful author of the famous 
'History of Fryar Bacon,' has been with difficulty 
deciphered. It seems to have been sung on occa- 
sion of carrying home the bride." 

(1,)— BRIDAL SONG. 

To the tune of " I have been a Fiddler^'" iS*e. 

And did ye not hear of a mirth befell 
Tlie morrow after a wedding day, 

And carrying a bride at home to dwell ? 
And away to Tewin, away, away 1 

The quintain was set, and the garlands were 
made, 

'Tis pity old customs should ever decay, 
And woe be to him that was horsed ou a jade, 

For he cai'ried no credit away, away. 

We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees ; 

We set them a cockhorse, and made them 
play 
The winning of BuUen, and Upsey-frees, 

And away to Tewin, away, away I 

There was ne'er a lad in all the pari.sh 
That woidd go to the plough that day ; 

But on his fore-horse his wench he carries. 
And away to Tewin, away away I 



648 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The butler was quick, and tlie ale he did tap, 
The maidens did make the chamber full gay ; 

The servants did give me a fuddhng cup, 
And I did carry't away, away. 

The smith of the town his liquor so took, 

That he was persuaded that the ground look'd 
blue ; 

And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, 
Such smiths as he there's but a few. 

A posset was made, and the women did sip, 
And sunpering said, they could eat no more ; 

Full many a maiden was laid on the Up, — 
I'll say no more, but give o'er (give o'er). 

Appendix to the General Preface. 



(2.)— WAVERLET. 

" On receiving inteUig-ence of his commission as 
captain of a troop of horse in Colonel Gardiner's 
regiment, liis tutor, Mr. Pembroke, picked up about 
Edward's room some fragments of irregular verse, 
which he appeared to have composed under tlie 
influence of the agitating feeUngs occasioned by 
this sudden page being turned up to him m the 
book of life." 

Late, when the autumn evening fell 
On Mirkwood-ilere's romantic dell. 
The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam. 
The purple cloud, tlie golden beiun : 
Reflected in the crystal pool. 
Headland and bank lay fau- and cool ; 
Tlie weather-tinted rock and tower. 
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, 
So true, so soft, the mirror gave. 
As if there lay beneath the wave. 
Secure from trouble, toil, and care, 
A world than earthly world more fair. 

But distant winds began to wake. 
And roused the Genius of the Lake ! 
He heard the groaning of the oak, 
And donn'd at once his sable cloak. 
As warrior, at the battle cry. 
Invests him with his panoply ; 
Then, as the wliirlwind ne.ij-er press'd, 
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest 
O'er furrow'd brow and blackcn'd cheek. 
And bade his surge m thunder speak. 
In wUd and broken eddies whul'd, 
FUtted that fond ideal world ; 
And, to the shore in tumult tost, 
The realms of fairy bliss were lost. 



Yet, with a stern dehght and strange, 
I saw the sphit-stirrmg cliange. 
As warr'd the wind with wave and wood. 
Upon the ruin'd tower I stood. 
And felt my heart more strongly bound, 
Responsive to the lofty sound. 
While, joying m the mighty roar, 
I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more. 

So, on the idle dreams of youth 
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth. 
Bids each fair vision pass away. 
Like landscape on the lake that lay 
As fair, as flitting, and as frail. 
As that which fled the autumn gale — 
For ever dead to fancy's eye 
Be each gay form that glided by. 
While dreams of love and lady's charms 
Give place to honor and to ai'ms ! 

Cliap. y. 



(3.)— DAVIE GELLATLET'S SONG. 

"He (Daft Davie Gellatley) sung with grea* 
earnestness, and not without some taste, a frag 
ment of an old Scotch ditty :" 

False love, and hast thou play'd me thia 

In summer among the flowers ! 
I will repay thee back again 

In winter among the showers. 
Unless again, again, my love. 

Unless you tui'n again ; 
As you witli other maidens rove, 

m smile on other men. 

" This is a genume ancient fragment, with some 
alteration in the last two lines." 



« The questioned party rephed. — and, lilzi 

the witch of Thalaba, ' still his speech was song.' " 

The Knight's to the mountain 

His bugle to wind ; 
The Lady's to greenwood 

Her garland to bind. 
The bower of Burd Ellen 

Has moss on the floor, 
That the step of Lord WiUiam 

Be silent and sure. 

Chap. ix. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



64y 



(4.)— SCENE 

IN LUCKJE MACLEAHt's TATERN. 

" Tn the middle of this din, the Baron repeatedly 
implored silence ; and when at length the instinct 
of polite discipline so far prevailed, that for a mo- 
ment he obtained it, he hastened to beseech their 
attention ' unto a military ariette, -which was a 
particular favorite of the Mar^chal Due de Ber- 
wick ;' then, imitating, as well as ho could, the 
manner and tone of a French musquetaire, he im- 
mediately commenced," 

Hon ccEur volage, dit-elle, 
N'est pas pour vous, garden. 

Est pour un homme de guerre, 
Qui a barbe au menton. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 

Qui porte chapeau a plume, 

Soulier a rouge talon, 
Qui joue de la flute, 

Aussi de violon. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 

" Balmawhapple could hold no longer, but break 
in with what he called a d — d good song, com- 
posed by Gibby Gaethrowit, the Piper of Cupar ; 
and, without wastirg more time, struck up — " 

It's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed. 
And o'er the bent of KilUebraid, 
And mony a weary cast I made. 
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail 

If up a bonny black-cock should spring, 
To whistle him down wi' a slug in liis wing, 
And strap him on to my lunzie string. 
Eight seldom would I fail. 

Chap. XL 



(5.) 



'HIE A'WAY, HIE A"WAT.' 



" The stamping of horses was now heard in the 
court, and Davie Gellatley's voice singing to the 
two large deer greyhounds," 

Hie away, hie away. 

Over bank and over brae, 

'Wliere the copsewood is the greenest. 

Where the fountains glisten sheenest, 

'Where the lady-fern glows strongest. 

Where the morning dow lies longest, 

Where the black-cock sweetest sips it, 

Wliere the fairv latest trips it : 
88 



Hie to haunts right seldom seen, 
Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green. 
Over bank and over brae, 
Hie away, hie away. 

Cliap. xii. 



(6.)— ST. SWITHDTS CHAIR. 

" The view of the old tower, or fortalioe, intro- 
duced some family anecdotes and tales of Scottish 
chivalry, which the Baron told with great enthu- 
siasm. The projecting peak of an impending crag, 
which rose near it, had acquired the name of St^ 
Swithin's Chair. It w.as the scene of a peculiar 
superstition, of wliich Mr. Kubrick mentioned some 
curious particulars, which reminded Waverley of a 
rhyme quoted by Edgar in King Lear ; and Rose 
was called upon to sing a little legend, in which 
they had been interwoven by some village poet. 

Who, noteless as the race from which he sprang, 
Saved others' names, but left his ou'n unsung. 

"The sweetness of her voice, .and the simple 
beauty of her music, gave all the advantage which 
the minstrel could have desired, and wliich his 
poetry so much wanted." 

On Hallow-M.iss Eve, ere you boune ye to rest, 
Ever beware that your couch be bless'd ; 
Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead. 
Sing the Ave, and s.ay the Creed. 

For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will 

ride. 
And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side, 
Whether the wind sing lowly or loud, 
Sailing through moonshine or swath'd in the 

cloud. 

The Lady she sate in St. Swithin's Chair, 
The dew of the night has d.imp'd her h;iir : 
Her cheek was pale — but resolved and high 
Was the word of her lip and the glance of her 
eye. 

She mutter'd the spell of Swithin bold, 
Wlien his naked foot traced the midnight wdd, 
Wlien he stopp'd the H.ig as she rode tlie night, 
And bade her descend, and her promise plight 

He that dare sit on St. Switliin's Chair, 
When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air. 
Questions three, when he speaks the spell, 
He may ask, and she must tell 



G50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



■i'::e B;iron ha3 been with King Robert his 

liege, 
Those three long years in battle and siege ; 
News are there none of his weal oi his woe, 
And fain the Ladj' his fate would know. 

She shudders and stops as the charm she 

speaks ; — 
Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? 
Or is that sound, betwixt laughter and scream, 
The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ? 

The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, 
And the roaring torrent had ceased to flow ; 
The calm was more dreadfid than raging 

storm. 
When the cold gray mist brought the ghastly 

form! 

Chap. xiii. 



(8.)— JANET GELLATLET'S ALLEGED 
WITCHCRAFT. 

" This anecdote led into a long discussion of," 

All those idle thoughts and phantasies, 

Devices, dreams, opmions unsound, 
Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies, 
And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies 

Ctiap. xiii. 



(7.)— DAVIE GELLATLET'S SONG. 

" The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a 
morning walk around the house and its vicinity, 
came suddenly upon a small court in front of the 
dog-kennel, where his friend Davie was employed 
about liis four-footed charge. One quick glance 
of his eye recognized Waverley, when, uistantly 
tiuning his back, as if ho had not observed him, 
he began to sing part of an old ballad." 

Young men will love thee more fair and more 
fast ; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? 
Old men's love the longest will last, 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

The young man's wrath is lilce light straw on 
fire; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? 
But lUse red-liot steel is the old man's ire, 

A nd the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

The young man will brawl at the ev»ning board ; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? 
But the old man wiU draw at the dawning the 
sword. 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

[This song has allusion to the Baron of Braid- 
wardine's personal encounter with Balmawhapple 
early next morning, after tl\e evemng quarrel be- 
twixt the latter and Waverley.] 

Chap. xiv. 



(9.)— FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG. 

" Flora had exchanged the measured and mo 
notonous recitative of the bard for a lofty and 
imcommon Higliland air, which had been a battle 
song in former ages. A few irregular strains in 
troduced a prelude of wild and pecuhar tone, 
which harmonized well witli the distant water- 
fall, and the soft sigh of the evening breeze in 
the rustling leaves of an aspen which overhung 
the seat of the fair harpress. The following verses 
convey but little idea of the feelings with which, 
so sung and accompixnied, they were heard by 
Waverley :" 

There is mist on the mountain, and night on the 

vale. 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. 
A stranger commanded — it sunk on tlie land. 
It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every 

hand ! 

Tlie dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, 
The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust ; 
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear. 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

Tlie deeds of our sires if our bards should re- 
hearse, 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of then verse ! 
Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone, 
Tliat shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are 

past, 
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed witli the rays. 
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the 

blaze. 

high-mmded Moray ! — the exiled- the dear '.- 
In the blush of the dawning the Sundard nprear I 
Wide, wide on the winds of tlie north let it fly. 
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest if 
nigh ! 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



661 



Ye sous of the strong, when that dawuing shall 

break, 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ! 
That dawn never beani'd on your forefathers' eye, 
But it roused each high cliieftaiu to vanquish or 

die. 

sproDg from the Kings who in Italy kept state, 
Pruutl cliiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengaiy, and Sleat ! 
Combine like three streams from one mountain of 

snow, 
And resistless in union r<ish down on the foe I 

True son of Su- Evim, undaunted Lochiel, 

Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy 

steel ! 
Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold 

swell. 
Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell I 

Stem son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintall, 
Let the stag in thy stimdard bound wild in the 

gale ! 
May the race of Clan-Gillian, the fearless and free, 
Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee ! 

Let the clan of gray Fingon, whose offspring has 

given 
Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven, 
Unite with the race of renowu'd Rorri More, 
To launch the long galley, and stretch to the oar ! 

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall 

display 
Tlie yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of gray ! 
How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murder'd 

Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe ! 

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild 

boar, 
Resume tlie pure faith of the great Callum-More ! 
Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, 
For honor, for freedom, for vengeance awake I 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, 
lirave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the 

lake ! 
'Tis the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 
'Tis the pibroch's shi'ill summons — but not to the 

baU. 

'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or deatli. 
When the banners are blazing on mountain and 

heath ; 
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe. 
To the march juid the muster, the line and the 

charge. 



Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his 

ire ! 
May the blood tlu-ough his veins flow like currents 

of fire ! 
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of 

yore I 
Or die, like your sires, and endure it no more ' 

" As Flora concluded her song, Fergts stood be- 
fore them, and immediately commenced with a 
theatrical air," 

Lady of the desert, hail 1 
Tliat lovest the harping of the Gael, 
Through fair and fertile regions borne. 
Where never yet grew grass or corr. 

" But English poetry will never succeed under 
the influence of a Highland Helicon — Allons 
courage" — 

vous, qui buvcz h tasse pleine, 

A cette heureuse fontaine, 
Oil on ne voit sur le rivage 

Que quelques vilains troupeaux, 
Suivis de nymphes de village, 

Qui les escortent sans sabots 



Chap. xxii. 



(10.)— LINES ON CAPTAIN WOGAN. 

" The letter from the Chief contained Flora's 
lines on the fate of Captain Wogan, whose enter- 
prising character is so well drawn by Clarendon 
He had originally engaged in the service of the 
Parliament, but had abjured that party upon the 
execution of Cliurles I. ; and upon hearing that 
the royal standard was set up by the Earl of 
Glencairn and General Middleton in the High- 
lands of Scotland, took leave of Charles IL, who 
was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled 
a body of cavaliers in the neighborhood of Lon- 
don, and traversed the kuigdom, which had been 
so long under domination of the usm-per, by 
marches conducted with such skill, dexterity, and 
spirit, that he safely united his handful of horse- 
men with the body of Highlanders then in arms. 
After several months of desultory warfare, in 
wliich Wogan's skill and courage gained him the 
highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be 
wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical 
assistance being within reach, he terminated his 
short but glorious career." 

Tlie Verses were inscribed. 



652 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



TO AS OAK TREE, 



IN THE CHmCHTARD OF - 



-, IN THE HIGHLANDS 



OF SCOTLAND, SAID TO MARK THE GKAVE OF CAP- 
TAIN WOnAN, KILLED IN 1649. 

Emblem of England's ancient faith. 
Full proudly may tliy branches wave, 

Where loyalty lies low in death, 
And valor fiUs a timeless grave. 

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb I 

Repine not if our cUme deny, 
Above thine honor'd sod to bloom, 

The flowrets of a milder sky. 

Tliese owe their birth to genial May ; 

Beneath a fiercer sun they pine, 
Before the winter storm decay — 

And can their wortli be type of thine ! 

No ! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing, 
Still liiglier swell'd thy dauntless heart. 

And, while Despair the scene was closing, 
Commenced thy brief but brilliant part. 

'Twas tlien thou sought'at on Albyn's hill 
(When England's sons the strife resign'd), 

A rugged r.ace resisting still, 

And unsubdued though unrefined. 

Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail. 

No holy knell thy requiem rung ; 
Tliy mourners were the plaided Gael, 

Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung. 

Yet wlio, in Fortune's summer-shine 
To waste life's longest term away, 

Would change that glorious dawn of thine, 
Tliough darken'd ere its noontide day ? 

Be tliine the Tree whose dauntless boughs 
Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom ] 

Rome bound with oak lier patriots' brows. 
As Albyn shadows Wogaa's tomb. 

Chap. X32X. 



(11.)— "FOLLOW ME, FOLLOW ME." 

" ' Who are dead V said Waverley, forgetting 
the incapacity of Davie to hold any connected dis- 
tom"se. 

"Baron — and Baillie — and Sanders Sanderson 
— and Lady Rose, that sang sae sweet — A' dead 
and gane — dead and gane (said Davie)— 



But follow, follow me. 

While glow-worms hght the lea, 

I'll show ye where the dead should be — 

Each in liis shroud, 

While winds pipe loud, 

And the red moon peeps dim through the doud 

Follow, follow me ; 
Brave should he be 

That treads by the night the dead man's lea." 

Chap, bciii. 



e !) e ai II 1 1) V of JOT a I) e r I e 5 . 

[" I AM not able to give the exact date of the 
following reply to one of John Ballantyne's expos- 
tulations on the subject of t/ie secret." — Zdfe, voL 
iv. p. 179.] 

" No, John, I will not own the book — 

I won't, you Piccaroon. 
When next I try St. Grubby's brook, 
The A. of Wa— shall bait the hook — 

And flat-fish bite as soon. 
As if before them they had got 

Waltee Scott." 



JFatttoell to ittarltenjfc. 

HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. 

FROM THE GAELIC. 
1815.— ^T. 44. 



The original verses are arranged to a beautiful 
Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the 
double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which 
is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, 
or bout-songs. They were composed by the Fam- 
ily Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Sea- 
forth, who was oblirjed to take refuge in Spain, 
after an unsuccessful effort 'at insurrection in 
favor of the Stuurt family, in tlu: year 1718. 



Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, 
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth ; 
To the Chieftain this morning his course who began, 
Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. 
For a far foreign land he lias hoisted his sail, | 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Cliief of Kintail I } 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



653 



O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, 
May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, 
In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil, 
Though the wliirlwind should rise, and the ocean 

should boil : 
On the brare vessel's gunnel I drank liis bonail,' 
And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Ivintail ! 

Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale ! 
Like the sighs of liis people, breathe soft on Iiis sail ; 
Be prolong'd as regret, that his vassals must know. 
Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their woe : 
Be 80 soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale, 
Wafting onwaid Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail I 

Be Ills pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, 
To measure the seas and to study the skies ; 
May he hoist all liis canvas from streamer to deck, 
But ! crowd it liigher when wafting liim back — 
Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad vale. 
Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail ! 



IMITATION OF THE PRECSDIN'G SONG.' 

So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart. 
When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart. 
Now mute on tliy mountains, O Albyn, are heard 
Nor the voice of the song, nor the hiirp of the bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter 

gale. 
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. 

From the far Southland Border a Minstrel came 

forth. 
And lie waited the hour that some Bard of the north 
His hand on the harp of tlie ancient should cast. 
And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast ; 
But no bard was there left in tlie land of the Gael, 
To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. 

And shalt thou then sleep, did the Minstrel exclaim, 
Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by fame ? 
No, son of Fitzgerald ! in accents of woe. 
The song thou hast loved o'er thy coffin sluill flow. 
And teach thy wUd mountains to join in tlie wad 
That laments for Mackenzie, last Cliief of Kintail. 

In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong. 
Fate deaden'd tliine ear and imprison'd thy tongue ; 
For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose 

1 Bonail, or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at 
parting with a friend. 

2 These verses were written shortly after the death of Lord 
peaforth, the last male representative of his illustrious liouse. 
He was a nobleman of extraordinary talents, who must have 
locde for himself a lasting reputation, had not his political ex- 



The glow of the genius tliey could not oppose ; 
And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael, 
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of ICin- 
tail? 

Tliy sons rose around thee in light and in love. 
All a father could hope, all a friend coidd api)rnve ; 
What Vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell, — 
In the spring-time of youth and of promise tliev 

fell ! 
Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male. 
To bear the proud name of the Cliief of Kiiittiil. 

And thou, gentle Dame,who must bear, to thy grief, 
For thy clan and thy country the cai-es of a Cliief, 
Whom brief rolUiig moons in si-x changes have left. 
Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft. 
To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail. 
That salutes thee the Heu- of the line of Kintail " 



W av'&ona of3Laci)l<in, 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN. 

FROM THE GAELIC. 



1816. 



This song appears to be imperfect^ or, at least, likt 
many of the early Gaelic poems, makes a rapid 
transition from one subject to another ; from tht 
situation, namely, of one of the daughters of the 
clan, who opejis the song by lamenting the ab- 
sence of her lover, to an eulogium over the mili- 
tary glories of the Chieftain. The translator 
has endeavored to imitate tfte abrupt style of the 
original. 



A WEAET month has wander'd o ei , 
Since last we parted on the shore ; 
Heaven ! that I saw thee, Love, once more, 

Safe on that shore again ! — 
'TVas valiant Lachlan gave the word : 
Lachlan, of many a galley lord : 
He call'd his kindred bands on board, 

And laimch'd them on the main. 

Clan-Gillian' is to ocean gone ; 
Clan-GiUian, fierce in foray known ; 

ertions been checked by the painful natural infirmities alluded 
to in the fourth stanza. — See Life of Scott, vol. v. pp. 18, 19. 

3 The Honorable Lady Hood, daughter of tlie last Lord Sea* 
forth, widow of Admiral Pir J^amuel Hood, now Mrs. Stewart 
Mackenzie of Seaforlh and Glasserton. — 1833. 

* i. e. The clan of Maclean, literally the race ot Gillian 



654 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Reioicing in the glory -won 


Though music's self was wont to meet 


In many a bloody broil ; 


With Princes at Saint Cloud. 


For wide is heard the thundering fray, 




The rout, the ruiii, the dismay. 


Nor then, with more delighted ear. 


When from the twihght glens away 


The circle round her drew. 


Clan-GilliaQ drives the spoil. 


Thau ours, when gatber'd round to hear 




Our songstress^ at Samt Cloud. 


Woe to the hiUs that shaU rebound 




Our banner'd bag-pipes' maddening sound ; 


Few happy hours poor mortals pass, — 


Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round, 


Then give those hours their due, 


ShaU shake their inmost cell. 


And rank among the foremost class 


Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze, 


Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 


Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays ! 




The fools might face the lightning's blaze 






As w 'sely and as well 1 






EJe 319a nee of 33eati).* 


Safnt etIouB. 


1815. 




[Paris, hth September, 1815.] 


I 

Night and morning' were at meeting 


Soft spread the southern summer night 


Over W.tterloo; 


Her veil of darksome blue ; 


Cocks had sung their earhest greeting; 


Ten tliousand stars combined to light 


Famt and low they crew ; 


The terrace of Saint Cloud. 


For no paly beam yet shone 




On the heights of Mount Saint John ; 


The evening breezes gently sigh'd. 


Tempest-clouds prolong'd the sway 


Like breath of lover true. 


Of timeless darkness over day ; 


Bewailing the deserted pride 


Whirlwind, thuuder-clap, and shower, 


And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 


Mark'd it a predestined hour. 




Broad and frequent through the night 


The di'um's deep roll was heard afar. 


Flash'd the sheets of levin-light ; 


The bugle wildly blew 


Muskets, glancing lightnings back. 


Good-night to Hulan and Hussar, 


Show'd the dreary bivouac 


That garrison Saint Cloud. 


Where the soldier lay. 




Cliill and stiff, and dreneh'd with rain, 


The startled Naiads from the shade 


Wisliing dawn of morn again. 


With broken urns withdrew. 


Though death should come with day. 


And silenced was that proud cascade. 




The glory of Saint Cloud. 


II. 




'Tis at such a tide and hour. 


We sate upon its steps of stone. 


Wizaril, witch, and fiend have power, 


Nor could its silence^ rue. 


And ghastly forms through mist and shower 


When waked, to music of our own. 


Gleam on the gifted ken ; 


The echoes of Saint Cloud. 


And then the affrighted prophet's ear 




Drinks wliispers strange of fate and fear 


Slow Seine might hear each lovely note 


Presaging death and ruin near 


Fall light as summer dew, 


Among the sons of men ; — 


While through the moonless^ an- they float, 


Apart from Albyn's war-array. 


Prolong'd from fair Samt Cloud. 


'Twas then gray Allan sleepless lay ; 




Gray Allan, who, for many a day. 


And sure a melody more sweet 


Had foUow'd stout and stem. 


His waters never knew, 


Where, tlirough battle's rout and reel. 


1 MS.—" Absence." MS.— "Midnight." 


< Originally published in 1815, in the Edinburgh Annua 


3 These lines were written after an evening spent at Saint 


Register, vol. v. 


Jlou^^ with the ate Lady Alvanley and her daughters, one of 




whom was the songstress alluded to in the text. 


6 MS.—" Dawn and darkness." 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 65b 


Storm of shot and hedge of steel. 


Our airy feet, 


Led the grandson of Lochiel, 


So Ught and fleet. 


Valiant Fassiefern. 


They do not bend the rye 


Through steel and shot he leads no more, 


That sinks its head when whirlwinds 


Low laid 'mid friends' and foemen's gore — 


rave. 


But long his native lake's wild shore. 


And swells again in eddying wave, 


And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, 


As each wild gust blows by ; 


And Morven long shall tell, 


But still the corn. 


And proud Bennevis hear with awe. 


At dawn of morn. 


How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, 


Oiu- fatal steps that bore. 


Brave Cameron heard the wdd hurra 


At eve lies waste. 


Of conquest as he fell.' 


A trampled paste 


in. 


Of blackenmg mud and gore. 


'Lone on the outskirts of the host, 


V. 


The weary sentinel held post, 


" Wheel the wild dance 


And heard, through darkuess far aloof. 


While lightnings glance. 


The frequent clang' of courser's hoof. 


And thunders rattle loud. 


Where held the cloak'd patrol their course. 


And call the brave 


And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving 


To bloody grave. 


horse ; 


To sleep without a shroud. 


But there are sounds in Allan's ear. 




Patrol nor sentinel may hear. 


Wheel the wild dance I 


And sights before his eye aghast 


Brave sons of France, 


Livisible to them have pass'd. 


For you our ring makes room ; 


Wlien down the destined plain. 


Make space fidl wide 


'Twixt Britain and tlie bands of France, 


For martial pride. 


"Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance, 


For banner, spear, and plume. 


Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance, 


Approach, draw near. 


And doom'd the future slain. — 


Proud cuirassier I 


Such forms were seen, such sounds were 


Room for the men of steel ! 


heard, 


Through crest and plate 


When Scotland's James his march prepared, 


The broadsword's weight 


For Flodden's fatal plain ;" 


Both head and heart shall feeL 


Such, when he drew Iiis ruthless sword. 




As Choosers of the Slain, adored 


VL 


The yet unchristen'd Dane. 


" Wheel the wild dance 


An indistinct and phantom band. 


While hghtnings glance, 


They wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand. 


And thunders rattle loud. 


With gestm-es wild and dread ; 


And call the brave 


The Seer, who watch'd tliem ride the storm. 


To bloody grave. 


Saw through their faint and shadowy form 


To sleep without a shroud. 


The lightning's flash more red ; 




And still their gliastly roundelay 


Sons of the spear 1 


Was of the coming battle-fray, 


You feel us near 


And of the destined dead. 


In many a gliastly dream ; 


IV. 


With fancy's eye 


Our forms you spy. 


Sonfl- 


And hear our fatal scream. 


" Wheel the wild dance 


With clearer sight 


While lightnings glance, 


Ere falls the night. 


And thunders rattle loud, 


Just when to weal or woe 


And call the brave 


Tour disembodied souls take flight 


To bloody grave, 


On trembling wing — each startled sprite 


To sleep without a shroud. 


Our choir of death shall Isnow. 


• See note, ante, p. 509. 


a See ante, Marmion, canto v. stanzas 24, 25, 26, and Aj^ 


« MS.—" Oft came the clang " &(;. 


pendix, Note 4 A, p. 173 



650 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



VII. 
" Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance, 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, 
Redder rain shall soon be ours — 

See the east grows Avan — 
Yield we place to sterner game. 
Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame 
Shall the welkin's tliunders sliame : 
Elemental rage is tame 

To the wrath of man." 

VIII. 

At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe 
Heard of the vision'd .sights he saw, 

The legend heard him say ; 
But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, 
Deafen'd his ear, and stark 'uis limb. 

Ere closed that bloody day- 
He sleeps far from his Highland heath, — 
But often of the Dance of Death 

His comrades tell the tale. 
On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, 
And waning watch-fires glow less bright, 

And dawn is glimmering pale. 



3a. m a n c c of 3© u n o i s . ' 

FROM THE FRENCH. 



1815. 



7'Ae original of this little Romance makes part of 
a manuscript collection of French Smii/s, proba- 
bly compiled by some young officer, which was 
found 071 the field of Waterloo, so much stained 
with clay and with blood, as siifficieutlt/ to indi- 
cate the fate of its late owner. The song is popu- 
lar in France, and is rather a good spiccimen of 
the style of composition to which it belongs. The 
translation is strictly literal.'^ 



't was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound 

for Palestine, 
3u' first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's 

shi'ine : 

1 Tills balKid appeared in 1815, in Paul's Letters, and in the 
Edinburgh Annual Register. It has since been set to music 
by G. F. Graham, Esq., in iMr. Thomson's Select Melodies, &c. 
i The original romance, 

" Partant pour la Syrie, 
Le Jeone et brave Dunois," &c. 



" And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,' was still 

the Soldier's prayer, 
" That I may prove the bravest knight, and love 

the fairest fan-." 

His oath of honor on the shrine he graved it with 

his sword. 
And foUow'd to the Holy Land the banner of his 

Lord ; 
.Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill'd 

the air, 
" Be honor'd aye the bravest knight, beloved the 

fairest fair." 

They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his 

Liege-Lord said, 
" The heart that has for honor beat by bliss must 

be repaid. — 
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded 

pair. 
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of 

the fair." 

And then they boimd the holy knot before Saint 

Mary's shrine, 
That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands 

combine ; 
And every lord and lady bright, that were in chapel 

there. 
Cried, " Honor'd be the bravest knight, beloved the 

fairest fair !" 



21 Jc EvoubaDouv.' 

FROM THE SAME COLLECTIOX 



1815. 



Glowing with love, on fire tor fame, 

A Troubadour tliat hated sorrow. 
Beneath liis Lady's window can^e. 

And thus he sung his last good-morrow : 
" My arm it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my true-love s bowei' 
Gayly for love and fame to fight 

Befits the gallant Troubadom'." 

And while he marcli'd with helm on head 
And harp in hand, the descmit rung. 

As, faithful to his favorite maid, 
The minstrel-burden stiU he sung : 

was written, and set to music also, by Hortense Beauharnois, 
Uuchesse de St. Len, Ex-Queen of Holland. 

3 The original of this ballad also was written and composed 
by the Duchesse de St. Leu. The translation has been set to 
music by Mr. Thomson. See his Collection of Scottisli Songs. 
1826. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



057 



" My arm it is my country's right, 
My lieart is in my lady's bower ; 

Resolved for love aiid fame to fight, 
I come, a gallant Troubadom'." 

Even when the battle-roar was deep, 

With dauntless heart lie hew'd his way, 
'Mid splintoriug lance and falcliion-sweep, 

And still was heard his warrior-lay : 
" My life it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For love to die, for fame to fight. 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas ! upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, 
But stiU recUning on his sliield. 

Expiring sung the exulting stave : — 
" My hfe it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For love and fame to fall in fight 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 



JFtom tje J?re«ci).' 



1815. 



It chanced that Cupid on a season. 
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed. 

But could not settle whether Reason 
Or FoUy should partake his bed. 

What does he then ? — Upon my life, 
'Twas bad example for a deity — 

He takes me Reason for a wife, 
And FoUy for his hours of gayety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty treason. 
He loved them both in equal measure ; 

Fidelity was born of Reason, 

And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. 



.Sons, 

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE 

BODSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH 

ON CASTEEH.AUGU.' 



1815. 



From the brown crest of Newark its summons 
extending, 
Our signal is waving in smoke and ii. flame ; 

1 This trifle also ia from tiie Frencli Collection, found at 
Waterloo. — See Paul's Letters. 

3 This ?on<: appears with Music in Mr. G. Thomson's Col- 
lection — 1826. The foot-ball match on which it was written 
»3 



And each forester bUthe, from his mountain de- 
scending. 
Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the 
game. 



Then up wll/i the Banner, let forest wmilsfa/i her, 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ayes aud more ; 

In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her. 

With heart andmlth hand, like our fathers before. 

When the Southern invader spread waste and 
disorder, 
At the gl.ance of her crescents he paused aud 
withdrew, 
For around them were marshall'd the pride of the 
Border, 
The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of Buo- 

CLEUCH. 

Then up with the Banner, &c 

A Stripling's we.ak hand' to our revel has borne her, 
No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen sur- 
romul ; 
But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should 
scorn her, 
A thousand true hearts would be cold on the 
ground. 

Then up with the Banner, &c. 

We forget eiich contention of civil dissension. 
And h;til, like our brethren, Home, Douglas, and 
Car: 
And Elliot and Pringle in pastime shall mingle. 
As welcome in peace as tlieu' fathers in war. 
Then up with the Banner, <tc. 

Then strip, lads, and to it, though 'sharp be the 
weather. 
And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall. 
There are worse things in hfe than a tumble on 
lieather, 
And life is itself but a game at foot-balL 
Then up with the Banner, Ac. 

And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe measure 
To each Laird and each Lady that witness'd oul 
fim. 
And to every blithe heart that took part in our 
pleasure, 
To the lads that have lost and the lads thai 
have wotL 

Then up with the Banner, itc. 

took place on December 5, 1815, and was also celebrated by 
the Ettrick Shepherd. See Life of Scott, vol. v. pp. llSi 
116, 122. 
x The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest son 



S58 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



May the Forest still flourish, botli Borough and 
Landward, 
From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle- 
nook ; 
And huzza ! my brave hearts, for Buccleuch and 
liis standard. 
For tlie King and the Country, the Clan, and 
the Duke 1 

Then up ii'Uh the Banner, let forest winds fan 
her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and 
more ; 
In sport we'll attend her, hi battle defend her, 
With heart and with hand, like our fathers 
before. 



HuIIafij of an Snfant ffijfcf. 

Air — " Cadul gu lo.''^ 



1815. 



O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sii-e was a knight, 

Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; 

The woods and the glens, fi'om the towers which 

we see, 
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 

ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, 

ho ro, i ri ri, <tc. 

II. 
0, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows. 
It calls but the warders that guard thy re- 
pose; 
Their bows would be bended, their blades would 

be red. 
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. 
ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 

m. 

0, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, 
Wlien thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and 

drum ; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you 

may, 
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with 

day. 

ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 

1 " Sleep on till day." These words, adapted to a melody 
somewhat dilVerent from tlie original, are sung in my friend 
Mr. Terry's drama of " Guy Mannering." [Tlie " Lullaby" 
was first printed in Mr. Terry's drama : it was afterwards set 
to music in Thomson's Collection. 1822.] 



\)tx5t3 from (Brnj Ulannciing. 



1815. 



a-)-SONGS Of JIEG MERRILIES. 



NATIVITY OF HARRY BERTRAM. 
Canny moment, lucky fit ; 
Is the lady hghter yet ? 
Be it lad, or be it lass. 
Sign wi' cross, and sain wi' mass. 

Trefoil, vervain, Jobn's-wort, dill, 
Hinders witches of tlieir will ; 
Weel is them, that weel may 
Fast upon St. Andrew's day. 

Saint Bride and her brat, 
Saint Colme and her cat. 
Saint Michael and his spear. 
Keep the house frae reif and wear. 

Chap, iii 



"TWIST YE, TWINE YE." 

Twist ye, twine ye I even so. 
Mingle shades of joy and woe, 
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, 
In the thread of hiunau life. 

While the mystic twist is spinning. 
And the infant's hfe begimiing. 
Dimly seen thi-ough twiliglit bending, 
Lo, what varied shapes attending ! 

Passions wild, and follies vain. 
Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; 
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear, 
In the magic dance appear. 

Now they wax and now they dwindle, 
Whirling witli tlie whirling spindle. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle human bUss and woe. 

Ibid. 



THE DYING GIPSY SMUGGLER. 

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay, 
WrestUng thus with earth and clay ? 
From the body p.ass away ; — 

Hark I the mass is singing. 

From thee doff thy mortal weed, 
Mary Mother be thy speed. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



659 



Saints to help thee at thy need ; — 

Hark I the knell is ringing. 

Fear not snow-drift driving fast, 
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast ; 
Soon the shroud shall lap ttee fast, 
And the sleep be ou thee cjst 

That shall ne'er know waking. 

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone, 
Earth flits fas', and time draws on, — 
Gasp thy gai^p, and groan thy groan. 
Day is near the breaking. 

" Tlie songstress paused, and was answered by 
one or two deep and hollow groans, tliat seemed 
to proceed from the very agony of the mortal 
strife. ' It will not be,' she muttered to herself 
' He cannot pass away with that on his mind ; it 
tethers him here. 

Heaven cannot abide it ; 
Earth refuses to bide it. 

I must open the door.' 

" She lifted the latch, saying, 

' Open locks, end strife, 
Come death, and pass life.* " 

Cliap. xxvii. 



THE PROPHEdY. 

The dark shall be light. 

And the wrong made right, 

When Bertram's right and Bertram's might 

Shall meet on EUangowan's height. 

Chap. xU. 



(2.)— SONGS OF DIRK HATTERAXCK AND 
GLOSSIN. 

" ' A.tn> now I have brought you some breakfast,' 
said Glossin, producing some cold meat and a flask 
of spu-its. The latter Hatteraick eagerly seized 
upon, and applied to liis mouth ; and, after a hearty 
draught, he exclaimed with great raptm'e, 'Das 
sehmeckt ! — That is good — that warms the liver 1' 
— Then broke into the fragment of a High-Dutch 
song :" — 

Saufen bier, und brante-wein, 
Schmeissen alle die fenstern ein ; 
Ich ben liederlicb, 

1 First published in Mr. 6. Thomson's Collection of Irish 
Aire. 1816. 



Du bist liederlicb, 

Sind wir nicht liederlicb leute a. 

" ' Well said, my hearty Captain !' cried Glossin, 
endeavoring to catch the tone of revelry," — 

Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers. 

Dash the window-glass to shivers ! 

For three wild lads were we, brave boys. 

And three wild lads were we ; 

Thou on tile land, and I on the sand. 

And Jack on the gallows-tree ! 

Chap, xxxiv. 



STjie 3£leturn to JJlstcr.' 



1816. 



Once again, — but how changed since my wand'- 

rings began — 
I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann, 
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar 
That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. 
Alas I ray poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn ? 
With the scenes of my youth can its raptm-es return ? 
Can I Uve the dear life of delusion again, [strain J 
That flow'd when these echoes first mix'd with my 

It was then that arotmd me, though poor and un- 
known, [thrown ; 
High spells of mysterious enchantment were 
Tlie streams were of silver, of diamond the dew, 
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. 
I had heard of oiu* bards, and my soul was on fire 
At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their 

lyre: 
To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the ear. 
But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd and clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call, [hall ; 

And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the 
And the standard of Fion flashed fierce from on high, 
Like the burst of tlie sun when the tempest is nigh.* 
It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more 
Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore. — 
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shovddsv 

thou btuTi ? 
They were days of delusion, and cannot return. 

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by, 
And listed my lay, while she turn'd from mine eye ? 
Was she too, a vision, just glancing to view, 
Then dispersed in the stmbeam, or melted to dew ! 

3 In ancient Insn poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fingal, ii 
callel the Sun-bursty an epithet feebly rendered by the Sliv 
beajr, of Macphersou. 



660 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Oh ! would it had teen so, — Oh ! would that her eye 
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the 

sky, 
And her voice that was moulded to melody's tlu-iU, 
Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd and was still! 

Oh ! would it had been so, — not then this poor heart 
Had learn'd the sad lesson, to love and to part ; 
To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care. 
While I toird for the wealth I had no one to share. 
Not then had I said, when Ufe's summer was done, 
And the hours of hur autumn were fast speeding on, 
" Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your 

train, 
And restore me the dream of my apring-tide again." 



3otii of J^ajcIScan. 

Air — A Border Melody. 



1816. 



Tfie first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The 
others were written for Mr. Campbell's Albyn's 
Anthologi/, 



1. 

" Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
m wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be Iiis bride : 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen" — 
But aye she loot tlie tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldeaa 

II. 

" Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 

And dry that clieek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington, 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 

His sword in battle keen " — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

III. 

" A chain of gold ye sail not lack. 

Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
And you, the foremost o' them a' 

Shall ride our forest queen " — 

1 "The pibroch of Donahl the Black." This song was 
written for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816. It may also 
be Bveo, set to music, in Thomson's Collection, 1830. 



But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 

IV. 
The Mrk was deck'd at morning-tide, 

The tapers ghmmer'd fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 

And dame and knight are there. . 
They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 

The ladie was not seen ! 
She's o'er the Border, and awa 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 



IPttirot!) of iGJonalti BIju. 

Air — " Piobair of Donuil Dhaidh.^^^ 



1816. 



This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan 
MacDonald, and supposed to refer to the expedi- 
tion of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, launched 
from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded 
Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to 
flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though 
at the head of an army superior to his onm. The 
words of tJie set, theme, or melody, to which the 
pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic : — 

Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhoidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dbuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ; 
Piob agns bratach air faiche Inverlochi. 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Blacit, 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The war-pipe and the penooii are on the gathering-place at 
Inverlocby.s 



PiBKOCH of DonuU Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Smnmon Clan-ConuU. 
Come away, come away, 

Hark to the simimons ! 
Come in your war-array. 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky. 
The war-pipe and permon 

Are at Inverlochy. 
Come every hill-pl.iid, and 

True heart that wears one, 

2 Compare this with the gathering-song in the third canto of 
the Ladr of the Lake, ante. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



661 



Corae every steel blade, and 
Strong hand that bears one. 

Leave untended the herd, 

The flock without slielter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded: 
Faster come, faster come, 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom, 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle plume. 

Blended witli heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 

Forward each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Knell for the onset ! 



Xora's Vote- 

Air — " Clia teid mis a chaoidh.^'i 
WRITTEN FOR ALBYN's ANTnOL®GY.^ 



1816. 



fn the original Gaelic, the Lady makes protestations 
that she will not go with the Red EarTs son, until 
tlie swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle 
in the lake — until one mountain should change 
places with another, and so forth. It is but fair 
to add, that tlicre is no aufhoritg for supposing 
that she altered her mitid — except the vehemence 
of her protestation. 



Heak what Highland Nora said, — 
" The Earlie's son I will not wed. 
Should all the race of nature die, 
And none be left but he and L 

I " I will never go with him.'* 
See also Mr. Thomson's Scottish Collection. 1822. 



For all the gold, for all the gear, 
And all the lands both far and near, 
That ever valor lost or won, 
I would not wed the Earlie's son." — 

n. 

" A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, 
" Are lightly made and lightly broke ; 
The heather on the mountam's height 
Begms to bloom in purple light ; 
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away 
That lustre deep from glen and brae ; 
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone. 
May blithely wed the Earlie's son." — 

III 

" The swan," she said, " the lake's clear breast 
May barter for the eagle's nest ; 
Tlie Awe's fierce stream may backward tmTi, 
Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn ; 
Our kilted clans, when blood is high. 
Before their foes may turn and fly ; 
But I, were all these marvels done. 
Would never wed the Earlie's soa" 

IV. 

Still in the water-lily's shade 

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made ; 

Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever. 

Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; 

To shun the clash of foeman's steel, 

No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel ; 

But Nora's heart is lost and won, 

— She's wedded to the Eai'lie's son 1 



iaacjircflov's eSatficrfnfl. 

Air — " TAflm' a Grigalach."^ 
WRITTEN FOR ALBVn's ANTHOLOGY. 



1816. 



These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively 
gathering-tune, nsed by the MacGregors. The 
severe treatment of this Clan, their outlawry, and 
the proscription of t)ieir very name, are alluded 
to in tfie Ballad.' 



The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae, 
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day ; 

Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach ! 

Gather, gather, gather, <fec. 

' " The MacGregor is come." 

* For the history of the clai^ see Introduction to Rob Rop 

Waverlcy J^ooels. vol, vii 



662 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Our signal far fight, that from monarchs we di'ew, 
Must be lieard but by uiglit in our vengeful haloo ! 
Then haluo, Grigalach ! haloo, Grigalach 1 
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, <fec. 

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuim and her 

towers, 
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours ; 

We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach 1 

Landless, landless, landless, <fec. 

But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, 
MacGregor has stiU both his heart and liis sword ! 

Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach ! 

Courage, courage, courage, ikc. 

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, 
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the 
eagles ! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Griga- 
lach 1 
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Ac 

While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the 
river, 

MacGregor, despite them, shaU flourish for ever ! 
Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach, 
Come then, come then, come then, Ac. 

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed 

shall career, 
O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer. 
And the rocks of Craig-Royston' Uke icicles melt. 
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt! 

Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! 

Gather, gather, gather, &c. 



Verses, 

COSIPOSED FOE THE OCCASIO^•, ADAPTED TO EATDn's 

AIR, 

" Ood Save the Emperor Francis,*^ 

AND SUNG BY A SELECT BAND AFTER THE DINNER GIVEN 
BY THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE 

GRAND-DUKE NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, 

AND BIS SmTE, 19TH DECEMBER, 1816. 

GoD protect brave Alexander, 
Heaven defend the noble Czar, 
Mighty Russia's liigh Commander, 

' *' Rob Roy MacGregor's own designation was of Inner- 
maid ; bathe appears to have acquired a right of some kind or 
other to the property or possession of Craig-Roysion, a do- 
main of rock and forest, lying on the east side of Loch Lomond, 
where tlial beautiful lake stretchea into the dasky mountains 
•* OlenfaUocU.'* — Introd. to Rob Hoy, Wave. JJ'ov. vii. 31. 



First in Europe's banded war ; 
For the realms he did deliver 
From the tyrant overthrown. 
Thou, of every good the Giver, 
Grant him long to bless Iiis own I 
Bless him, 'mid liis land's disaster. 
For her rights who battled brave, 
Of the land of foemen master, 
Bless him who their wrongs forgave. 

O'er his just resentment victor, 
Victor over Europe's foes, 
Late and long supreme director, 
Grant in peace his reign may close. 
Hail ! then, hail ! illustrious stranger ! 
Welcome to our moimtain strand ; 
Mutual interests, hopes, and dangei; 
Link us with thy native land. 
Freemen's force, or false beguiling, 
Shall that union ne'er divide. 
Hand in hand while peace is smiling. 
And in battle side by side." 



JTrom tl)c ^ntiquarji. 



1816. 



(1.)— TIME. 

"The window of a turret, wliich projected at 
an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very 
near Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from 
that quarter he heard again the same music which 
had probably broken short his dream. With its 
visionary character it had lost mudi of its charms 
— it was now nothing more than an air on the 
harpsichord, tolerably weU performed — such is the 
caprice of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A 
female voice sung, with some taste and great sim- 
plicity, sometliing between a song and a hymn, in 
words to the following effect :" — 

" Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall. 
Thou aged carle so stern and gray ? 

Dost thou its former pride recall. 
Or ponder how it pass'd away ?" — 

■ " Know'st thou not me !" the Deep Voice cried ; 
" So long enjoy'd, so oft misused — 

2 Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbnthnot, the Lord Provost 
of Edinburgh, who h.id the honor to entertain the Grand-Duke, 
now Emperor of Russia, was a personal friend of Sir Walter 
Scott's ; and these Verses, with their heading, are now given 
from the newspapers of 1B16. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



663 



Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 


With a chafron of steel on each horse's bead, 


Desired, neglected, and accused 1 


And a good knight upon his back. 


•' Before my breath, like blazing flax, 


They hadna ridden a mile, a mile. 


Man and his marvels pass away ! 


A mile, but barely ten. 


And changing empires wane and wax, 


When Donald came branking down the brae 


Ar« founded, flourish, and decay. 


Wi' twenty thousand men. 


Redeem mine hours— the space is brief — 


Their tartans they were waving wide, 


While in my glass tlie sand-graius shiver, 


Their glaives were ghmcmg clear, 


And measureless thy joy or grief. 


The pibrochs rung frae side to side, 


When Tote and thou shalt part for ever !" 


Would deafen ye to hear. 


Chap. X. 


* 




The great Earl in his stirrups stood, 




Tliat HiglJand liost to see : 


(2.)— EPITAPH ON JON 0' YE GIRNELL. 


"Now here a knight that's stout and good 




May "prove a jeopardie: 


" Beneath an old o.ik-tree, upon a hillock, lay a 




moss-grown stone, and, in memory of tlie departed 


" What would'st thou do, my squire so gay, 


worthy, it bore an inscription, of which, as Mr. 


That rides beside my reyne, — 


Oldbuck affirmed (though many doubted), tlie de- 


Were ye GlenalLan's Earl the day, 


parted cliaracters could be distinctly trsiced to the 


And I were Roland Cheyne ? 


following effect :" — 






" To turn the rein were sin and shame. 


Heie lyeth Jon o' ye Giruell. 


To fight were wond'rous peril, — 


Erth has ye nit and lieuen ye kirnell. 


What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, 


In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennis clokit, 


Were ye Glenallau's Earl f— 


nka gud mannis hertli wi' bairnis -was stokit. 




He deled a bull o' bear in firlottis fyve, 


" Were I Glenallan's Earl tliis tide, 


Four for ye halie kiike and ane for pure mennis 


And ye were Roland Clieyne, 


wyvis. 


The spear should be in my horse's side. 


Cluip. 3d 


And the bridle upon his mane. 




" If they hae twenty thousand blades. 


(3.)— ELSPETHS BALLAD. 


And we twice ten times ten. 




Yet they hae but theu- tartan plaids. 


" As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, 


And we are mail-clad men. 


he was surprised to hear tlie slirill tremulous voice 




of Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a wild 


" My horse sli.all ride through ranks sae rude, 


and doleful recitative :" — 


As through the moorland fern, — 




Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude 


The herring loves the merry moon-light, 


Grow caidd for Highliind kerne." 


The mackerel loves the wuid, 




But the oyster loves the dredging sang, 


»*»«** 


For they come of a gentle kind. 


* * * * * 


Now hand your tongue, baith wife and carle. 


He turn'd liim right and round again. 


And listen gi*eat and sma*. 


Said, Scorn na at my mither ; 


And I will sing of Gleiiallan's Earl 


Light loves I may get moiiy a ane. 


That fought on the red Harlaw. 


But minnie ne'er anither. 




amp. xl 


Tlie cronach's cried on Bennachie, 




And doun the Don and a'. 




And liieland and lawlaiid may mournfu' be 




For the sau- field of Harlaw. 


MOTTOES IN THE ANTIQUARY. 


■rhey saddled a hundred milk-wliite steeds, 


"The scraps of poetry which have been in v-r.v*. 


They hae bridled a hundred black. 


cases tacked to the beginning of chapter; in ;.Ih;.-p 



664 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



Novela, are sometimes quoted either from reading 
or from memory, but, in the general case, are pure 
invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to 
the collection of the British Poets to discover ap- 
posite mottoes, and, in the situation of the theatri- 
cal mechanist, who, when the white paper which 
represented his shower of snow was exhausted, 
continued the shower oj snowing brown, I drew 
on my memory as long as I could, and when that 
failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, 
in some cases, where actual names are affixed to 
the supposed quotations, it would be to httle pur- 
pose to seek them in the works of the authors re- 
ferred to. In some ca«e3, 1 have been entertained 
when Dr. Watts and other graver authors have 
been ransacked in vain for stanzas for which the 
novelist alone was responsible." — Introduction to 
Chrojiicles of the Canongate. 

1. 

I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, 

Wisdom and cunning had their shares of liun ; 

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, 

And pleased again by toys which childliood please ; 

As — book of fables graced with print of wood, 

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal. 

Or the rare melody of some old ditty. 

That tirst was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. 

(2.)— Chap. ex. 
" Be brave," she cried, " you yet may be our guest. 
Our haunted room was ever held the best : 
If, then, your valor can the tight sustain 
Of rusthng curtains, and the chnking chain ; 
If your courageous tongue have powers to talk. 
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ; 
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, 
I'll see your slieets well air'd, and show tlie room." 

True Story. 

(3.) — Chap. xi. 
Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent, 
And order'd all the pageants as they went; 
Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, — 
The loose and scatter'd relics of the day. 

(4.) — C.iAP. xn. 
Beggar ! — the only fi'eemen of your Common- 
wealth ; 
Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, 
Obey no governor, use no reUgion [toms, 

But what they draw from their own ancient cus- 
Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. 

Brome. 

(5.) — Chap. xix. 
Here has been such a .stormy encounter, 
Betwixt my cousin Captain, and this soldier, 



About I know not what ! — nothing, indeed ; 
Competitions, degrees, and comparatives 

Of soldiership I 

A Faire Quarrel. 

(6.)— Chap, xx 
■ If you fail honor here, 



Never presume to serve her any more ; 
Bid farewell to the integrity of arms. 
And the honorable name of soldier 
Fall from you, hke a shiver'd wreath of laurel 
By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. 
A. Faire Quarrel. 

(7.) — Chap. xxi. 
The Lord Abbot had a soul 



Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire : 
By magic stairs he went as deep as hell. 
And if in devils' possession gold be kept, 
He brought some sure from thence — 'tis hid in 
caves. 

Known, save to me, to none 

The Woiidcr of a Kingdome. 

(S.) — Chap. xxvn. 

Many great ones 

Would part with half their states, to have the plan 
And credit to beg in the first style. — 

Beggar s Bush, 

(9.) — Chap. xxx. 
Who is he ?— One that for the lack of land 
Shall fight upon the water — he hath challenged 
Formerly the grand whale ; and by Iiis titles 
Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. 
He tilted with a sword-fish — Marry, sir, 
Th' aquatic had the best — the argument 
Still galls our champion's breech. 

Old Play. 

(10.)— Ch.vp. xxxi. 
Tell me not of it, friend — when the young weep. 
Their tears are lukewarm brine ; — from our old 

eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, 
Chilling the furrows of our wither'd cheeks. 
Cold as oui* hopes, and harden'd as our feeUng— 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — owes recoil. 
Heap the Coir plain, and Weaken all before us. 

Old Play. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxiii. 
Remorse — she ne'er forsakes us !— • 
A bloodhound stanch — she tracks our rapid step 
Through the wild labyrinth of youthful pnrensy. 
Unheard, perch.ance, untU old age hath tamed us ; 
Then in our lair, when Time hath cliill'd our joints, 
And maim'd our hope of combat, or of flight. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



665 



We hear her deep-mouth'd bay, announcing all 
^If wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. 

Old Play. 

(12.) — Chap, xxxiv. 
Still in liis dead hand clench'd remain the strings 
That finill liis fiither's heart — e'en as the li)nb, 
Lopp'd off and laid in grave, retains, they tell u». 
Strange connnerce with the mutilated stump, 
Wliose nerves ai'e twinging still in maim'd exist- 
ence. Old Plaij. 

(13.) — Cinp. .x-x.w. 

Life, with you, 

Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries ; 
'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaff 'd, 
Tliat glads the heart and elevates the fancy : — 
TSIine is the poor residuum of the cup. 
Vapid, iind dull, and tasteless, only soiling 
With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. 

Old Play. 

(14.) — Chap, xxxvn. 
Yes ! I love Justice well — as well as you do — 
But, since the good dame's bUnd, she shall excuse 

me, 
If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb ; — 
The breath T utter now shall be no means 
To take awiiy from me my breath in future. 

Old Play. 

(15.) — Chap, xxxvin. 
Well, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coinage, 
Granting I knew all that you charge me with. 
What, tho' the tomb hath born a second birth. 
And given the wealth to one that knew not on't, 
Yet fair exchange was never robbery, 
Far less pure bounty Old Play. 

(16.) — Chap. xi. 
Life ebbs from such old age, unmark'd and silent. 
As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley. 
Late she rock'd merrily at the least impulse 
That wind or wave could give ; but now her keel 
Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en 
An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. 
Each wave receding shakes lier leas and less, 
Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain 
Useless as motionless. Old Play. 

(17.) — Chap. xli. 
So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, 
Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold. 
With hand outstretch'd, impatient to destroy. 
Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, 
Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream, 
For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. 
The Loves of Ike Sea- Weed- 



(18.)— Chap. xlii. 
Let those go see who will— I hke it not — 
For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp. 
And all tlie notliings he is now divorced from 
By the hard doom of stern necessity ; 
Yet is it sad to mark his alter d brow, 
Wliere Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil 
O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish. 

Old Play. 

(19.) — Chap, xliii. 
Fortune, you say, flies from us — She but circles, 
Like the fleet sea-bii'd round the fowlers skiff, — 
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next 
Brushing the wliite sail with her wliiter wing. 
As if to court the aim. — Experience watches, 
And has her on the wheel. Old Play. 

(20.) — Chap, xlfv 
Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her . 
Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms? 
Or sigh because she smiles — and smiles on others f 
Not I, by Heaven ! — I hold my peace too dear, 
To let it, like the plume upon her cap, 
Shaie at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. 

Old Play. 

[" It may be worth noting, that it was in cor- 
recting the proof-sheets of The Antiquary that 
Scott first took to equipping his chapters with 
mottoes of his own fabrication. On one occasion 
he happened to ask John B.allantyne, who was sit- 
ting by liim, to hunt for a particular passage in 
Beaumont and Fletcher. John did as he was bid, 
but did not succeed in discovering the lines. 
' Hang it, Johnnie,' cried Scott, ' I believe I can 
make a motto sooner than you will find one.' He 
did so accordingly ; and from that liour, whenever 
memory failed to suggest an appropriate epigraph 
he had recourse to the inexliaustible mines of * old 
play or ' old ballad,' to which we owe some of the 
mosit exquisite verses that ever flowed from ha 
pen." — Life, vol. v. p. 145.] 



Jrom tl)E Black Diuarf. 



1816. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. v. 
The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath 
Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring 
And, in the April dew, or beam of May, 



666 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Us moss and lichen freshen and revive ; 

And tlms the heart, most sear'd to human pleasure, 

Me'ta at the tear, joys in the smile of woman. 

Bcaimiont, 

(2.) — Chap. xvi. 

'Twas time and griefa 

That framed him thus : Time, with his fairer hand, 
Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
Tlie former man may make him — Bring us to liim. 
And chanre it as it may. Old Play. 



Jrom ©III fUortalitu. 



1816. 



(1.)— MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG. 

And wl-at though winter will pinch severe 
Tlu'ough locks of gray and a cloak that's old. 

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavaher, 
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 

For time will rust the brightest blade. 
And years will break the strongest bow ; 

Was never wight so starkly made, 

But tune and years would overthrow ? 

Chap. xix. 



(2.)— VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK. 

" With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped 
in a copy of verses, written obviously with a fcel- 
mg wliich atoned, in Morton's opinion, for the 
roughness of the poetiy, and the conceits with 
which it abounded, accordmg to the taste of the 
period :" — ■ 

Thv hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, 
As in that well-remember'd night, 
When first thy mystic braid was wove, 
And first my Agnes whisper'd love. 

Since then how often hast thou press'd 
Tlie torrid zone of this wild breast, 
Wliose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell 
With the first sin wliich peopled hell, 
A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean, 
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion ! — 
O, if such clime thou canst endure. 
Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure. 



What conquest o'er each erring thought 

Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought 1 

I liad not wander'd wild and wide. 

With such an angel for my guide ; 

Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me, 

If she had lived, and Uved to love me. 

Not then tliis world's wild joys had been 
To me one savage hunting scene, 
My sole delight the headlong race, 
And frantic hurry of the chase ; 
To start, pursue, and bring to bay, 
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey. 
Then — from the carcass turn away I 
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, 
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed 
Yes, God and man might now approve me. 
If thou hadst hved, and lived to love me. 

Chap, sxiii. 



(.3.)— EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY 

" Gentle reader, I did request of mine honest 
friend Peter Proudfoot, travelling merchant, kiiown 
to many of this land for his faithful and just deal- 
ings, as well in niusUus and cambrics as in small 
wares, to procm-e me, on his next percgi'inations to 
that vicinage, a copy of the Epitaphion alluded to. 
And, according to his report, which I see no ground 
to discredit, it runneth thus :" — 

Here lyes ane saint to prelates surly, 
Being John Balfour, sometime of Burlcy 
Who, stu-red up to vengeance take. 
For Solemn League and Cov'nant's sake. 
Upon the Magus-Moor, in Fife, 
Did tak' James Sliarpe the apostate's life ; 
By Dutclmian's hands was hacked and shot. 
Then drowned in Clyde near thi- saam spot. 

Chap. xliv. 



MOTTOES. 



(1.)— Chap. v. 
Arouse thee, youth ! — it is no common call, — 
God's Church is Ipaguer'd — ^haste to man the wall ; 
Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on high, 
Signals of honor'd death or victory. 

Jatnes Ditjf. 

(2.) — Chap. xiv. 
My hounds m.ay a' rin masterless. 
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



667 



My lord may grip my vassal lands, 
For there again maun I never be I 

Old Ballad. 

(3.) — Chap, xxxiv. 
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! 
To all the sensual world proclaim, 
One crowded hour of glorious life 
Is worth an age without a name. 

Anonymous. 



STJc Scnrdj after JQajppiiiess;' 

OR, 

THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN. 



1817. 



Oh for a glance of that gay lluse's eye. 
That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing tale, 
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly, 
^VTien Giam Battista bade lier vision hail !— " 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detad 
Given by the natives of that land canorous ; 
Italian license loves to leap the pale. 
We Britons have the fear of slumie before us, 
And, if not wise iu mu'th, at least must be de- 
corous. 

II. 

In the far eastern clime, no great while since. 
Lived Sultaun SoUmaun, a miglity prince. 
Whose eyes, as oft as they perform'd their round. 
Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground ; 
Whose ears received the same unvaried phrase, 
" Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys !" 
All have theh tastes — this may the fancy strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeiu- like ; 
For me, I love the honest heart and wai'm 
Of Jlonarch who can amble round his farm, 
Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, 
In chimney corner seek domestic joys — 
1 love a prince will bid the bottle pass. 
Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass ; 
In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay. 
Keep up the jest, and muigle m the lay — 
Sudi Monarchs best our free-born humors suit. 
But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. 

1 Kirst pnblislicJ in "The Sale Room, No. V.," Febrnary 
1, 1817. 

- The hint of the ollowing talc is taken from La Camiscia 
.M.igica, a novel oi Giam Battista Casti. 



IIL 

This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway — 

And wliere's Serendib? may some critic say. — 

Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, 

Scare not my Pegasus before I start ! 

If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap. 

The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map,- - 

Famed mariner ! whose merciless narrations 

Drove every friend and kinsman out of patierre, 

Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter 

He deign'd to tell them over to a porter — ' 

Tlie last edition see, by Long, and Co., 

Rees, Hiu-st, and Orme, our fathers in the Row 

IV. 

Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction — 
This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction — 
(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses, 
To raise the spirits and reform the juices, 
— Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures 
In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours). 
The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter 
Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter — ■ 
Or if some SloUah had hag-rid liis dreamc 
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wUd themes 
Belonging to the MoUali's subtle craft, 
I wot not — but the Sultaun never laugh'd. 
Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy 
That scorn'd all remedy — profane or holy ; 
In his long list of melanchohes, mad. 
Or mazed, or dimib, hath Burton none so bad.* 



Physicians soon aiTived, sage, ware, and tried. 
As e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd room ; 
With heedful glance the Sultatm's tongue they 

eyed, 
Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside 

And then in solemn accent spoke their doom, 
" His majesty is very far from welL" 
Then each to work with his specific fell : 
The Hakun Ibrahim instanter brought 
His imguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, 
While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, 
Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily. ' 
More and yet more in deep array appear. 
And some the front assail, and some the rear ; 
Their remedies to reinforce and vary, 
Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary; 
Till the tired Monarch, though of words grown 

chary. 
Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labor, 
Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre. 



3 See the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. 
* See Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. 
For these hard words see D'Herbelot, or the learned edit(« 
of the Recipes of Avicenoa. 



668 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



There lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches 
To rid tlie palace of those learned leeches. 

VI. 
Then was the council call'd — by their advice 
(They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice, 
And sought to shift it off from their own shoul- 
ders), 
Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent, 
To call a sort of Eastern Parliament 

Of feudatory cliieftains and freeholders — 
Such liave the Persians at this very day. 
My gallant Malcolm calls them cmiroultai ; — * 
I'm not prepared to show in this slight song 
Tliat to Serendib the same forms belong, — 
E'en let the learn'd go search, and tell me if I'm 
wrong. 

VII. 

The Omrah=i,' each with hand on scymitar. 
Gave, like Sempronius, still tlieir voice for war — 
'* The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath 
Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death ; 
Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, 
B;mg the loud gong, and raise the shout of bat- 
tle! 
Tliis dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's day, 
Sliall from his kindled bosom flit away. 
When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round. 
And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. 
Each noble pants to own the glorious summons — 
And for the charges — Lo ! your faithful Com- 
mons !" 
Tlie Riots who attended in their places 

(Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) 
Lool^d ruefully in one another's faces. 

From this oration auguring much disquiet, 
Double assessment, forage, and free quarters ; 
And fearing these as China-men tlie Tartars, 
Or as the whisker'd vermin fear tlie mousers. 
Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers. 

VIII. 
.\nd next came forth the reverend Convocation, 
Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban 
green, 
Iniaum and MoUah there of every station, 
Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen, 
^riieir vote^ were various — some advised a Mosque 

TiVith fitting revenues should be erected, 
With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, 

To recreate a band of priests selected ; 
Others opined that through the realms a dole 
Be made to holy men, whose prayers might 
profit 
The Sulta'm's weal in body and in souL 

' See Srr John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia. 



But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, 
More closely touch'd the point : — " Thy studious 

mood," 
Quoth he, " Prince ! hath thicken'd all thy 

blood. 
And dull'd thy brain with labor beyond measure ; 
Wlierefore relax a space and take thy pleasure, 
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure ; 
From all the cares of state, my Liege, enlarge 

thee, 
And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy." 

IX. 
These counsels sage availed not a whit. 

And so the patient (as is not uncommon 
Wliere gi'ave physicians lose their time and wit) 

Resolved to take advice of an old woman ; 
His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, 
And still was called so by each subject duteous. 
Now, whetlier Fatima was witch in earnest, 

Or only made believe, I cannot say — 
But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest, 

By dint of magic amulet or lay ; 
And, when all other skill in vain was shown, 
She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. 

X. 

" S;/mpnfhin magica hath wonders done" 
(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son), 
" It works upon the fibres and the pores. 
And thus, insensibly, our health restores, 
And it must help us here. — Tliou must endure 
The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. 
Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can, 
The inmost vesture of a happy man, 
I mean his shirt, my son ; which, taken warm 
And fresh from off his back, shall ch.ose your harm. 
Bid every current of your veins rejoice, 
And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's." 
Such was the counsel from his mother came ; — 
I know not if she had some under-game. 
As Doctors have, who bid their patients roam 
And live abroad, when sure to die at home ; 
Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, 
Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen-Mo- 
ther ; 
But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it). 
That such was her advice — the Sultaun took it. 

XL 

All are on board — the Sultaun and his train, 
In gilded galley prompt to plough the main. 
Tlie old Rais' was the first who questioned, 
" Whither ?" 
They paused — " Arabia," thought the pensive 
Prince, 



a Nobility. 



5 Master of the veasel. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



669 



" Was call'd The Happy many ages since — 
For Mokha, Rais." — And they came safely 
thither. 
But not in Araby, with .all lier balm, 
Not where Judea weeps beneath lier palm, 
Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste, 
Could there the step of happiness be traced. 
One Copt alone profess'd to have seen her smile, 
Wlien Bruce his goblet fiU'd at infant Nile : 
She bless'd the dauntless traveller as lie quafTd, 
But vanish'd from him with the ended draught. 

XII. 

" Enough of turbans," .«aid the weary Iving, 
" These dolimaus of ours are not the tiling ; 
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I 
Inchne to think some of them must be happy ; 
At least, they have as fair a cause as any can, 
Tliey drink good wine and keep no Ramazan. 
Tiien northward, ho !" — The vessel cuts the sea. 
And fair Italia lies upon her lee. — 
But fair Italiji, she who once unfurl'd 
Her eagle banners o'er a conquer'd world. 
Long from her throne of domination tumbled, 
La\', b}' her quondam vassals, sorely liunibled ; 
Tlie Pope liimself look'd pensive, pale, and lean, 
And was not half the man he once had been. 
" 'VVTiile these the priest and those the noble 

fleeces. 
Our poor old boot,"' they said, " is torn to pieces. 
Its tops' the vengeful claws of Austria feel, 
And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel.^ 
If happiness you seek, to tell you truly. 
We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli ; 
A tramontane, a heretic, — the buck, 
PolTaredio ! stUl has all the luck ; 
By land or ocean never strikes his flag — 
And then — a perfect walking money-bag." 
Off set om- Prince to seek John Bull's abode. 
But first took France — it lay upon the road. 

XIII. 
Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion, 
AVas agitated like a settling ocean. 
Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd 

him. 
Only the glory of his house had fail'd hlin ; 
Besides, some tumors on his noddle biding. 
Gave indication of a recent hiding.* 
Our Prince, though Sultauns of such things are 

heedless, 
Thought it a thing indelicate and needless 
To ask, if at that moment lie was happy. 
And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme ilfaul. a 

1 The well-known resemblance of Italy in tlie map. 
"J Florence, Venice, &c. 

^ The Calabrias, infestetl by bands of assassins. One of the 
leaders was called Fra Diavolo, i. e. Brother Devil. 



Loud voice mustered up, for " Vive Ic Roi .'" 

Then whisper'd, " Ave you any news of Nappy I" 
Tlie Sultauu answer'd liim with a cross question, — 
" Pray, can you tell me aught of one John Bull, 
That dwells somewhere beyond your herring- 
pool ?" 
Tlie query seem'd of difficult digestion, 
The party .slirugg'd, and grinn'd, and took his snuff 
And found his wliole good-breeding scarce enough 

XIV. 

Twitcliing his visage into as m.any puckers 
As damsels wont to put into their tuclvers 
(Ere liberal Fasliion damn'd both lace and lawn. 
And bade the veil of Modesty be drawn). 
Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, 
" Jean Bool ! — I vas not know him — Yes, 1 vas — 
I vas remember dat, von year or two, 
I saw him at von place call'd Vaterloo — 
Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment battu, 
Dat is for Englisliman, — m'entendez-vous ? 
But den he had wit Mm one damn son-gun, 
Rogue I no like — dey call him Vellington. " 
Monsieur's politeness could not hide his fret, 
So Solimaun took leave, and cross'd the straii. 

XV. 
John Bull w.TS in his very worst of moods. 
Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods ; 
His sugar -loaves and bales about he threw. 
And on his counter beat tlie devil's tattoo. 
His wars were ended, and the victory won. 
But then, 'twas reckoning-day witli honest John ; 
And authors vouch, 'twas still this Worthy's way 
" Never to grumble till he came to pay ; 
And then he always thinks, his temper's such. 
The work too Uttle, and the piiy too much.'" 

Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty. 
That when his mort,al foe was on the floor, 
And past the power to harm his quiet more. 

Poor John had wellnigh wept for Bonaparte ! 
Sucli was the wight whom SoUmaun salam'd, — ■ 
"And who are you," John answer'd, "and ba 
d— d i" 

XVL 

" A stranger, come to see the happiest man, — 
So, siguior, all avouch, — in Frangistau." — ° 
" Happy ? my tenants breaking on my hand ; 
Unstock'd my pastures, and untdl'd my land ; 
Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths 
The sole consumers of my good broadcloths — 
Happy ? — Why, cursed war and racking tax 
Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs." — 

* Or drubbing ; so called in the Slang Dictionary. 
6 See the True-Born Englishman, by Daniel De Foe. 
< Europe. 



670 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' In that case, signior, I may take my leave ; 

I came to ask a favor — but I grieve" 

" Favor ?" said John, and eyed tlie Sultaun hard, 
" It's my belief you come to break the yard ! — 
But, stay, you look hke some poor foreign sinner, — 
Take that to buy yourself a shht and dinner." — 
"Witli that he chuck'd a guinea at his head ; 
lint, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, 
" Permit me, sir, yom- bounty to decline ; 
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. 
Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you "well." — 
" Ki.ss and be d — d," quoth John, " and go to 
hell !" 

XVII. 

Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, 
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg 
Wlien the blithe bagpipe blew — but, soberer now, 
Slie doiweJy span her flax and milk'd her cow. 
And wliereas erst she was a needy slattern, 
Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern. 
Yet once a-month her house was partly swept, 
And once a-week a plenteous board slie kept. 
And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws 
And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, 
She now was gi-own amenable to laws, 
I A quiet soul as any in the nation ; 
The sole remembrance of her warUke joys 
Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. 
John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife. 
She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish Ufe, 
Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbor, 
Wlio look'd to the main chance, declined no labor. 
Loved a long gi'ace, and spoke a northern jargon, 
And was d — d close in making of a bargam. 

XVIII. 
The Sultaun enter'd, and he made liis leg. 
And with decorum curtsy 'd sister Peg ; 
(She loved a book, and knew a tiling or two. 
And guess'd at once with whom she had to do). 
She bade him " Sit into the fire," and took 
Her dram, her cake, her kebbnck from the nook ; 
Ask'd him " about the news from Eastern parts ; 
And of her absent bairns, puir Highland hearts 1 
If peace brought down the price of tea and j5ep- 

per, 
^.nd if the nifimu/s were grown ovi/ cheaper ; — 
M'^cre there nae speerings of our Mungo Park — 
Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark ? 
If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinnin', 
I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen." 

XIX. 

Tlien up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle 
In search of goods her customer to nail. 

Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely throttle. 
And hoUo'd, — " Ma'am, that is not what I ail. 



Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in tliis snug glen {"- - 
" Happy ?" said Peg : " What for d'ye want 1 ) 

keni 
Besides, just tliink upon this by-gane year. 

Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh."— 
" What say you to the present ?" — " Meal's sue 

dear, 
To mak' their brose my bau'ns have scan? 

aneugh." — 
" The devil take the shii't," said Solimaun, 
•' I think my quest will end as it began. — 

Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no ceremony, I beg" 

" Ye'll no be for the hnen, then ?" said Peg. 

XX. 

Now, for the land of verdant Erin, 

The Sultaun's royal bark is steering, 

The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells. 

The cousin of John Bidl, as story tells. 

For a long space had -John, witli words of thunder. 

Hard looks, and harder knocks, ke])t Paddy under, 

Till the poor lad, hke boy that's flogg'd unduly, 

Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. 

Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, 

A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow ; 

His landlord, and of middle-men two brace. 

Had screw'd his rent up to the starvhig- place ; 

His garment was a top-coat, and an old one, 

His meal was a potato, and a cold one ; 

But still for fun or frohc, and all that. 

In the round world was not the match of Pat. 

XXI. 

The Sultaun saw him on a holiday, 

Which is with Paddy stiU a jolly day : 

When mass is ended, and his load of sins 

Confess'd, and Mother Climch hath from her bums 

Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit. 

Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit 1 

To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free. 

And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. 

" By Mahomet," said Sultaun Solimaun, 

" That ragged fellow is our very man ! 

Rush in and seize him — do lot do liim hurt. 

But, will he nUl he, let me nave liis shirt." — 

XXII. 
Shilela their plan was wellnigh after baulking 
(Much less provocation will set it f\-walking). 
But the odds that foU'd Hercules foil'd Paddy 

Whack; 
They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripp'd 

him — Alack 1 
Up-bubboo! Paddy had not a shirt to his 

back 1 ! 1 
And the King, disappointed, with soi-rviw and 

shame. 
Went back to Serendib as sad as he came. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



Gil 



iWv. Keiiiblc's ji'niclBcU ^tiXix ess,' 

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE. 



ISIY. 



As the worn "w.ar-horse, at the trumpet 3 souad, 
Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the 

ground — 
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns, 
And longs to rush on the embattled lines, 
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear. 
Can scarce sustain to tlmik our parting near ; 
To think my scenic hour for ever past. 
And that these valued plaudits are my last. 
Wliy should we part, while still some powers 

remain. 
That in your service strive not yet in vain ? 
Cannot higli zeal the strength of youth supply. 
And sense of duty fhre the fading eye ; 
And all the "WTongs of age remain subdued 
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ? 
Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close. 
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; 
But .all too soon the transient gleam is past, 
It cannot be renew'd, .and will not last ; 
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage 
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. 
Yes ! It were poor, remembering what I was, 
To live a pensioner on your apphause, 
To di'aiu the dregs of your endur.ance dry, 
And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ; 
Tin every sneering youth around inquires, 
" Is this the man who once could please our 

su'es V 
And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien, 
To warn me off from the encumber'd scene. 
This must not be ; — and higher duties crave, 
Some space between the theatre and the grave, 
That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 
I may adjust my mantle ere I f;ill : 

1 These lines first appeared. April 5, 1817, in a weekly sheet, 
called the " Hale Room," contlucteii and published by Messrs. 
Ballantyiie and Co. at Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. 
James Ballantyne says, '*The cliaracter fixed upon, with 
happy propriety, lor Kemble's closing scene, was Macbeth, in 
which he took his final leave of Scotland on the evening of 
Saturday, the 29th March, 1817. He had labored under a 
severe cold for a lew days before, but on this memorable night 
the physical annoyance yielded to the energy of his mind, — 
* He was,' he said, in the green-room, immediately before the 
curtain rose, ' determined to leave behind him the most per- 
fect specimen of his art which he had ever shown,' and his 
success was complete. At the moment of the tyrant's death 
the curtain fell by the universal acclamation of the audience. 
The applauses were vehement and prolonged ; they ceased — 
were resumed — rose again -were reiterated — ami again were 
hushed. In a few minutes the curtain a.scended, and Mr. 
Kemble came forward in the dress of Macbeth (the audience 
t)y a oonsenti'jeous movement rising to receive him), to deliver 



The last, the closing scene, must be my own. 
My life's brief act in public service flown. 

Here, then, adieu ! while yet some well-graced 

parts 
May fix an ancient favorite in your hearts, 
Not quite to be forgotten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger men : 
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how sliall mine forget — 
O, how forget ! — how oft I hither came 
In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame I 
How oft around your circle this weak hand 
Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wand, 
Till the full bm'st of inspiration came. 
And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame ! 
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures, 
Those hours must live — and .all their charms are 

yours. 

favor'd Land ! renown'd for arts and arms, 
For manly talent, and for female charms. 
Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line, 
Wlitxt fervent benedictions now were thine 1 
But my last part is play'd, my knell is rung, 
When e'en yom' praise falls faltering from my 

tongue ; 
And all that you can hear, or I can tell. 
Is — Friends and Patrons, htiil, and fare you well. 



a f n c s r 

WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. 



1817. 



When the lone pilgrim views aftir 
Tlie slu-ine that is his guiding star, 
With awe liis footsteps print the road 
Wliich the loved saint of yore has trod. 

his farewell." .... " Mr. Kemble delivered these lines 
with exquisite beauty, and with an effect that was evidenced 
by the tears and sobs of many of the audience. His own emotions 
were very conspicuous. When his farewell was closed, he liji- 
gered long on the stage, as if unable to retire. The ho'jse again 
stood up, and cheered him with the waving of hats and long 
shouts of applause. At length, he finally retired, and, jn so 
far as regards ^."cotland, the curtain dropped upon his profes- 
sional life for ever." 

a These linea were first printed in " The Forget-Me-Not, for 
1834." They were written for recitation by the distinguished 
actress. Miss Smith, now iVlrs. Hartley, on the night of tier ben- 
efit at the Edinburgh Theatre, in 1817 ; but reached her too late 
for her purpose. In a letter which inclosed them, the poet 
intimated that they were written on the morning of the day on 
which they were sent — that he thought the idea better than the 
execution, and forwarded them with the hope of their adding 
perhaps " a little salt to the bill." 



672 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As near he draws, and yet more near, 
Hia dim eye sparkles with a tear ; 
The Gothic fane's unwonted show, 
The choral hymn, the tapers' glow, 
Oppress his soul ; while they dehght 
And chasten rapture with aflright. 
No longer dare he think liis toil 
Can merit aught liis patron's smile ; 
Too light appears the distant way. 
The cliilly eve, the sultry day — 
All these endured no favor claim. 
But murmuring forth the sainted name, 
He lays his little offering down. 
And only deprecates a frown. 

We too, who ply the Thespian art, 
Oft feel such bodings of the he.irt, 
And, when our utmost powers are strain'd. 
Dare hardly hope your favor gain'd. 
She, who from sister clinics has sought 
The ancient land where Wallace fought ; — 
Land long renown'd for ai'ms and arts, 
And conqueruig eyes and dauntless hearts ; — ' 
She, as the flutterings here avow. 
Feels all the pilgrim's terrors now ; 
Yet sure on Caledoman plain 
The stranger never sued in vain. 
'Tis yours the hospitable task 
To give the applause she dare not ask ; 
And they who bid the pilgrim speed. 
The pilgrim's blessing be their meed. 



Z\)t Sun upon tlje JB'civtrlaU) Jljfll. 



1817. 



[" Scott's enjoyment of his new territories was, 
however, interrupted by various returns of his 
cramp, and the depression of spirit which always 
attended, in his case, the use of opium, the only 
medicine that seemed to have power over the dis- 
ease. It was while struggling with such languor, 
on one lovely evening of this autumn, that he com- 
posed the following beautiful verses. They mark 
the very spot of their birtli,— namely, the then 
naked height overhanging tlie northern side of the 
Cauldshiels Loch, from wliicli Meh-ose Abbey to 
the eastward, and the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow 
to the west, are now visible over a wide range of 
rich woodland, — all the work of the jjoet's hand." 
— Life, vol V. p. 237.] 

1 " O favorM land ! renown'd for arts and arms. 
For manly talent, and for female charms.'* 

Lines writtev for Mr. J. Kemble. 
* " Natbaiiel Gow told me that he got the air from an old 



Air — '* Rimhin alriin 'stu mo j 



The air. composed by the Editor of .Mhyn's Anthology.' Tin 
words written for Mr. George Thomson's Scottish Melodie« 
[1822.] 



The sun upon the Weu-dlaw Hill, 

In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet; 
The westland wind is hush and still. 

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 

Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; 
Though evening, with her richest dye. 

Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 

With listless look along the plain, 

I see Tweed's silver current glide. 
And coldly mark the holy fane 

Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. 
The quiet lake, the balmy air, 

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,— 
Are they stiU such as once they were '< 

Or is the dreary change in me ? 

Alas, the warp'd and broken board, 

How can it bear the painter's dye ! 
The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord, 

How to the minstrel's skill reply I 
To aching eyes each landscape lowers. 

To feverish pulse each gale blows chUl ; 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 

Were barren as this moorland hill. 



Srjc IfHonfts of aSanflor's fHavcJ. 

Air — " Ymdaitk Miongc,^^ 
WHITTEN FOB MR. GEO. THOMSON'S WELSH MELODUGft 



1817. 



Ethelfeld or Olfeid, King of ^Northumberland, 
havinrf besieged Chester in 613, and Brockmael, 
a British Prince, advancing to relieve it, the re- 
ligious of the neighboring Meniastcry of Bangor 
marched in procession, to pray for the success of 
their countrymen. But the British being totally 
defeated, the heathen victor put the monks to the 
sword, and destroyed their monastery. The tune 
to tchich these verses are adapted is called the 
Mojiks' March, and is supposed to have been 
played at their ill-omened procession. 



When the heathen trumpet's clang 
Round beleaguer'd Chester rang, 

gentleman, a Mr. Dalrymple of Orange6eld (lie thinksl, who 
had it from a friend in the Western Isles, as an old Highland 
air.'*- George Thomson. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



673 



Veiled nun and friar gray 
Marcird from Bangor's fair Abbaye ; 
Hi^h their holy anthem sounds, 
Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds, 
Floating down the silvan Dee, 

miserere, Domine ! 

On the long procession goes. 
Glory round their crosses glows. 
And the Virgin-mother mild 
In their peaceful banner smiled ; 
Who could think such saintly band 
Donm'd to feel unliallow'd hand ? 
Such was the Divine decree, 

miserere, Domine! 

Bands that masses only sung, 
Hands that censers only swung. 
Met the northern bow and bill. 
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill ; 
Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand. 
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand. 
Woe to Saxon cruelty, 

miserere, Domine I 

Weltering amid warriors slain, 
Spurn'd by steeds with bloody mane, 
Slaughter'd down by heathen blade, 
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid : 
Word of parting rest unspoke. 
Mass unsung, and bread unbroke ; 
For their souls for charity, 

Sincf, miserere, Domini I 

Bangor ! o'er the murder wail 1 
Long thy ruins told the tale, 
Shatter'd towers and broken arch 
Long recall'd the woeful march ;' 
On thy shrine no tapers burn, 
Never shall thy priests return ; 
The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, 

miserere, Dtnnine I 



Hetter 



TO HIS GEACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, 
DRUMLANEIG CASTLE, 

Sanquhar, 2 o'clock, July 30, 1817. 
Fkom Ross, where the clouds on Benlomond are 

sleeping — 
From Greenock, where Clyde to the Ocean is 

sweeping — 



From Largs, whore the Scotch gave the Northmen 
a drilling — 

From Ardrossan, whose harbor cost many a shil- 
ling — 

From Old Cumnock, where beds are as hard as a 
plank, sir — 

From a chop and green pease, and a cliicken in 
Sanquhar, 

This eve, please the Fates, at Drunilanrig we an 
chor. W. S. 

[Sir Walter's companion on this excursion was 
Captain, now Sii" Adam Ferguson. — See Life, voL 
V. p. 23-1.] 



Jrom Hob Hoj). 



1817. 



(1.)— TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD THE 
BLACK PRINCE. 

" A BLOTTED piece of paper dropped out of the 
book, and, being taken up by my father, he inter- 
rupted a liint from Owen, on the propriety of se- 
curing loose memoranda with a little paste, by 
exclaiming, ' To the memory of Edward the Black 
Prince — Wliat's all this ? — verses ! — By Heaven, 
Frank, you are a greater blockhead than I sup- 
posed you !' " 

for the voice of that wild horn. 
On Fontarabian echoes borne. 

The dying hero's caU, 
That told imperial Charlemagne, 
How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain 

Had wrought liis champion's fall. 

" ' Fontarabian echoes !' continued my father, 
interrupting liimself ; ' the Fontarabian Fair would 
have been more to the purpose. — Paynim > — 
What's Paynim ? — Could you not say Pagan as 
well, and write English, at least, if you must 
needs write nonsense ?' " — 

Sad over earth and ocean sounding, 
And England's distant cliffs astounding, 

Such are the notes should say 
How Britain's hope, and France's fear, 
Victor of Cressy and Poitier, 

In Bourdeaux dying lay. 



1 William of Malmsbury says, that in his time the extent of rtim, tot anfractos porticnra, tanta tarba rttderom qaantom Vlf 
Ihfi rains of the monastery bore ample witness to the desolation alibi cemas." 
occasioned by the piassacre : — " tot semiruli iiarietes ecclesia- ! 
85 



614: 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" ' Poitiers, by the way, is always spelled with 
an s, and I know no reason why orthogi-aphy should 
give place to rhj'me.' " 

" Raise my faint head, my squires," he said, 
" And let the casement be display'd, 
That I may see once more 
The splendor of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mh-ror'd wave, Garonne, 
And Blaye's empurpled shore." 

" ' Garonne and sun is a bad rhyme, ^^ly, 
Frank, you do not even understand the beggarlj- 
trade you have chosen.' " 

" Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep, 
His fall the dews of evening steep. 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear, 
"When England's maids .nnd matrons hear 

Of their Black Edw.ard dead. 

" And though my sun of glory set, 
Nor France nor England shall forget 

The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise. 
New planets in these southern skies, 

Through clouds of blood and ilame." 

"'A cloud of flame is something new — Good- 
tnorrow, my masters all, and a merry Christmas 
to you 1 — MTiy, the bellman writes better hues !' " 

Chap, il 



(2.)— TRANSLATION FROM ARIOSTO. 



1817. 



" Miss Vernon proceeded to read the first stanza, 
wliich was nearly to the following purpose :" — 

Ladies, and knights, and arras, and love's fair flame. 

Deeds of emprize and courtesy, I sing ; 
What time the Moors from sultry Africk came, 

Led on by Agramant, theu- youthful king — 
He whom revenge and hasty he did bring 

O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war ; 
Such His fi'om old Trojano's death did spring, 

Which to avenge he came from realms afar, 
And menaced Christian Charles, the Roman Em- 
peror. 

Of daimtless Roland, too, my strain shall sound. 
In import never known in prose or rhyme, 



How He, the chief of judgment deem'd profound, 
For luckless love was crazed upon a time — 

" ' There is a great deal of it,' said she, glancing 
along the paper, and interrupting the sweetest 
sounds which mortal ears can drink in ; those of a 
youthful poet's verses, namely, read by the hps 
which ai-e deai'est to them." 

diap. svi. 



(3.)— M T T E S . 

(1.)— Chap. x. 
In the wide pile, by others heeded not, 
Hers was one sacred solitary spot, 
Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain, 
For moral hunger food, and cm'es for moral pain. 

Anony7nous. 

" The Hbrary at Osbaldistone Hall was a gloomy 
room," (fee. 

(2.) — Chap. xin. 
Dire was his thought, who first in poison steep'd 
The weapon form'd for slaughter — direr his, 
And wortliier of damnation, who instiU'd 
The mortal venom in the sociiil cup. 
To fill the veins with death instead of life. 

Ano7i7/mous. 

(3.) — Chap. xxn. 
Look round thee, young Astolpho : Here's the 

place 
Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in, — 
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. 
Within these wiiUs, stifled by damp and stench. 
Doth Hope's fair torch expu-e ; and at the snuff, 
Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and wuyward. 
The desperate revelries of wild despair, 
Kindling their hell-born cressets, hght to deeds 
That the poor captive would have died ere prac- 
tised. 
Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. 

The Prison, Scene iii. Act i. 

(4.) — Chap, xxvii. 
Far as the eye coidd reach no tree was sei n. 
Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the Hvely green ; 
No bhds, except as birds of passage, flew ; 
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo ; 
No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear, 
Were seen to ghde, or heard to wai'ble here. 
Prophecy of Famine. 

(5.) — Chap. xxxi. 
" Woe to the vanquish'd !" was stern Brenno's worui 
Wlien sunk pi oud Rome beneath the Gallic sword — • 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



C75 



" Woe to the vauquish'd !" when his massive blade 
Bore down the scale against her ransom weigh'd, 
And on the field of foughten battle still, 
Who knows no limit save the victor's wUl. 

Tlie Gaulliad. 

(6.) — Chap. xxxn. 
And be he safe restored ere evening set, 
Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart, 
And power to wreak it in an arm'd hand, 
Yom- laud shall ache for't. 

Old Flay. 

(7.) — Chap, xxxvi. 
Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest. 
Like the shroud of the dead on the mountain's 

cold breast ; 
To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply, 
And the lake her loue bosom expands to the sky. 



E4)flo!jue to tljc Slppeal.' 

spoken bt mrs. hexky siddons, 
Feb. 16, 1818. 

A CAT of yore (or else old ^sop lied) 
Was changed into a fair and blooming bride, 
But spied a mouse upon her marriage day. 
Forgot her spouse, and seized upon her prey ; 
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw, 
Tlirew off poor me, and pounced upon papa. 
Kis neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose. 
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labor 
Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbor.' 

Yes, times are changed ; for, in your fathers' age, 
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; 
However high advanced by futm-e fate, 
There stands the bench (jjoints to the Fit) that first 

received their weight. 
The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see. 
Doom though unwigg'd, and plead •without a fee. 

But now, astounding each poor mimic elf, 
Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; 
Tremendous neighbor, on our right she dwells. 
Builds her high towers and excavates her cells ; 
■Wliile on the left she agitates the town, 

1 " The Appeal," a Tragedy, by John Gait, the celebrated 
aathorof tlie " Annals of the Parish," and other Novels, waa 
played for four nights at this time in Edinburgh. 

2 It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece 
are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. 
The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from 
the theatre. 



With the tempestuous question, Up or down '.' 
'Twixt ScyUa and Charybdis thus stand we, 
Law's final end, and law's uncertainty. 
But, soft 1 who lives at Rome tlie Pope must flat tor, 
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. 
Then — just farewell I We wait with serious awe 
Till your applause or censure gives the law. 
Trusting oiu' humble eftorts may assure ye. 
We hold you Com't and Counsel, Judge and Jiuy. 



Jttacfetimmon's Slament.* 



1818. 



Air — " Cha till mi tuille.'^^ 

Maclcrmimon, hereditary piper to the Laird of 
3Iacleod, is said to have composed this Lament 
when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant 
and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was 
impressed with a belief, which the event verified, 
that he was to be slain in the approaching feud ; 
and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha till mi tuUle ; 
ged thiUis Macleod, cha tiU Mackrimmon," " ] 
shall never return; although JIacleod returns, 
yet Mackrimmon shall never return .'" The piece 
is but too well known, from its being t/ie strain 
with which tlie ejnigrants from the West High- 
lands and Isles usually/ take leave of their native 
shore. 



MacLeod's wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, 
The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys ; 
Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and 

quiver. 
As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunvegan 

for ever ! 
Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are 

foaming ; 
Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer aio 

roaming ; 
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, motmtixin, and river > 
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never 1 

" Farewell the bright clouds that on QuUlan are 

sleepmg ; 
Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are 

weeping ; 

8 At this time the poblic of Edinbnrgh was much agitated by 
a lawsuit betwixt the Magistrates and many of the Inhabitants 
of the City, concerning a range of new buildings on the western 
side of the North Briilge; which the latter insisted should b* 
removed as a deformity. 

^ Written for Albyn's Anthology. 

5 •' We return no more." 



616 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


To each minstrel delusion, farewell ! — and for eyer ; 


Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers. 


Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never ! 


He can wauk when they are 


The Sanshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge 


sleepers ; 


before me,' 


Not for boimtith or reward 


Tlie pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ; 


Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. 


But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall 




not shiver. 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


Though devoted T go — to return again never 1 


Donald Caird's come again I 




Gar the bagpipes hum amain. 


" Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's be- 


Donald Caird's come again. 


wailing 




Be heard when the Gael on then- exile are sailing ; 


Donald Caird can drink a gill 


Dear land 1 to the shores, whence unwilling we 


Fast as hostler-wife can fill ; 


sever, 


Bka ane that sells gude liquor 


Return — return — return shall we never ! 


Kens how Donald bends a bicker ; 


Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille I 


When he's fou he's stout and saucy, 


Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 


Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; 


Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille. 


Hieland chief and Lawland laird 


Gea tliillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon 1" 


Maun gie room to Donald Caud ! 




Donald Caird's come again ! 






Donald Caird's come again ! 


BonalU ©afri's ffiomc Slflafn.' 


Tell the news in brugh and glen, 




Donald Caird's cmne again. 


Air—" Malcolm Caird^s come again,'^^ 






Steek the amrie, lock the kist. 




1818. 


Else some gear may weel be mis't ; 




Donald Caird finds orra things 


CHORUS. 


Where AlLin Gregor fand the tings ; 


Donald Cairo's come at/ain ! 


Dunts of kebbuck, taits o' woo, 


Donald Caird^s come aijain 1 


Whiles a hen and whiles a sow. 


Tell the news in brugh and glen^ 


Webs or duds frae hedge or yard — 


Donald Caird^s come again ! 


'Ware the wuddic, Donald Caird ! 


Donald Cau-d can lilt and sing. 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


BUthely dance the Hieland fling. 


Donald Caird's coine again / 


Drink tiU the gudeman be blind. 


Dinna let the Shirra ken 


Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; 


Donald Caird's come again. 


Hoop a leglin, clout a pan, 




Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 


On Donald Caird the doom was stern. 


Tell the news in brugh and glen. 


Craig to tether, legs to airn ; 


Donald Cah-d's come again. 


But Donald Caird, wi' mickle study, 




Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie ; 


Donald Caird^s come again 1 


Rings of airn, and bolts of steel, 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


Fell like ice frae hand and heel 1 


Tell the news in brugh and glen, 


Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, 


Donald Caird's come again. 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


Donald Caird can wire a maukin, 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


Kens the wile.s o' dundeer staiikin', 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


Leisters kipper, makes a shift 


Dinna let the Justice ken. 


To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; 


Donald Caird's come again.' 


» Pee a note on Banshee, Lady of the Lake, ante, p. 250. 


Sir Walter Scott nsnally attended ; and the Poet was highly 


• Written for Albyn'a Anthology, vol. ii., 1818, and set to 


amused wv.h a sly allo-sion to his two-fold character of 


music in Mr. Tliomson's Collection, in 1822. 


Slieritr of Selkirkshire, and autkor-suspcct of " Rob Roy," in 


3 Caird signifies Tinker. 


the chorus, — 


* Mr. D. Thomson, of Galashiels, nrodnced a parody on this 


" Tfiink ye, does the Shirra ken 


Bong at an annual dinner of the raanuiacturers ihere, wliich 


Hob M'Orciror's come again ?'* 

1 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 677 


Jiom tijc Heart of illiii-Cotljian. 


And merry whips, ding-dong. 


And prayer and lasting plenty. 
My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard 


1818. 




Sae far ayont the sea, 


(1.)— MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS. 


And it is but my bUtlisome ghaist 


That's speaking now to thee. 


When the gledd's in the blue cloud. 




Tlie l.ai rock lies still ; 


Vm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town. 


When the liound's in the green-wood. 


And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to own — 


Tlie hind keeps the lulL 


The Lady of Beever m (hanionds may shine, 




But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine. 


sleep ye sound. Sir James, she said, 




When ye suld rise and ride ? 


I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May, 


There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, 


And I lead the bUthe ring round the May-pole to 


Are seeking where ye hide. 


day; 




The wUd-fire that flashes so far and so free 


Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers. 


Was never so bright, or so bonnie as me. 


Dub a dub, dub a dub; 




Have at old Beelzebub, — 


He that is down need fear no fall. 


Oliver's running for fear. — 


He that is low no pride ; 




He that is humble ever shall 


I glance like the wildtire tlu-ough country and 


Have God to be his guide. 


town ; 




I'm seen on the causeway — Fm seen on the down; 


Fulness to such a burthen is 


The lightning that flashes so bright and so free. 


That go on pilgrimage ; 


Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. 


Here little, and hereafter bliss, 




Is best from age to age. 


What did ye wi' the bridal ring — bridal ring — 




bridal ring ? 


" As Jeanic entered, she heard first the air, and 


What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty 


then a part of the chorus and words of what had 


quean, ! 


been, perhaps, the song of a joUy harvest-home." 


[ gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger. 




1 gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, 0. 


Our work is over — over now. 




The goodman wipes his weary brow. 


Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee ; 


The last long wain wends slow away, 


I prithee, dear moon, now show to me 


And we are free to sport and play. 


Tlie form and the features, the speech and de- 




gree. 


The night comes on when sets the sun, 


Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. 


And labor ends when day is done. 




When Autumn's gone, and Winter's come. 


It is the bonny butcher lad. 


We hold our jovial hai-vest-home. 


That wears the sleeves of blue, 




He sells the flesh on Saturday, 


" The attendant on the hospital arranged her in 


On Friday that he slew. 


her bed as she desired, with her face to the wall. 




and her back to the light. So soon as she was 


There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood, 


quiet in this new position, she began again to sing 


Thwe's harness glancmg sheen ; 


in the same low and modulated strains, as if she 


There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae. 


was recovering the state of abstraction which the 


And she sings loud between. 


interruption of her visit.ants had disturbed. The 




strain, however, was different, and rather resem- 


Up in the air. 


bled the music of the methodist hymns, though 


On my bonnie gray mare. 


the measure of the song was smiilar to that of the 


And I see, and I see, and I see her yet. 


former :" — 


In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, 


When the fight of grace is fought, — 


Ere I was ane and twenty. 


When the marriage vest is wrought, — 


I had hempen bracelets strong, 


When Faith has cliased cold Doubt away, — 



678 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And Hope but sickens at delay, — 
■When Cliiu-it.y, imprisoned here, 
Longs for a more expanded sphere ; 
Doff thy robe of sin and clay ; 
Christian, rise, and come away. 

" Her next seemed to be the fragment of some 
•^Id ballad :" — 

Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, 

And sad my sleep of sorrow : 
But thine sail be as sad and cauld. 

My fause true-love ! to-morrow. 

And weep ye not, my maidens free, 
Though death your mistress borrow ; 

For he for whom I die to-day, 
Sliall die for me to-morrow. 

" Again she changed the tune to one wilder, less 
monotonous, and less reguhu-. But of the words 
only a fragment or two could be collected by those 
who listened to this singular scene :" — 

Proud Maisie is in the wood, 

"Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 

" TeU me, thou bormy bird, 

When shall I marry me ?" — 
" When six brae gentlemen 

Ku-kward shall carry ye." 

" Wlio makes the bridal bed. 

Birdie, say truly !" — 
" The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

" Tlie glow-worm o'er grave and stone 

Sliall hght thee steady. 
The owl from the steeple sing, 

' Welcome, proud lady.' " 

" Her voice died away with the last notes, and 
she feU into a slumber, from which the experienced 
attendant assured tliem, that she would never 
awake at all, or only in tlie death-agony. 

" Her first prophecy was true. Tlie poor maniac 
parted with existence, without again uttering a 
sound of any kmd." 

Chaps, xv.-xxxviii. passim. 



.2.)— M T T E S . 

(1.) — Chap. xrx. 
To man, in this his trial state, 
The privilege is given. 



Wlien lost by tides of human fate. 
To anchor fast m Heaven. 

Watts^ Ili/mns 

(2.) — Ch.^p. xxm. 
Law, take thy victim ! — May she find the mercy 
In yon mild heaven which this hard world denies her' 

(3.) — Chap. xxvn. 
And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind 
In sad aUiance, each degraded mind. 



(4.)- 



-CUAP. XXXV. 

I beseech you- 



These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands 

woo you. 
That never yet were heaved but to tluiigs holy — 
Things like yourself — You .are a God above us ; 
Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy ! 

The Bloody Brother 

(5.) — Chap. xlvi. 
Happy thou art ! then happy be, 

Nor envy me my lot ; 
Thy happy state I envy thee, 
And peaceful cot. 

Lady C C 1. 



Jrom tlje Bribe of Camincnnoor 



1819. 



(1.)— LUCY ASHTONS SONG. 

" The silver tones of Lucy Ashton's voice min- 
gled with the accompaniment m an ancient air, to 
which some one had adapted the followmg words : — 

Look not thou on beauty's ch.arming, — 
Sit thou still when kings are arming, — 
Taste not when the wine-cup gUstens, — 
Speak not when the people hstens, — 
Stop tliine ear against the smger, — ■ 
From the red gold keep thy finger,— 
Vacant heart, and liand, and eye, 
Easy Uve and quiet die. 

Chap. iii. 



(2.)— NORMAN THE FORESTER'S SONG. 

"And humming liis rustic roundelay, the yeo- 
man went on liis road, the sound of his rough 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. eT'J 


voice gradually dying away as the distance be- 


(4.) — Chap. xnu. 


twixt thein increased." 


Su', stay at home and take an old man's counsel. 




Seek not to bask you by a stranger's hearth ; 


TnE monk must arise when the matins ring, 


Our own blue smoke is warmer than their file. 


The abbot may sleep to their chime ; 


Domestic food is wholesome, though 'tis homely, 


But the yeoman must stait when the bugles sing, 


And foreign dainties poisonous, though tasteful. 


'Tis tune, my hearts, 'tis time. 


The French Courteian. 


There's bucks and raes on Billliope braes, 


(5.)^Chap. XXV. 


There's a herd on Shortwood Shaw ; 


True-love, an' thou be true. 


But a lily white doe in the garden goes, 


Thou has ane kittle part to play. 


She's fairly worth them a'. 


For fortune, fasliion, fancy, and thou 


Chap. iii. 


Maun strive for many a day. 




I've kend by mony friend's tale, 






Far better by this heart of mine. 


(3.)— THE PROPHECY. 


What time and change of fancy avail, 
A true love-knote to untwme. 


" With a quivering voice, and a cheek pale with 


Hendersoun. 


apprehension, Caleb faltered out the following 




lines :" — 


(6.) — Chap. xxvn. 




Why, now I have Dame Fortune' by the forelock, 


Whex the last Laii'd of Ravenswood to Ravens- 


And if she 'scapes my grasp, the fault is mine ; 


wood shall ride. 


He that hath buffeted with stern adversity. 


And wooe a dead maiden to be his bride, 


Best knows to shape his course to favormg breezes. 


He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's flow, 


Old Play. 


And his name shall be lost for evermoe I 




Cluip. xviii. 




(4.)— MOTTOES. 


J^rom tijc Ccgcub of JHontvose. 


(1.) — Chap. viii. 




The hearth in hall was black and dead, 


(1.)— ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY. 


No board was dight in bower within. 




Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed ; 


" So saying, Annot Lyle sate down at a little 


" Here's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne. 


distance upon the bencli on which Allan M'Aulay 


Old Ba/lad, 


was placed, and tuning her clairshach, a small 


[Altered from "The Heir of Linne ^^ 


harp, about thirty inches in height, she accompa- 




nied it with her voice. The air was an ancient 


(2.) — Chap. xiv. 


Gaehc melody, and the words, which were sup- 


As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle-somid. 


posed to be very old, were in the same language ; 


Various and vague the dry leaves dance their 


but we subjoin a translation of them, by Secundus 


round ; 


M'Pherson, Esq., of Glenforgen ; which, although 


Or, from the garner-door, on tether borne. 


submitted to the fetters of English rhythm, we 


The chaff flies devious from the winnow'd com ; 


trust will be found nearly as genuine as the ver- 


So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven. 


sion of Ossian by hia celebrated namesake." 


From their fix'd aim are mortal counsels driven. 




AiLonymous. 


1. 




Birds of omen d.irk and foul. 


(3.) — Chap. xvii. 


Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl. 


Here is a father now. 


Leave the sick man to his dream — 


Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, 


All night long he heard you scream. 


Make her the stop-gap to some canker'd feud, 


Haste to cave and ruin'd tower, 


Or fling her o'er, Uke Jonah, to the fishes. 


Ivy tod, or dingled-bower. 


To appease the sea at highest. 


There to wink and mop, for. hark 1 


Anonymous. 


In the mid an- sings the lark. 



680 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



2, 


The lady said, " An orphan's state 


Hie to moorish gills and rocks, 


Is hard and sad to bear ; 


Prowling -wolf and wily fox, — 


Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate. 


Hie ye fast, nor turn your view, 


Who mourns both lord and heir. 


Tliough the lamb bleats to the ewe. 




Couch your trains, and speed your flight. 


" Twelve times the rolling year has sped. 


Safety parts with partmg night ; 


Since, while from vengeance wUd 


And on distant echo borne, 


Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled. 


Comes the hunter's early horn. 


Forth's eddies whelm'd my child." — 


3. 


" Twelve times the year its course has borne," 


The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams. 


The wandering maid replied. 


Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; 


" Since fishers on St. Bridget's morn 


Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay 


Drew nets on Campsie side. 


That scare the pilgrim on his way.— 




Quench, kelpy ! quench, in bog and fen. 


" St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; 


Thy torch, that cheats benighted men ; 


An infant, well nigh dead. 


Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done, 


They saved, and rear'd in want and toil. 


For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 


To beg from you her bread." 


4. 


That orphan maid the lady kiss'd, — 


Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, and deep, 


" My husband's looks you bear ; 


O'erpower the passive mind in sleep. 


Saint Bridget and her morn be bless'd ! 


Pass from the slumberer's soul away. 


You are his widow's heir." 


Like night-mists from the brow of day : 




Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim 


They've robed that maid, so poor and pale. 


Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb, 


In silk and sandals rare ; 


Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone I 


And pearls, for drops of frozen haU, 


Thou darest not face the godUke sun. 


Are glistening in her hair. 


Chap. vi. 


Chap. ix. 




(3.)— MOTTOES. 


(2.)— THE ORPHAN MAID. 


(1.)— Chap. x. 




D.^RK on their Journey lour'd the gloomy day. 


"Tuning her instrument, and receiving an as- 


Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the way ; 


senting look from Lord Monteith and Allan, Annot 


More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful. 


Lyle executed the following ballad, which orn- 


show'd 


frii'ud, Mr. Secundus M'Pherson, whose goodness 


The mansion which received them from the road. 


we had before to acknowledge, has thus translated 


The Travellers, a Romance 


into the English tongue :" — 






(2.)— Chap. xi. 


November's haU-cloud drifts away. 


Is this thy castle, Baldwin ? Melancholy 


November's sunbeam wan 


Displays her sable banner from the donjon. 


Looks coldly on the castle gray, 


Dark'ning the foam of the whole surge bene.ith. 


"When forth comes Lady Anne. 


Were I a habitant, to see tliis gloom 




Pollute the face of nature, and to hear 


Tlie orphan by the oak was set, 


The ceaseless sound of wave and sea-bird's sctearj, 


Her arms, her feet, were bare ; 


I'd wish me in the hut that poorest peasant 


I'he hail-drops had not melted yet, 


Ere framed to give him temporary shelter. 


Amid her raven hair. 


Browne. 


" And dame," she said, " by all the ties 


(3.) — Chap. xiv. 


That child and mother know. 


This was the entry, then, these stairs — but whithei 


Aid one who never knew these joys, — 


after ? 


Relieve an orphan's woe." 


Tet he that's sure to perish on the land 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 081 


Afay quit the nicety of card and compass, 


Let grateful love quell maiden shame. 


And trust the open sea without a pilot. 


And grant him bliss who brings thee fame." 


Tragedy of Brennovalt. 


Chap, xviii. 




(2.)— THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. 

1 


jTrom luanljoe. 


(1.)— THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 


Pll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 


To search Em-ope through from Byzantium to 


1. 


Spain; 


High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 


But ne'er sluall you find, should you search till you 


Fiom Palestine the champion came ; 


tire. 


The cross upon Iiis shoulders borne. 


So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 


Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn. 




Each dint upon his batter'd sliield 


2. 


Was token of a foughten field ; 


Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career. 


And thus, beneath lus lady's bower. 


And is brought home at even-song prick'd through 


He sung, as fell the twilight hour : 


with a spear ; 




I confess him in haste — for his lady desu-es 


o_ 


No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's. 


" Joy to the fair ! — thy knight behold, 




Return'd from yonder land of gold ; 


3. 


No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need, 


Your mon.arch ! — Pshaw 1 many a prince has been 


Save his good arms and battle-steed ; 


known 


His spurs to dash against a foe, 


To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; 


His lance and sword to lay liim low ; 


But which of us e'er felt the idle desire 


Such all the trophies of his toU, 


To exchange for a crown the gray hood of a Friar ? 


Such — and the hope of Tckla's smile ! 


4^ 


3. 


The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone, 


" .Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 


The hind and its fatness is mark'd for liis own ; 


Her favor fired to feats of might ! 


He can roam where he lists, he can stop where he 


Unnoted shall she not remain 


tires. 


"Where meet tlie bright and noble train ; 


For every man's house is the Bai-efooted Friar's. 


Minstrel shall sing, and herald teU — 




' Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 


5. 


'Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 


He's expected at noon, and no wight, till he comes. 


The listed field of Ascalon 1 


May profane the great chair, or the porridge of 




plums ; 


4. 


For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire. 


" ' Note well her smile ! — it edged the blade 


Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 


"Which fifty wives to widows made, 




When, vain his strengtli and Mahound's .spell. 


6. 


Iconium's tiu-ban'd Soldan fell. 


He's expected at night, ."md the pasty's made hot. 


See'st thou her locks, whose sunny glow 


They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black 


Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow ? 


pot; 


Twines not of them one golden thread. 


And the good-wife would wish the good-man in tha 


But for its sake a Paynim bled.' 


mire. 


5. 


Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 


" Joy to the fair ! — my name unknown. 


7. 


Each deed, and all its praise, thine own ; 


Long ilourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 


Then, oli ! unbar this churlish gate, 


Tlie dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ! 


Tlie niglitdew falls, the hour is late. 


For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briei , 


Tnureil to Syria's glowing breath, 


Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 


T feel the north breeze chill as death ; 
86 


Chap, xviii. 



682 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(3.)— SAXON "WAR-SONG. 

"The fire was spreading rapidly through all 
parts of the castle, wlien Ulrica, who had first 
Kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of 
one of the ancient furies, yeUing forth a war-song, 
such as was of yore chanted on the field of battle 
by the yet heathen Saxons. Her long disIieveUed 
gray liair flew back from her uncovered head ; the 
mebriating delight of gratified vengeance contend- 
ed in her eyes with the fire of insanity ; and she 
brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, 
as if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters, who 
spin and abridge the thread of human life. Tra- 
dition has preserved some wild strophes of the 
barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid 
that scene (^f fire and slaughter :" — 

1. 
"Whet the bright steel, 
Sons of the White Dragon ! 
Kindle the torch. 

Daughter of Hengist ! [banquet, 

llie steel glimmers not for the carvmg of the 
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 
The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber. 
It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 
Whet tlie steel, the raven croaks ! 
Light tlie torch, Zernebock is yelling ! 
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon 1 
lundle the torch, daughter of Hengist \ 



Tlie black clouds are low over the thane's castle : 

The eagle screams — he rides on their bosom. 

Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

Tli9 maidens of Valhalla look forth, 

nie race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Vallialla I 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 



Dark sits the evening upon the thane's castle, 
Tlie black clouds gather round ; 
Soon shall tliey be red as the blood of the valiant 1 
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest 

against them ; 
He, the bright consumer of palaces, 
Broad waves he his blazing banner, 
Red, -wide, and dusky. 
Over the strife of the valiant ; 
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken 

bucklers ; 
He loves to Uck the liissing blood as it bursts 

warm from the wound ! 



4. 

All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 

The strong armor is pierced by the lance : 

Fire devoureth the dweUing of princes, 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

AU must perish ! 

The race of Hengist is gone — - 

The name of Horsa is no more I 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the 

sword ! 
Let your blades drink blood Uke wine : 
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 
By the light of the blazing halls ! 
Strong be your swords wliile your blood is warm. 
And spare neither for pity nor fear, 
For vengeance hath but an hour ; 
Strong hate itself shall expire ! 
I also must perish. 



Note. — " It will readily occur to the antiquary, 
that these verses are hitended to imitate the an- 
tique poetry of the Scalds — the minstrels of the 
old Scandinavians — the race, as the Laureate so 
happily terms them, 

* Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, 
Who smiled in death.' 

The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civili- 
zation and conversion, was of a different and softer 
character ; but, in the circumstances of Ulrica, she 
may be not unnaturally supposed to return to the 
wild strains which animated her forefathers during 
the times of Paganism and imtamed ferocity." 

Chap, xxxii. 



(4.)— REBEOCA'S HYMN. 

" It was in the twilight of the day when her 
trial, if it could be called such, had taken place, 
that a low knock was heard at the door of Re- 
becca's prisor chamber. It disturbed not the in- 
mate, who was then engaged in the evenmg prayer 
recommended by her religion, and which concluded 
with a liymn, wliich we have ventured thus to 
translate into English :" — 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her fitthers' God before her moved, 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonish'd lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands 

Returu'd the fiery column's glow. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



683 



There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer'd keen, 
And Ziuii's daugliters pour'd tlicir lays, 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 
Our fiitliers would not know Thv ways. 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen 1 

When brightly shines tlie prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light 1 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams. 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. 
But Thou liast said. The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams I wiU not prize ; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought, 

Aj-e mine accepted sacrifice. 

Chap. xL 



(5.)— THE BLACK KNIGHT'S SONG. 

" At the point of their journey at which we take 
them up, this joyous pair were engaged in singing 
a virelai, as it was called, in which the clown bore 
a stiff and mellow burden to the better instructed 
Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus ran the ditty ;" 

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free. 

Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the mom, 

Tlie hunter is wmding blithe sounds on his horn, 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. 



Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet. 
Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit ; 
For what are the joys that in waking we prove. 
Compared with these visions, O Tybalt ! my love ? 
Let the bu-ds to the rise of the mist carol shrill. 
Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill. 
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in sliunber I 

prjve. 
But think not I dream'd of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

Chaj). idi. 



(6.)— SONG. 

THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

" The Jester next struck into another carol, a 
sort of comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching 
up the tune, rephed in the hke manner." 

KHIGHT and WAMBA. 

There came three merry men from south, west, 
and north. 

Ever mure sing the roundelay ; 
To win the Widow of Wycombe fortli, 

And where was the widow might say them nay ' 

Tlie first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came, 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great 
fame. 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire. 
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire. 
For she was the widow would say hun nay. 

WAMBA. 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by 
nails. 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 
Hut's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was 
of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay ; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 
And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jolliiy singing his romidelay ; 
He spoke to the widow of hving and rent. 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 



So the knight and the squire were both left in the 
mire, 
There for to sing their roundelay ; 
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 
There ne'er was a widow could say him nay. 

Chap. xli. 



(7.)— FUNERAL HYMN. 

" Foua maidens, Rowena leading the choir, 
raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of which 
wc have only been able to decipher two or three 
stanzas :" — 



684 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Dust unto dust, 
To this all must ; 

The tenant hath resign'd 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe, 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 

Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 
By Mary's grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be t 
TiU prayers and alms, 
And holy psalms, 

Shall set the Ciiptive free. 

Oluip. xliii. 



(8.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. six. 

Awat! our journey lies through dell and dingle. 
Where the bUtlie fewn trips by its timid motlier, 
Where the broad oak, witli intercepting boughs. 
Checkers the sunbeam in the green sward al- 

ley- 
Up and away ! — for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when tlie glad sun is on liis throne : 
Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's 

lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Ettrick Forest. 

(2.) — Chap. .xxi. 
When autumn nights were long and drear. 

And forest walks were dark and dim, 
How sweetly on the pilgrim's ear 

Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn ! 

Devotion borrows Music's tone. 
And Music took Devotion's wing. 

And, Uke the bird that hails the sun. 
They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St. Clement's Well. 

(3.) — Chap, xxvii. 
The hottest horse will oft be cool. 

The dullest will show fire ; 

The friar will often play the fool. 

The fool wiU play the friar. 

Old Song. 



(4.) — Chap. xxix. 
This wandering race, sever'd from other men, 
Boast yet theii" intercourse with human arts ; 
The seas, the woods, the deserts which they 

haunt, 
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures 
And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms, 
Display undream'd-of powers when gather'd by 

them. 

T/ie Jew. 

(5.) — Chap. xxxi. 
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed. 
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost. 
Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 
'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew. 
Is wing'd to heaven by good men's sighs and tears 1 
Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xxxm. 

Trust me, each state must have its policies : 
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters ; 
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk, 
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. 
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron. 
Hath man and man in social imion dwelt. 
But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. 

(7.) — Ch.4P. XXXVI. 

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 
Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering lire 
Of wild Fanaticism. 

Anonymorut, 

(8.) — Chap, xxxvii. 

Say not my art is fi-aud — all live by seeming. 
The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, ranlj and rule, by leeming: 
The clergy scorn it not, ami the bold soldier 
WiU eke with it his service. — All admit it, 
AU practise it ; and he who is content 
With showmg what he is, shall have small credit 
la church, or camp, or state. — So wags the world 

Old Play. 

(9.) — Chap, xxxvm. 
Stern was the law which bade its vot'ries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grie> e ; 
Stern was the law, wliich at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; 
But sterner still, when high the iron-rod 
Of tyrant power she shook, and call'd that power 
of God. 

The Middle Ages. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



635 



Jajpitapl) on IfHrs. Jarsblne.' 



1819. 



Plain, as her native dignity of mind, 
Arise tlie tomb i>f her we have resign'd ; 
Unflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll. 
Emblem of lovely form and candid soul. — 
But, oh ! what symbol may avail, to tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well ! 
AVhat sculptm'e show the broken ties of life, 
Here bm-ied with the parent, friend, and wife 1 
Or on the tablet stamp each title dear, 
By which thine urn, Eupheuia, claims the tear ! 
Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, 
Resign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow, 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. 



Stom tlje iUonasterg. 



1820. 



(l-)-SOIs'GS OF THE WIHTE LADY OF AYENEL 



ON TWEED RIVER. 

1. 

Merhilt swim we, the moon shines bright. 
Both current and ripple are dancmg in light. 
We have roused the night raven, I heard him 

croak, 
As we plash'd along beneath the oak 
That flings its broad branches so far and so wide, 
Tlieir shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. 
'* Who wakens my nestlings ?" tlie raven he said, 
" Jly beak shall ere morn in his blood be red ! 
For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal, 
And m have my share with the pike and the eel." 



Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. 
There's a golden gleam on the distant height : 
There's a silver shower on the alders dank. 
And the drooping willows that wave on the banlc 
I see the Abbey, both turret and tower, 
It is all astir for the vesper hour ; 
The Monks for the chapel are leaving e.ach cell. 
But Where's Father Pliilip should toll tlie beU ? 

1 Mm. Eopheraia Robinson, wife of William Erskine, Esq. 
(afterwards Lord Kinedder), died September, 1819, and was 



Merrily swim we. the moon shines bright. 
Downward we drift through shadow and light. 
Under yon rock the eddies sleep. 
Calm and silent, dark and deep. 
The Kelpy has risan from tlie fathomless pool. 
He has hghted his candle of death and of dool : 
Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see 
How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee 1 

•4. 

Good luck to your fishing, whom watcli ye to- 
night? 

A man of mean or a man of might ? 

Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove, 

Or lover who crosses to visit his love ? 

Hark ! heard ye the Koljjy reply as we pass'd, — 

" God's blessing on the warder, he lock'd the 
bridge fasti 

All that come to my cove are sunk. 

Priest or layman, lover or monk." 

Landed — landed ! the black book hath won. 
Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun 1 
Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe mot ye be, 
For seldom they land that go swimming with me. 

Chaj). V. 



TO THE SUB-PRIOR. 

Good evening. Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, 
With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide ; 
But ride you through valley, or ride you o'er hill. 
There is one that has warrant to wait on you stilL 

Back, back, 

The volmne black 1 
I have a warrant to carry it back. 

'Wlivt, ho ! Sub-Prior, and came you but here 
To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier ? 
Sain you, and save you, be warj- and wise, 
Ride back with the book, or you'll pay for your 
prize. 

Back, back. 

There's death in the track I 
In the name of my master, I bid thee bear back. 

" In the name of my Master," said tlie astonished 
Monk, " that name before wliich all things created 
tremble, 1 conjiu-e thee to say what thou art that 
hauntest me thus ?" 

The same voice rephed, — 

That which is neither ill nor well. 

That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, 

buried at Saline, in the county of Fife, where tliese lines ar« 
insc-ribed on tlie tombstone. 



686 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 
'Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream ; 
A form tliat men spy 
With the halfshut eye 
In the beams of the setting sun, am I. 

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouklst tliou bar me my right 1 
Like the stai- when it shoots, I can dart through 

the night ; 
I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the air, 
And travel the world with the bonny uigbt-mare. 
Agmn, again, 
At the crook of the glen, 
■VVbere bickers the bmuie, I'll meet thee again. 

Men of good are bold as sackless,' 

Men of rude are wild and reckless. 
Lie thou still 
In the nook of the hill. 

For those be before thee that wish thee ill. 

Chap. is. 



HALBERTS INCANTATION. 

Thkice to the hoUy brake — 
Thrice to the well : — 

I bid thee awake, 

White Maid of Avenel ! 

Noon gleams on the Lake — 
Noon glows on the Fell — 

Wake thee, wake. 
White Maid of Avenel. 



TO HALBERT. 



Youth of the dai'k eye, wherefore didst thou call 

me? 
Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appid thee ? 
He that seeks to deal with us must know nor fear, 

nor faihng ; 
To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts 

are unavailing. 
The breeze that brought me liither now must 

sweep Egyptian ground, 
The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is 

bound ; 
The fleecy cloud is di-ifting by, the breeze sighs for 

my stay, 
For I must sail a thousand miles before the close 

of day. 

Wli.at I am I must not show — 
Wliat I am thou couldst not know — 

1 Sackless — Innofreot. 



Something betwixt heaven and hell — 
Something that neither stood nor fell — 
Something that through thy wit or will 
May work thee good — may work thee ill 
Neither substance quite, nor shadow, 
Haunting lonely moor and meadow, 
Dancing by the haunted spring. 
Riding on the whirlwind's wing ; 
Aping in fantastic fashion 
Every change of hura.an passion. 
While o'er our frozen minds they pass, ' 
Like shadows from the mirror'd glass. 
Wayward, fickle, is our mood, 
Hovering betwixt bad and good, 
Happier than brief-dated man, 
Living ten times o'er his span ; 
Far less happy, for we have 
Help nor hope beyond tlie grave ! 
Mim awakes to joy or sorrow ; 
Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. 
This is all that I can show — 
This is aU that thou may'st know. 

Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the spell, 
To waken me here by the Fairies' WeU. 
But thou hast loved the heron .and hawk, 
More than to seek my haunted walk ; 
And thou hast loved the lance and the sword. 
More than good text and holy word ; 
And thou hast loved the deer to track. 
More thim the Unes and the letters black; 
And thou art a ranger of moss and wood, 
And scomest the nurture of gentle blood. 

Tliy craven fear my truth accused, 

Thine idlehood my trust abused ; 

He th,at draws to harbor late. 

Must sleep without, or burst the gate. 

There is a star for thee which burn'd, 

Its influence wanes, its course is turn'd ; 

Valor and constancy alone 

Can bring thee back the chance that's flown. 

Within that awful volume Ues 
The mystery of mysteries 1 
Happiest they of human race. 
To whom God has granted gr.ace 
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray. 
To lift the latch, and force the way ; 
And better had they ne'er been born, 
Vfho read to doubt, or read to scorn. 

Many a fathom dark and deep 
■ I have laid the book to sleep ; 
Ethereal fires around it glowing — 
Ethereal music ever flowing^ 
The sacred pledge of Heav'n 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



687 



All things revere, 


This is the day when the fairy kind 


Each in liis sphere, 


Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot, 


Save man for whom 'twas giv'n : 


And the wood-maiden sighs to the sigliing 


Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy 


wind, 


Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. 


And the merraaiden weeps in her crystal grot ; 




For this is a day that the deed was wrought, 


Fearest thou to go with me ? 


In whicli we have neither part nor share. 


Still it is free to thee 


For the children of clay was salvation bought, 


A peasant to dweU ; 


But not for the forms of sea or air ! 


Thou may'st drive the dull steer, 


And ever the mortal is most foi-lorn. 


And chase the king's deer, 


Who meeteth our race on the Friday morn. 


But never more come ueiu- 




This haimted well. 


Daring youth 1 for thee it is well, 




Here calling me in haimted dell. 


Here lies the volume thou boldly hast sought ; 


That thy heart has not quail'd. 


Touch it, and take it, 'twill deai-ly be bought. 


Nor thy cour.ige fail'd, 




And that thou couldst brook 


Rash thy deed, 


The angry look 


Mortal weed 


Of Her of Avonel. 


To immortal flames applying ; 


Did one Imib shiver 


Rasher trust 


Or an eyelid quiver. 


Has thing of dust. 


Thou wert lost for ever. 


On his own we.ak worth relying : 


Though I am form'd from the ether blue, 


Strip thee of such fences vain, 


And my blood is of the unfallen dew, 


Strip, and prove thy luck again. 


And thou art framed of mud imd dust, 





'Tis thine to speak, reply I must. 


Mort.-d war]) and mortal woof 




Cannot brook this charmed roof; 


A mightier wizard far than I 


All that mortal art hath wrought 


Wields o'er the universe his power ; 


In our cell returns to naught. 


Hira owns the eagle in the sky, 


The molten gold returns to clay. 


The turtle in the bower. 


The polish'd diamond melts away ; 


Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still, 


All is .altered, all is flown, 


He wields the heart of man at wiU, 


Naught stands fast but truth alone. 


From ill to good, from good to iU, 


Not for that thy quest give o'er : 


In cot and castle-tower. 


Courage ! prove thy chance once more. 






Ask thy heart, whose secret cell 


Alas I alas ! 


Is fiU'd with Mary Avenel ! 


Not ours the grace 


A.sk thy pride, why scornful look 


These holy characters to trace : 


In Mary's view it will not brook ? 


Idle forms of painted air. 


Ask it, why thou scek'st to rise 


Not to us is given to share 


Among the mighty and the wise, — 


The boon bestow'd on Adam's race. 


Wliy thou spurn'st thy lowly lot, — 


"With patience bide. 


Why thy pastimes are forgot, — 


Heaven will provide 


Why thou wouldst in bloody strife 


The fitting time, the fitting guide. 


Mend thy luck or lose thy life ? 


Chap. xii. 


Ask thy heart, and it shaU tell. 




Sighing from its secret ceU, 




'Tis for Mary AveneL 


HALBERT'S SECOND INTERVIEW "WITH 


Do not ask me ; 


THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. 


On doubts like these thou canst not task me 




We only see the passing show 


" She spoke, and her speech was still song, or 


Of human passions' ebb and flow ; 


rather me;i8ured chant; but if, as now, more famil- 


And view the pageant's idle glance 


iar, it flowed occasionally in moduUated blank-verse. 


As mortals eye the northern dance. 


and, at other times, in the lyrical measure which 


When thousand streamers, flashing bright, 


ri-B had used at their former meeting." 


Cai'eer it o'er the brow of night; 



688 



SCOTT'S POETICAL AVORKS. 



And gazers mark their changeful gleams, 
But feel no influence from their beams. 

By ties mysterious link'd, our fixted race 
Holds strange connection with the sons of men. 
The star that rose upon the House of Avenel, 
When Norman Ulric first assumed the name, 
That star, when culminating in its orbit, 
Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew. 
And tliis bright font received it — and a Spirit 
Rose from the fountain, and her date of life 
Hath coexistence with the House of Avenel, 
And with tlw star that rules it. 

Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold — 
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer. 
And, but there is a *]3ell on't, would not bmd. 
Light as they are, the folds of my tliin robe. 
But when 'twas donn'd, it was a m.ossive chain, 
Such as might bin I the champion of the Jews, 
Even when his locks were longest — it hath 

dwindled. 
Hath 'minish'd in its substance and its strength, 
As sunk the greatness of tlie House of Aveneh 
When tliis frail thi'ead gives way, I to the ele- 
ments 
Resign the principles of life they lent me. 
Ask me no more of this ! — the stars forbid it. 

Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, 
Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh. 
And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the light- 
house ; 
There is an influence sorrowful and fearful, 
Tliat dogs its downward course. Disastrous 

passion, 
Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect 
That lowor.s upon its fortunes. 

Complain not on me, child of clay. 
If to thy harm I yield tlie way. 
We, who soar thy sphere above. 
Know not aught of liate or love ; 
As will or wisdom rules thy mood, 
My gifts to evil turn or good. 

When Piercie Shafton boasteth high, 
Let this token meet his eye. 
The sun is westering from the dell. 
Thy wish is granted — fare thee well 1 

Chap. xvii. 



THE WHITE LADY TO MART AVENEL. 

Maiden, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, 
Wlio.''<. eyes shall commune with the Dead AUve, 



Maiden, attend ! Beneath my foot lies hid 

The Word, the Law, the Patli which thou djsl 
strive 
To find, and canst not find.— Could Spirits shed 

Tears for theu' lot, it were my lot to weep. 
Showing the road which I shall never tread. 

Though my foot points it. — Sleep, eternal sleep, 
Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness my lot ! — 

But do not thou at human ills repine ; 
Secure there lies full guerdon in tliis spot 

For aU the woes that wait frail Adam's line — 
Stoop then and make it yours, — I may not make 
it mine 1 

Chap. XXX. 



THE WHITE LADT TO EDWARD 
GLENDINNING. 

Tnoti who seek'st my fountain lone, 

With tl (ughts and hopes thou dar'st not own ^ 

Whose heart within leap'd wildly glad. 

When most his brow seem'd dark and sad ; 

Hie thee back, thou tiud'st not here 

Corpse or cofiin, grave or bier ; 

The Dead Ahve is gone and fled — 

Go thou, and join the Living Dead 1 

The Living Dead, whose sober brow 

Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now. 

Whose hearts witliin are seldom cured 

Of passions by their vows abjured ; 

Where, under sad and solenm show. 

Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow. 

Seek the convent's vaulted room. 

Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; 

Doff the green, and don the gray. 

To the cloister hence away 1 

Chap. xxxU. 



THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL. 

Fare thee well, thou Holly green ! 

Thou shalt seldom now be seen. 

With all thy glittering garlands bending, 

As to greet my slow descending, 

StartUng the bewilder'd hmd. 

Who sees thee wave without a wind. 

Farewell, Fountain ! now not long 
Shalt tho\i murmur to my song, 
Wliile thy crystal bubbles glancing. 
Keep the time in mystic dancing. 
Rise and swell, are burst and lost. 
Like mortal schemes by fortune cross'd. 



-J 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



689 



The knot of fate at length is tied, 
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride 1 
Vainly did my magic sleight 
Send the lover from her sight ; 
Wither bush, and perish well, 
Fall'u is lofty Avenel ! 

Chap, xxxvii 



(2.)— BORDER BALLAD. 

1. 

Makch, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, 

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. 
Many a banner spread. 
Flutters above your head, 
Many a crest that is famous in story. 
Mount and make ready then. 
Sons of the mountain glen. 
Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory. 

2. 

Come from the hilU where your hiraels are grazing, 

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing. 
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. 
Trumpets are sounding, 
War-steeds are bounding. 
Stand to your arms, and mai'ch in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray. 
When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 
Chap. XXV. 



(8.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. i. 

AT ! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mis- 

chief ! 
Theirs all the grossncss, all the superstition 
Of a most gross and superstitious age. — 
May He be praised that sent the healthful tem- 
pest. 
And scatter'd all these pestilential vapors ; 
But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot 
Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, 

1 will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger, 

That old MoU \\Tiite took wing with cat and broom- 
stick. 
And raised the last m'ght's thunder. 

Old Play. 



(2.)— Chap. n. 

In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. 
Not solitary then — the bugle-hom 
Of fell Alecto often waked its windings. 
From where the brook joins the majestic river, 
To the wild nortliorn bog, the curlieu's haunt, 
Wliere oozes forth its fii-st and feeble streamlet 

Old Flay. 

(3.)— Chap. v. 
A priest, ye cry, a priest ! — lame shepherds they. 
How shall the)' gather in the straggling flock ? 
Dumb dogs which bark not — how shall they compel 
The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold ? 
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire. 
And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, 
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf 

Reformation. 

(4.) — Chap. vi. 
Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds 
Be rooted from the vineyard of the Church, 
That these foul tares be sever'd fi-om the wheat. 
We are, I trust, agreed. — Yet how to do this, 
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine- 
plants, 
Craves good advisement. 

The Reformation. 

(5.)— Chap. vni. 
Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure. 
Though fools are lavish ou't — the fatal Fisher 
Hooks souls, while we waste moments. 

Old Flay. 

(6.)— CH.1P. SI. 
You call this education, do you not ? 
Why, 'tis the forced march of a herd of buUocka 
Before a shouting di-over. The glad van 
Move on at ease, and pause a whUe to snatch 
A passing morsel from the dewy green-sward, 
Wliile all the blows, the oaths, the indignation. 
Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggard 
That cripples in the rear. 

Old Play. 

(7.) — Chap. xn. 
There's something in that ancient superstition, 
Which, errmg as it is, our fancy loves. 
The spring that, with its thousand cryst.al bubblea, 
Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock 
In secret solitude, may well be deem'd 
The haimt of sometliing purer, more refined. 
And mightier than ourselves. Old Flay. 

(8.) — Chap. xrv. 
Nay, let me have the friends who eat my victual^ 
As various as my dishes. The feast's naught. 



690 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Where one huge plate predominates. — John Plain- 


(14.) — Chap. xxm. 


text, 


'Tis when the wound is stiffening with the cold, 


He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ; 


The warrior first feels pahi^'tis when the heat 


The worthy Alderman, a butter'd dmnphng ; 


And fiery fever of his soul ia past, 


Yon pair of whisker'd Cornets, ruffs and rees ; 


The skmer feels remorse. 


Their friend the Dandj', a green goose in sippets. 


Old Play. 


And so tlie board is spread at once and fiU'd 




On the same principle — Variety. 


(15.)— Chap. xxrv. 


New Play. 


I'll walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye with caution. 




My heart with courage, and my hand with weapon, 


(9.) — Chap. xv. 


Like him who ventm-es on a Uon's den. 


He strikes no coin, 'tis true, but coins new phrases. 


Old Play. 


And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded 




counters. 


(16.) — Chap. xxvu. 


Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in pay- 


Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 'tis hard reckoning. 


ment. 


That I, with every odds of birth and barony. 


Old Play. 


Should be detain'd here for the casu.il death 




Of a wild forester, whose utmost liaving 


(10.) — Chap. xvi. 


Is but the brazen buckle of the belt 


A courtier extraordinary, who by diet 


In which he sticks his hedge-knife. 


Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise, 


Old Play. 


Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts 




Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize 


(17.)— Chap. xrrx. 


Mortality itself, and makes the essence 


You call it an iU angel — it may be so ; 


Of liis whole happiness the trim of court. 


But sure I am, among the ranks which fell. 


Magnetic Lady. 


'Tis the first fiend e'er counsell'd man to rise. 




And win the bhss the sprite himself had forfeited. 


(11.)— Chap. xix. 


Old Play. 


Now choose thee, gaUant, betwixt wealth and 




honor ; 


(IS.)— Ch.^p. XXXI. 


There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee tluough 


At school I knew him — a sharp-witted youth. 


The dance of youth, and the turmoil of manhood, 


Grave, thoughtful, and reserved among.st his mates, 


Yet leave enough for age's chimney-corner ; 


Tinning the hours of sport and food to labor. 


But an tliou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! 


Starving his body to mform his mind. 


Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition. 


Old Play. 


And raising thy low rank above the churls 




That till the earth for bread ! 


(19.) — Chap. xxxm. 


Old Play. 


Now on my faith tliis gear is all entangled, 




Like to the yarn-clew of tlie drowsy knitter, 


(12.)— Chap. xxi. 


Dragg'd by the frolic kitten through the cabin, 


Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw ! he doth it 


WliUe the good dame sits nodding o'er the fire — 


not 


Masters, attend ; 'twill crave some skill to clear it. 


Like one who is Ms craft's master — ne'ertheless 


Old Play. 


I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb 




On one who was a master of defence. 


(20.) — Chap, xxxtv. 


Old Play. 


It is not texts wUl do it — Church artillery 




Are silenced soon by real ordnance. 


(13.)— Chap. xxn. 


And canons are but vain opposed to cannon. 


Yes, life hath left him — every busy thought, 


Go, coin your crosier, melt your church plate 


Each fiery passion, every strong affection. 


down. 


The sense of outward ill and inward sorrow, 


Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls, 


Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; 


And quaff your long-saved hogsheads — Turn them 


And I have given th.at which spoke and moved, 


out 


Thought, acted, suffer'd, as a Uving man. 


Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your 


To be a ghastly form of bloody clay. 


waU, 


Soon the foul food for reptiles. 


And they wUl venture for 't. 


Old Play. 


Old Play. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



691 



ifrom tl)c ^bbot. 



1820. 



(1.)— THE PARDONER'S ADVERTISEMENT. 

" At length the pardoner pulled from liis scrip 
a small phial of clear water, of which he vaunted 
the quality in the following verses :" — 

Listneth, gode people, everiche one, 
For in the londe of Babylone, 
Far eastward I wot it lyeth, 
And is the first londe the sonne espieth, 
Ther, as he cometh fro out the s6 ; 
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me, 
Right as hohe legendes teU, 
Snottreth from a roke a well. 
And falleth into ane bath of ston, 
Wlier chast Susaune in times long gon, 
Was wont to wash her bodie and lim — 
Mickle vertue hath that streme, 
As ye shall se er that ye pas, 
Ensample by tliis httle glas — 
Through nightfis cold and dayes hote, 
Hiderwai-d I have it bro\ight ; 
Hath a wife made slip or slide. 
Or a maiden stepp'd aside ; 
Putteth tliis water under her nese, 
"Wold she nold she, she shall snese. 

Chap, xivii. 



(2).— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. v. 
In the wild storm, 



The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant 
Heaves to the billows wares he once deem'd pre- 
cious : 
So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions. 
Cast off theu: favorites. 

Old Play. 

(2.)— Chap. vi. 
Thou hast each secret of the household, Francis. 
I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery 
' Steeping thy curious humor in fat ale. 
And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting 
With the glib waiting-woman o'er her comfits — 
These beai- the key to each domestic mystery. 

Old Play. 

(3.) — Chap. vm. 
The sacred tapers' lights are gone, 
Gr.ay moss has clad the altar stone, 
The holy unage is o'erthrowu. 



The bell has ceased to toll. 
The long-ribb'd aisles are burst and shrunk. 
The holy slu'ines to ruin sunk, 
Departed is the pious monk, 

God's blessing en his soul I 

Kcdiviva 

(4.) — Chat. xi. 
Life hath its May, and all is mirthful then : 
The woods are vocal, and the flowers all odor , 
Its very blast has mirth m 't, — and the maidens, 
The while they don their cloaks to skreen their 

Mrtles, 
Laugh at the rain that wets them. 

Old Play. 

(5.) — Chap. xn. 
Nay, hear me, brother — I am elder, wiser. 
And hoher than thou ; and age, and wisdom. 
And holiness, have peremptory claims. 
And will be listen'd to. Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xrv. 
Not the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier — 
Not the wild wind, escaping from its cavern — 
Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together, 
And pours their rage upon the ripening harvest, 
Can match the wild freaks of this mu-thful meet- 
ing- 
Comic, yet fearful — droU, and yet destructive. 
The Conspiracy. 

(7.) — Chap. xvi. 
Youth ! thou wear'st to manhood now, 
Darker lip and darker brow. 
Statelier step, more pensive mien. 
In thy face and gait are seen : 
Thou must now brook midnight watches. 
Take thy food and sport by snatches I 
For the gambol and the jest, 
Thou wert wont to love the best. 
Graver follies must thou foUow, 
But as senseless, false, and hollow. 

Life, a Poem. 

(8.) — Chap. xlk. 
It is and is not — 'tis the thing I sought for. 
Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and 

life for. 
And yet it is not — no more than the shadow 
Upon the hard, cold, flat, and poUsh'd mirror, 
Is the warm, graceful, rounded, Uving substance 
Which it presents in form and lineament. 

OldPlaj^ 

(9.) — Chap, xjuii. 
Give me a morsel on the greenswai-d rather. 
Coarse as you will the cooking — Let the fieah 
spring 



692 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Bubble beside my napkin — and the free birds, 


Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet , 


Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to 


But know, that I her father play the Gryphon, 


bougli. 


Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe, 


To claim the crums I leave for perquisites — 


And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty. 


Your prison-feasts I like not. 


2'/te Spa7iish Father. 


The Woodman^ a Drama. 






(16.)— Chap. xxxv. 


(10.) — Chap. xxiv. 


It is a time of danger, not of revel, 


1 ... .. . I . r. .. ..». 1 . Fn + V. . ^ 


When churchmen turn to masquers. 




Vaults overhead, and grates and b.irs around me. 


TJte Spanish Father. 


And my sad hours spent with as sad companiona, 




Wliose thoughts are brooding o'er their own mis- 


(17.) — Chap, xsxvii. 


chances. 


Ay, sir— our ancient crown, in these wild times. 


Far, far too deeply to take part in mme. 


Oft stood upon a cast — the gamester's ducat. 


T/ie Woodmian. 


So often staked, and lost, and then regain'd, 




Scarce knew so many hazards. 


(11.)— Chap. xxv. 


2'he Spanish Father 


And when Love's torch hath set the heart in flame, 




Comes Seignor Reason, with his saws and cautions. 




Giving such aid as the old gray-beard Sexton, 






Who from the church-vault drags his crazy engine, 




To ply its dribbling ineffectual streamlet 




Against a conflagration. 


jTrom Kcniluioi'tl). 


Old Play. 
(12.) — Chap. xxvm. 


1821. 


Yes, it is she whose eyes look'd on thy childhood, 






And watch'd with trembUng hope thy dawn of 
youth. 


(1.)— GOLDTHRED'S SONG. 


That now, with these same eye-balls, dinmi'd with 


" Aftek some brief interval. Master Goldthred, 


age, 


at the earnest instigation of mine host, and the 


And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonor. 


joyous concurrence of his guests, mdulgod the com- 


Old Play. 


pany with th£ following morsel of melody :" — 


(13.)— Chap, tt^t 


Of all the birds on bush or tree. 


In some breasts passion lies conceal'd and silent, 


Commend me to the owl. 


Like war's swai-t powder in a castle vault, 


Since he may best ensaraple be 


Until occasion, Uke the linstock, Ughts it ; 


To those the cup that trowl. 


Then comes at once the lightning and the thun- 


For when the sun hath left the west. 


der. 


He chooses the tree that he loves the best. 


And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. 


And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his 


Old Play. 


jest. 




Then, though hours be late, and weather foul, 


(14.) — Chap. xxxm. 


We'll di-ink to the health of the bonny, bonny 


Death distant ? — No, alas I he's ever with us. 


owl 


And shakes the dart at us in all our actings: 




He lurks within our cup, while we're in health ; 


The lark is but a bumpkin fowl. 


Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; 


He sleeps in his nest tiU morn ; 


We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel. 


But my blessing upon the jolly owl. 


But death is by to seize us when he lists. 


That all night blows his horn. 


T/i-e Spanish Father. 


Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech. 




And match me this catch, tUl you swagger and 


(15.) — Chap, xxsjv. 


screech. 


Ay, Pedro, — Come you here with mask and lan- 


And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; 


tern, 


For, thougli hours be late, and weather be foul. 


Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools — 


We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny 


Why, youngster, thou may'st cheat the old 


owL 


Duenna, 


Chap, ii 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



69i; 



(2.)— SPEECH OF THE PORTER AT 
KENILWORTH. 

"At the approach of the Queen, upon sight 
of whom, as stiuck by some heavenly vision, the 
gigantic warder dropped his club, resigned his 
keys, ami gave open way to the Goddess of the 
night, and all her magnificent train." 

Wliat stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones? 
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones 1 
Su-s, I'm a warder, and no man of straw ; 
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. 

Yet soft — nay st.iy — what vision have we here ? 
What dainty darling's this — what peerless peer ? 
What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold, 
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold i 
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake, 
My club, my key, my knee, my homage take. 
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bUss ; — 
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a 
sight as this I' 

Chap. XXX. 



(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. iv. 

Not serve two masters ? — Here 'a a youth will 

try it — ■ 
Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; 
Says grace before ho doth a deed of villany, 
And retm-ns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted. 

Old Play. 

(2.)— Chap. v. 

He was a man 

"V'ersed in the -world as pilot in his compass. 
The needle pointed ever to that interest 
Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails 
With vantage to the gixle of others' passion. 

Tlie Deceiver — a Tragedy. 



(3.) — Chap. vii. 

This is He 

Who rides on the court-gale ; controls its tides; 
Knows all then- secret shoals and fatal eddies ; 
Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. 
He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance, 
His colors are as transient. 

Old Play. 

1 " Thia 13 an imitation of Gaacoigne's verses, spoken by the 
Herculean porter, as mentioned in tlie text [of the Novel]. 
The original may be found in tile republication of the Princely 
rleasures of Kenilwortli. by the same auttior, in the History of 
Kenilworth. Chiswick, 1821. 



(4.) — Chap. xtv. 
This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good feUow ; 
There are two bulls fierce battUng on the green 
For one fair heifer — if the one goes down. 
The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, 
Which have small interest in then- brulziement, 
May pasture there in peace. 

Old Play 

(5.) — Chap. xvn. 
Well, then, our course is chosen ; spread the sail, — ■ 
Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well; 
Look to the lielm, good master; many a .shoal 
Marks this stem coast, and rocks where sits the 

siren, 
Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. 

The Shipwreck, 

(6.) — Chap. xxin. 
Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage I 
All hope in human aid I cast behind me. 
Oh, who would be a woman ? who that fool, 
A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman ? 
She hath hard measure stlU where she hopes 

kindest. 
And all her bounties only make ingrates. 

Love's Pilgrimage. 

(7.) — Chap. xxv. 
Hark ! the bells summon, and the bugle calls, 
But she the fairest answers not ; the tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls, 
But she the loveliest must in secret hide. 
What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the 

gleam 
Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense. 
That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem. 
And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence ? 
The Glass Slipper. 

(8.) — Chap, xxviii. 
■WTiat, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full 

can 
Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying ! — 
Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight 
To watch men's vices, since I have myself 
Of virtue naught to boast of. — I'm a striker. 
Would have the world strike with rae, pell-mell, 

all 

Pandcemonium. 

(9.) — Chap. xxix. 
Now fare thee well, my mast* I if true service 
Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow- 
line. 
And let our barks across the pathless flood 
Hold different courses. 

Shipartck. 



694 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(10.) — Chap. xxx. 
Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, she comes ! 
Speak for us, bells ! speak for us, shrill-tongued 

tuckets ! 
Stand to tlie liiistock, gumier ; let thy cannon 
Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe 
Came stretch'd in tui'bau'd ranks to storm the 

ramparts. 
We will have pageants too ; but that craves wit. 
And I'm a rough-hewn soldier. 

The Virgin-Queen, a Tragi-Comedy. 

(11.) — GuAV. xxxn. 
The wisest sovereigns err like private ^men, 
And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Of chivalry upon a wortUess shoulder, 
Which better had been branded by the hangman. 
Wliat then ? Kings do their best, — and they and we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event. 

Old Play. 

(12.) — Chap, xxxiii. 
Here stands the victim — there the proud betrayer, 
E'en as the hind puU'd down by strangling dogs 
Lies at the hunter's feet, who courteous proffers 
To some liJgh dame, the Dian of the chase. 
To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade. 
To gash the sobbing throat. 

The Woodsman. 

(13.)— Chap. xl. 
High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 
And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows ; 
So truth prevails o'er falsehood. 

Old Play. 



Jrom tljc |)irate. 



1821. 



(1.)— THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST. 

" A NoRWEGHN invocation, still preserved in the 
island of Unst, under the name of the Song of the 
Keini-kennar, though some call it the Song of the 
Tempest. The following is a free translation, it 
being impossible to render UteraUy many of the 
elliptical and metaphorical terms of expression pe- 
culiar to the ancient Northern poetry :" — 

1. 

Stern eagle of the far north-west. 

Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt. 

Thou whose rusliing pinions stir ocean to madness. 



Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer of 

navies, 
Amidst the scream of thy rage. 
Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, 
Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a perish- 
ing nation. 
Though the rushing of thy wings be like the roar 

of ten thousand waves. 
Yet hear, in tliine ire and thy haste. 
Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar. 



Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim, 
Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their 

uprooted stems ; 
Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, 
The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover, 
And she has struck to thee the topsail 
That she had not veil'd to a royal armada : 
Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest among 

the clouds, [days. 

The battled massive tower of the Jarl of former 
And the cope-stone of the turret 
Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; 
But thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouds. 
When thou hearest the voice of the Reim-kennar. 



There are verses that can stop the stag in the 

forest. 
Ay, and when the dark-color'd dog is opening on 

his track ; 
There are verses can make the wild hawk pause 

on the wing, 
Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses. 
And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler. 
Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drown- 
ing mariner, 
And the crash of the ravaged forest. 
And the groan of the overwhelra'd crowds. 
When the church hath fallen in the moment of 

prayer ; 
TTiere are sounds which thou also must list. 
When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim- 
kennar. 



Enough of woe hast thou wi ought on the ocean. 
The widows wring their hands on the beach ; 
Enough of woe hast tliou wrought on the land. 
The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; 
Cease thou the w.aving of thy pinions. 
Let the ocean repose in her dark strength ; 
Cease thou the flashing of thine eye. 
Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory of Odin , 
Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the 

north-western heaven, — 
Sleep tliou at the voice of Noma the Reim-kennar 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 695 


5. 


(3).— THE SONG OF HAROLD HARFAQER 


Eagle of the far north-western waters, 




Thou hast heard the voice of the lleim-kennar, 


The sun is rising dimly red. 


Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, 


The wind is waiUug low and dread ; 


And folded them in peace by thy side. 


From his cliff the eagle saUies, 


My blessing be on thy retiring path ; 


Leaves the wolf liis d.arksome valleys ; 


Wlien thou stoopest from thy place on high. 


In the mist the ravens hover, 


Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown 


Peep the wild dogs from the cover, 


ocean, 


Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, 


Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee ; 


Each in his wild accents telling. 


Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice 


" Soon we feast on dead and dying, 


of the Reim-kennar. 


Fiiir-liair'd Harold's flag is flying." 


Cliap. vi. 






Many a crest on air is streaming. 




Many a helmet darkly gleammg. 
Many an arm the axe uprears. 






Doom'd to hew the wood of spears. 




AU along the crowded ranks 




Horses neigh and armor clanks ; 


(2.)— CLAUD HALCRO'S SONG. 


Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringmg, 




Louder still the bard is singing. 


M.\ET. 


" Gather footmen, gather horsemen. 


Farewell to Northmaven, 


To the field, ye vahant Norsemen 1 


Gray HiUswicke, farewell 1 




To the calms of thy haven. 


" Halt ye not for food or slumber. 


Tlie storms on thy fell — 


View not vantage, count not number ; 


To each breeze that can vary 


Jolly reapers, forward still. 


Tlie mood of thy main, 


Grow the crop on vale or hiU, 


And to thee, bonny Mary ! 


Thick or scatter'd, stiff or Uthe, 


We meet not again 1 


It shall down before tlie scythe. 




Forw.ard with your sickles bright. 


Farewell the wild ferry. 


Reap the harvest of the fight. — 


Wliich Hacon could brave, 


Onward footmen, onward horsemen, 


Wlien the peaks of the Skerry 


To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen 1 


Were white m the wave. 




There's a maid may look over 


" Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, 


These wild waves in vain, — 


O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; 


For the skiff of her lover- 


Hear the clioice she spreads before ye, — 


He comes not again I 


Victoiy, antl wealth, and glory ; 




Or old Valhalla's roaring hail, 


The vows thou hast broke, 


Her ever-circUng mead and ale. 


On the wild currents fling them ; 


Where for eternity unite 


On the quicksand and rock 


The joys of wassail and of fight. 


Let the mermaidens sing them. 


Headlong forward, foot and horsemen. 


New sweetness they'll give her 


Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen 1"— 


Bewildering strain ; 


Chap. XV. 


But there's one who wiU never 




Believe them agaia 
were there an island. 






Though ever so wild, 


(4.)— SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND 


Where woman could smile, and 


MERMEN. 


No man be beguiled — 




Too tempting a snare 


MERMAID. 


To poor mortals were given ; 


Fathoms deep beneath the wave. 


And the hope would fix there, 


Stringing beads of ghstering pearl. 


That should anchor in heaven. 


Singing the achievements brave 


Chap. xii. 


Of many an old Norwegian earl ; 



696 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Dwelling where the tempest'* raving, 


Daughters of northern Magnus, haU ! 


Falls as light upon our eai; 


The lamp is Ht, the flame is clear, — 


As the sigh of lover, craving 


To you I come to tell my tale. 


Pity from his lady dear. 


Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! 


Children of wild Thule, we. 


Chap, xix 


From tlie deep caves of the sea. 
As the lark springs from the lea, 






Hither come, to share yom- glee. 






(6.)— CLAUD HALCRO AND NORNA. 


MERMAN. 




From reining of the water-horse. 


CLAUD HALCRO. 


That bounded till the waves were foara- 


Mother darksome. Mother dread. 


'"g. 


Dweller on the Fitful-head, 


Watching the infant tempest's course. 


Thou canst see what deeds are done 


Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; 


Under the never-setting sun. 


From winding charge-notes on the shell, 


Look through sleet, and look through frost, 


"When the huge whale and sword-fish duel. 


Look to Greenland's caves and coast, — 


Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell. 


By the ice-berg is a saU 


When the winds and waves are cruel ; 


Chasing of the swarthy whale ; 


Children of wild Thule, we 


Mother doubtful, Mother dread. 


Have plough'd such furrows on the sea. 


Tell us, has the good ship sped ? 


As the steer draws on the lea. 




And hither we come to share your glee. 


NOENA. 




The thought of the aged is ever on gear, — 


MEEMAIDS AND MEEMEN. 


On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer ; 


We heard you in our twilight caves, 


But thrive may his fisliing, flock, fmrow, and herd, 


A hundred fathom deep below. 


While the aged for anguish shall tear his gray 


For notes of joy can pierce the waves. 


beard. 


That diown each sound of w.ar and woe. 


The ship, well-laden as bark need be. 


Those wlio dwell beneath the sea 


Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ; — 


Love the sous of Thule well ; 


The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft. 


Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we 


And gayly the garland is fluttermg aloft : 


Dance, and song, and sounding shell 


Seven good fishes have spouted their last. 


Children of dark Tlmle, know. 


And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast ; 


Those who dwell by haaf and voe. 


Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall, — 


Where your daring shallops row. 


Three for Bmgh Westra, the choicest of aU. 


Come to share the festal show. 




Chap, xvi 


CLAUD HALCRO. 




Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 






Thou hast conn'd fuU many a rhyme. 


(6.)— NORNA'S SONG. 


That lives upon the surge of time : 




Tell me, shall my lays be sung. 


For leagues along the watery way. 


Like Hacon's of the golden tongue. 


Tlirough gulf and stream my course has been ; 


Long after Halcro's dead and gone ? 


The billows know my Runic lay. 


Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own 


And smooth their crests to silent green. 


One note to rival glorious John ! 


The billows know ray Runic lay, — 


NOKNA. 


The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; 


The infant loves the rattle's noise ; 


But human hearts, more wild than they. 


Age, double cliildhood, hath its toys ; 


Know but the rule of wayward will 


But dift'erent far the descant rings. 




As strikes a different hiind the strings. 


One hour is mine, in all the year. 


The eagle mounts the polar sky— 


To tell my woes, — and one alone ; 


The Imber-goose, unskiU'd to fly. 


When gleams tliis magic lamp, 'tis here, — 


Must be content to glide along, 


When dies the mystic light, 'tis gone. 


Where seal and sea-dog list his song. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 69. 


CLAUD HALOEO. 


Shall she m.arry, ay or not ? 


Be mine the Imber-goose to play, 


If she marry, what's her lot ? 


Aiul haunt lone cave and silent bay ; 




The archer's aim so shall I shim— 


NORNA. 


Sn shall I 'scape the levell'd gun — 


Untoueh'd by love, the maiden's breast 


Content my versos' tuneless jingle, 


Is like the snow on Rona's crest; 


With Thule's sounrling tiiles to niingle, 


So pure, so free from earthy dye, 


While, to the ear of wonilering wight, 


It seera.s, wltilst leaning on the sky. 


Upon the distant headland's height, 


Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh ; 


Soften'd by murmur of the sea. 


But passion, like the wild March rain. 


The rude sounds seem like harmony ! 


May soil the wreath with many a stain. 


» * * » » 


We gaze — the lovely vision's gone — 


Mother doubtful. Mother dread. 


A torrent fills the bed of stone. 


Dweller of the Fitful-head, 


That hurrying to destruction's shock, 


A gallant bark from far abroad. 


Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. 


Saint Magnus hath her in his road. 


Chap. xxL 


With guns and firelocks not a few — 
A silken and a scarlet crew. 






Deep stored with precious merchandise, 




Of gold, and goods of rare device — 


(7.)— SONG OF THE ZETLAND FISHERMAN. 


Wliat interest hath our comrade bold 




In bark and crew, in goods and gold ? 


" While they were yet within hearing of the 




shore, they chanted an ancient Norse ditty, appro- 


NORNA. 


priate to the occasion, of wliich Claud Halcro had 


Gold is ruddy, fiur, and free. 


e-xecuted the following literal translation :" — 


Blood is crimson, and dark to see : — 




I look'd out on Saint Magnus Bay, 


Farewell, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh. 


And I saw a falcon that struck her prey, — 


For the brave lads of Westra are bomid to the 


A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore, 


Haaf; 


And talons and singles are drippuig with gore ; — 


And we must have labor, and hunger, and pain. 


Let he that asks after them look on his hand. 


Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again. 


And if there is blood on't, he's one of their band. 






For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal. 


CLAUD HALCEO. 


We must dance on the waves, with the porpoise 


Mother doubtful. Mother dread, 


and seal ; 


Dweller of the Fitful-head, 


The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high. 


Well thou know'st it is thy task 


And the guU be our songstress whene'er she flits by. 


To tell what Beauty will not aak ; — 




Then steep thy words in wine and milk. 


Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee. 


And weave a doom of gold and silk, — 


By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of the 


For we would know, shall Brenda prove 


sea; 


In love, and happy in her love ? 


And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line, 




Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be tliine. 


NORNA. 




Untoueh'd by love, the maiden's breast 


We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing while we 


Is like the snow on Rona's crest. 


haul. 


High seated in the middle sky. 


For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all : 


In bright and barren purity ; 


There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle. 


But by the sunbeam gently kiss'd, 


And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the 


Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis miss'd, 


earl. 


Ere, down the lonely valley stealing. 




Fresh grass and growth its course revealing, 


Huzza ! my brave comrades, give way for the 


It cheers the flock, revives the flower, 


Haaf, 


And decks some happy shepherd's bower. 


We shall sooner come back to the dance and the 

laugh ; 
For liglit witliout mirth is a lamp without oil; 


MAONUS TROIU 


Mother speak, and do not tarry, 


Tlun, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil 1 


Here's a maiden fain wnnM raarrv. 
S8 


Chap. xxiL 



698 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


(8.)— CLEVELAND'S SONGS. 


And you shall deal my lands so wide, 


1. 


And deal my castles nine. 


Love wakes and weeps 


But deal not vengeance for the deed. 


Wliile Beauty sleeps ! 


And deal not for the crime ; 


for Music's softest numbers, 


The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's 


To prompt a theme, 


grace. 


For Beauty's di-eam, 


And the rest in God's own time. 


Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! 




2. 


Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of trea- 


Through groves of pahn 


son J 
Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with 


Sigh gales of balm, 


reason ; 


Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; 


By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Samt 


Wliile through the gloom 


Mary, 


Comes soft perfume, 


Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if 


The distant beds of flowers revealing. 


thou tarry ! 




If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; — 


3. 


If of ill, let the earth swallow thee ; — 


wake and live ! 


If thou'rt of air, let the gray mist fold thee ; — 


No dream can give 


If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ; — 


A shadow'd bhss, the real excelling ; 


If a Pixie, seek thy ring ; — 


No longer sleep. 


If a Nixie, seek thy spring ;— 


From lattice peep. 


If on middle earth thou'st been 


And Ust the tale that Love is telling. 


Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin. 




Hast eat the bread of toil and strife. 


Fai-cwell ! Farewell ! the voice you hear, 


And dree'd the lot which men call hfe ; 


Has left its last soft tone with you, — 


Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin is scant of 


Its next must join the seaward cheer, 


thee. 


And shout among the shouting crew. 


The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want 




of thee : 


The accents which I scarce could form 


Hence, houseless ghost ! let the earth hide thee. 


Beneath your frown's controlling check. 


Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there 


Must give the word, above the storm. 


thou bide thee ! — 


To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. 


Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross for a token. 




Hence pass till Hallowmass ! — my spell is spokea 


The timid eye I dared not raise, — 




The hand, that shook when press'd to tliine, 


Where corpse-light 


Must point the guns upon the chase — 


Dances bright. 


Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 


Bo it by day or night, 




Be it by light or dark. 


To all I love, or hope, or fear, — 


There shall corpse lie stiff and stark. 


Honor, or own, a long adieu ! 




To all that hfe has soft and dear, 


Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, 


Farewell ! save memory of you 1 


Till the first beam tinge the skies ; 


Cluip, xxiii. 


Silk-fringed eyelids still sliould close, 




Till tlie sun has kiss'd the rose ; 




Maiden's foot we should not view. 




Mark'd with tiny prmt on dew, 


(9.)— CLAUD HALCRO'S VERSES. 


Till the opening flowerets spread 


Cai-pet meet for beauty's tread. 


And you shall deal the funeral dole ; 


Chap, xxiii. 


Ay, deal it, mother mine, 
To weary body, and to heavy soul. 






The white bread and the wine. 


(10.)— NORNA'S INCAN lATIONS. 


And you shall deal my horses of pride ; 


CnAMPioN, famed for warlike toil. 


Ay, deal them, mother mine ; 


Art thou silent, Ribolt TroilS 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 699 


Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, 


Old Reun-kennar, to thy art 


Are leaving bare thy giant .bones. 


Mother Hertha sends her part ; 


Who dared touch tlie wild bear's skii 


She, whose gracious bounty gives 


Ye sluuiber'd on, wliile life was in ? — 


Needful food for sdl that Uves, 


A womiui now, or babe, may come 


From the deep mine of the North 


And cast the covering from thy tomb. 


Came the mystic metal forth. 




Doom'd amidst disjointed stones. 


Yet be not wratliful, Cliief, nor blight 


Long to cere a champion's bones, 


Mine eyes or ears with sound or siglit 1 


Disinhumed my ch.orms to aid — 


I come not, with unhallow'd tread. 


Mother Earth, my thanks ai-e paid. 


To w;d;e the slumbers of tlie dead, 




Or lay thy giant reliques bare ; 


Gu-dle of our islands dear. 


But what I seek thou well canst spare. 


Element of Water, hear ! 


Be it to my hand allow'd 


Thou whose power can overwhelm 


To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud ; 


Broken mounds and ruin'd realm 


Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough 


On the lowly Belgian strand , 


To shield thy bones li*om weather rough. 


AH thy fiercest rage can never 




Of our soil a furlong sever 


See, I draw my magic knife — 


From our rock-defended land ; 


Never, wliile thou wert in life, 


Play then gently thou thy part, 


LaiJst thou stiU for sloth or fear. 


To assist old Noma's art. 


When point and edge were ghttering near ; 





See, the cerements now I sever — 


Elements, each other greeting, 


Waken now, or sleep for ever ! 


Gifts and power attend your meeting 1 


Tliou wilt not wake — the deed is done 1 — 




The prize I sought is fairly woa 


Thou, that over billows dark 




Safely send'st the fisher's bark, — 


Thanks, Ribolt, thanks, — for this the sea 


Giving him a path and motion 


Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee — 


Through tlie wilderness of ocean ; 


And wliile afar its billows foam. 


Thou, that when the bUlows brave ye,, 


Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. 


O'er the shelves canst drive the navy,^ 


riianks, Ribolt, thanks — for tliis the might 


Didst thou chafe as one neglected, 


Of wild winds raging at their height. 


Wliile thy brethren were respected ? 


WTien to thy place of slumber ni^ , 


To appease thee, see, I tear 


Shall soften to a luUaby. 


Tliis fuU grasp of grizzled hair ; 




Oft thy breath hath through it sung, 


She, the dame of doubt and dread. 


Softening to my magic tongue, — 


Noma of the Fitful-head, 


Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly 


Mighty in her own despite, — 


Through the wide expanse of sky, 


Miserable in her might ; 


'Mid the countless swarms to sail 


In despair and phrensy great. 


Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale ; 


In her greatness desolate ; 


Take thy portion and rejoice,^ 


Wisest, wickedest who lives, — 


Spu-it, thou hast heard my voice ! 


Well can keep the word she gives. 




Chap. XXV. 


She who sits by haunted well. 




Is subject to the Nixies' spell ; 


[at interview with mi>-na.] 


She who walks on lonely beach. 


Tliou, so needful, yet so dread. 


To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; 


With cloudy crest, and wing of red ; 


She who walks round rmg of green. 


Thou, without whose genial breath 


Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; 


The North would sleep the sleep of death, — 


And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's cave, 


Wlio deign'st to warm the cottage hearth. 


A weary weird of woe shall have. 


Yet hmls proud palaces to earth, — 




Brightest, keenest of tlie Powers, 


By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, 


Which form and rule this world of ours, 


Minna TroU has braved aU tliis and more ; 


With my rliyme of Runic, I 


And yet hath the root of her sorrow and iU, 


Thank thee for thy agency. 


A source that's more deep and mora mystical 




still— 



700 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOEKS. 



Thou art within a demon's hold, 




(r2.)— MOTTOES. 


More wise than Heims, more strong 


than TroUd ; 




No siren sinijs so sweet as he, — 




(1.)— Chap. n. 


No fay sprinejs lighter ou the lea ; 




'Tis not alone the scene — the man, Anselmo, 


Nu elfin power hath half the art 




The man finds sjTnpathies in these wild wastes, 


To soothe, to move, to wrmg the heart — 


And roughly tumbUng seas, wliich fairer views 


Life-blood from the cheek to drain, 




And smoother waves deny him. 


Drench tlie eye, and dry the rein. 




Ancient Drama. 


Maiden, ere we farther go, 






Dost thou note me, ay or no ! 




(2.) — Chap. tii. 
She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; 


MINNA. 




Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb 



I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and 

sign; 
Speak on with thy riddle — to read it be mine. 

NORNA. 

Mark me ! for the word I speak 

Shall bring the color to thy cheek. 

Tliis leaden heart, so light of cost, 

Tlie symbol of a treasure lost. 

Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace, 

Tliat the cause of your sickness and sorrow may 

cease. 
When crimson foot meets crimson hand 
In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney land. — 

Be patient, be patient; for Patience hath power 

To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower ; 

A fairy gift you best may hold 

In a chain of fairy gold ! — 

The chain and the gift are each a true token. 

That not without warrant old Noma has spoken ; 

But thy nearest and dearest must never behold 

them, 
TiU time shall accomiilish the truths I have told 

them. 

Chap, xxviii. 



(11.)— BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

Poor sinners whom the snake deceives. 
Are fain to cover them with leaves. 
Zetland Imth nfi leaves, 'tis true. 
Because that trees are none, or few ; 
But we have flax and taits of woo'. 
For linen cloth and wadmaal blue ; 
And we have many of foreign knacks 
Of finer waft, thau woo' or flax. 
Te gallanty Lambmas lads appear. 
And bring your Lambmas sisters here, 
Bryce Snailsfuot spares not cost or care. 
To pleasure every gentle pair. 

Chap, xxxii. 



Affords tlie mariners whom she hath dealt on. 
Their death at once, and sepulchre. 

Old Play. 

(3.)— Chap. ix. 
This is a gentle trader, and a prudent — 
He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye. 
With quips of worldly gauds and gamesomeness ; 
But seasons all his glittering merchandise 
With wholesome doctrine suited to the use. 
As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. 

Old Flay. 

(4.) — Chap. xi. 
All your ancient customs, 



And long-descended usages, I'll change. 
Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move, 
Tliink, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do ; 
Even your marriage-beds shaU know mutation ; 
The bride shall have tlie stock, the groom the waU 
For all old practice will I turn and change. 
And call it reformation — marry, will I ! 

'7'/5 Even that were at Odds, 

(5.) — CuAP. xrv. 
We'll keep our customs — what is law itself, 
But old establish'd custom ? What religion 
(I mean, with one-half of the men that use it). 
Save tile good use and wont tliat carries them 
To worship how and wliere their fathers worshipp'd ? 
All things resolve in custom — we'll keep oura. 

Old Play 

(6.) — Chap. xxv. 
1 do love these ancient ruins* 



We never tread upon them but we set 
Our foot upon some reverend history. 
And questionless, here in tliis open court 
(Whidi now Res naked to the injoiies 
Of stormy weather), some men lie interr'd. 
Loved the Church so well, and gave so hugely to ii , 
They thought it should have canopied their bone.i 
Till doomsday ; — but all things have their end — 
Churches and cities, whicli have diseases like to me^i. 
Must have like death wViich we have. 

Xhichess of Mal/y, 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



701 



(T.) — Chap. xxix. 
See yonder woman, wliom our swains rerere, 
And dread in secret, wliile they tiike lier counsel 
When sweetheart shall be kind, or when cross 

dame shall die ; 
Where kirks the tliiof who stole the silver tankard. 
And how the pestilent murr;un may be cured ; — 
Tills sage adviser's mad, stark mad, my friend; 
Yet, ui her madness, hath the art and cunning 
To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, 
And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. 

Old Play. 

(S.) — Chap. xxx. 

What ho, my jovial mates ! come on I we'll froUc it 
Like faii-ies frisking in the merry moonshine, 
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some chris- 
tening, 
Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward — 
He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger 
To churchman's pace professional,. — and, ransacking 
His treacherous memory for some holy hymn. 
Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. 

Old Play. 

(9.) — Chap. xxxn. 
I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, 
Which, lacking favoring breeze, hath not the power 
To stem the powerful current. — Even so, 
Resolving daUy to forsake my vices. 
Habit, strong circumstance, renew'd temptation, 
Sweep me to sea again. — heavenly breath. 
Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel. 
Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without 
thee I 

^Tis Odds when Evens meet. 

(10.) — Chap. xxxm. 
Parental love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom, 
And is the charm, which, like the falconer's lure. 
Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spir- 
its. — 
.So, when famed Prosper doff'd his magic robe, 
It was Miranda pluck'd it from his shoulders. 

Old Play. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxiv. 
Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer. 
The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer; 
Oaths fly Uke pistol-shots, and vengeful words 
Clash with each other like conflicting swords. — 



1 Written after a week's shooting and fisliing, in which the 
poet liail been engaged witli some friends. The reader may see 
these verses set to music in Mr. Thomson's Scottish Melodies 
for 18*!. 

'* t^ee the fainons salmon-spearing scene in Guy Manncring. — 
tVavcrley JVotiris, vol. iii. p. 259-03. 



The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown. 
And true men have some chance to gain their owa 
Captivity, a Poeju 

(12.) — Chap, xxxvii. 
Over the mountains and untler the waves. 
Over the fountams anil under the graves, 
Over floods that are deepest, 

Wliich Neptune obey. 
Over rocks that are steepest, 
Love wUl find out the way. 

Old Song 



®n 35ttttcft i^orcsf s iWountarns Bun ' 



1822. 



On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 
'Tis blithe to hear the sport.sman's guii. 
And seek the heath-frequenting brood 
Far through the noon-day solitude : 
By many a cairn and trenched mound, 
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound, 
And springs, where gray-hair'd shepherds tell, 
That still the fauies love to dwell. 

Along the silver streams of Tweed, 
'Tis bUthe the mimic fly to lead, 
When to the hook the salmon springs, 
And the line wliistles through the rings ; 
Tlie boiling eddy see him try, 
Then dashing from the current high, 
TUl watchful eye and cautious hand 
Have led his wasted strength to land. 

Tis blithe along the midnight tide, 
With stalwart arm the boat to guide ; 
On high the dazzling blaze to rear. 
And heedful plunge the b.arbed spear ; 
Rock, wood, and scaur, emergmg bright, 
Fling on the stream their ruddy hght. 
And from the bank our band appears 
Like Genii, arm'd with fiery speai's.' 

'Tis blithe at eve to tell the tale. 
How we succeetl, and how we fail. 
Whether at Alwyn's' lordly meal. 
Or lowlier board of Ashestiel ;* 



8 .ftlwyn, the seat of the Lord Somerville ; now, alas ! un- 
tenanted, by the lamented death of that kind and hospitabis 
nobleman, the author's nearest neighbor and intimate frieod 
Lord S. died in February, 1819. 

* Ashestiel. the poet's residence at that time. 



702 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Wliile the gay tapers cbeerly shine, 


ESe j;«afli of EsU. 


Bickers the fire, and flows the wine — 




Days free from thought, and nights from care, 


Air—" The Maid of Isla." 


My blessing o'l the Forest fair 1 


WRITTEN FOE Mil. GEOEGE THOMSON'S SCOTTISH 




MELODIES. 


IfareiBell to tte iWuse.' 


1822. 






Oh, Maid of Isla, from the cliff, 

That looks on troubled wave and sky, 


1822. 


Dost thou not see yon Uttle skiff 




Contend with ocean gallantly ? 


E.-^cijANTRESs, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me. 


Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, 


At the close of the evening through woodlands 


And steep'd her leeward dock in foam, 


to roam. 


Why does she war unequal urge ? — 


Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me 


Oh, Isla's maid, she seeks her home. 


Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for 




home. 


Oh, Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, [spray 


Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild 


Her white wmg gleams tlu-ough mist and 


speaking 


Against the storm-cloud, lowermg dark, 


The language alternate of rapture and woe : 


As to the rock she wheels away ; — 


Oh ! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are 


Where clouds are dark and billows rave, 


breaking. 


Why to the shelter should she como 


The pang that I feel at our parting can know. 


Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave ? — 




Oh, maid of Isla, 'tis her home 1 


Each joy thou couldst double, and when there 




came sorrow. 


As breeze and tide to yonder skiff. 


Or pale disappointment to darken my way. 


Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring. 


What voice was like tliine, that could sing of to- 


And cold as is yon wintry cliff; 


morrow. 


Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. 


Till forgot m the strain was the grief of to- 


Tet cold as rock, unkmd as wave. 


day ! 


Still, Lsla's maid, to thee I come ; 


But when friends drop around us in life's weary 


For in thy love, or in his grave, 


waning, 


Must Allan Vomich find liis home. 


The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not 




assuage ; 
Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet re- 






maining, 
The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 


Carle, nob) tije Kfiifl's come.' 




BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPEING. 


'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents be- 






wailing. 
To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the 


1822. 




plain. 


The news has flown frae mouth to mouth, 


And a maiden hung o'er liim with aid unavaiUng, 


The North for ance has bang'd the South ; 


And held to his lips the cold goblet in vaiu ; 


The deU a Scotsman's die o' drouth, . 


As vain thy enchantments, Queen of wild Num- 


Carle, now the ICing's come 1 


bers, 




To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er. 


CHOEUS. 


And the quick pulse of feehng in apathy slum- 


Carle, now the King's come ! 


bers — 


Carle, now the King's come ! 


Farewell, then. Enchantress! I meet thee no 


Thou shalt dance, and I will smg 


more 1 


Carle, now the Iving's come ! 


1 Written, daring illness, for Mr. Thomson's Scottish Col- 


a This imitation of an old Jacobite ditty was written on tne 


eotion, and first published in 1822, united to an air composed 


appearance, in the Frilh of Forth, of the fleet which conveyed 


.ly Georgf! Kinloch of Kiiiloch, Esq. 


his Majesty King George the Fourth to Scotland, in August, 




1822 ; and was published as a broadside. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



703 



AulJ England' held liim lang and fast ; 
And Ireland had a joyfu' cast ; 
But Scotland's turn is come at last- 
Carlo, now the King's come ! 

Auld Reekie, in her rokelay gray, 
Tliought never to have seen the day ; 
He's been a weary time away — 

But, Carle, now the King's come ! 

She's skirUng frae the Castle-hill ; 
The Carline'a voice is grown sae shriU, 
Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill — ■ 

Carle, now the lung's come 1 

" Up baims !" she cries, " baith grit and sma', 
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw I 
Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come from Newbattle's ancient spires, 
Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires. 
And match the mettle of your sires — 
Carle, now the King's come I 

" You're welcome harae, my Montagu ! 
Bring in your hand the yoimg Buccleuch ; 
I'm missing some that I may rue — 

Carle, now the King's come !' 

" Come, Haddington, the kind and gay. 
You've graced my causeway mony a day ; 
I'll weep the cause if you should stay — 
Carle, now the King's come !' 

" Come, premier Duke,' and carry doun 
Frae yonder craig* his ancient croun ; 
It's had a lang sleep and a soun' — 

But, Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come, Athole, from the hill and wood. 
Bring down your clansmen Uke a clud ; 
Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood, — ' 
Carle, now the lung's come ! 

" Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath , 
Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death ; 



J Lord Montagu, uncle anil guardian to the young Duke of 
Buccleuch, placed his Grace's residence of Dallteitii at his Ma- 
.esty's disposal during his visit 10 Scotland. 

3 Charles, the tenth Earl of Haddington, dieJl in 1828. 

3 The Duke of Hamilton, as Earl of Angus, carried the an- 
cient royal crown of Scotland on horseback in King George's 
procession, from Holyrood to the Castle. 

» The Castle. 

' BIS. — " Come, Athole, from your hills and woods. 
Bring iown your Hielandmen in cluds, 
With tjannet, brogue, and tartan duds." 

« Sir George Clerk of Pennycuik, Bart. The Baron of Pen- 
Qycuik is bound by his tenure, whenever the King conies to 



Come, Clerk,' and give your bugle breath ; 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids ; 
Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shtides ; 
Breadalbane, bring yoiu' belted plaids ; 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true. 
Girt with the sword that Minden knew ; 
We have o'er few such lairds as you — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" King Arthur's grown a common crier, 
He's heard in Fife and far Cantire, — 
' Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire I' ' 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Saint Abb roars out, ' I see him pass, 
Between TantaUon and the Bass I' 
Calton, get out yom' keeking-glass — 

Carle, now the King's come !" 

The Cailine stopp'd ; and, sure I am. 
For very glee had ta'en a dwam. 
But Oman" help'd her to a dram. — 

Cogie, now the King's come ! 

Cogie, now the King's come ! 
Cogie, now the King's come ! 
Pse be fou' and ye's be toom,' 
Cogie, now the King's come ! 



CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME. 



PART SECOND. 



A Hawick gUl of moimtaiu dew, 
Heised up Aidd Reekie's heart, I trow. 
It minded her of Waterloo — 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

Again I heard her summons swell. 
For, sic a dirdum and a yell, 

Edinburgh, to receive hioi at the Harestone (in which the 
standard of James IV. was erected when his army encamjied 
on the Boroughmuir, before his fatal expedition to England), 
now built into the park-wall at the end of Tipperlin Lone, 
near the Borougliniuir-head ; and, standing thereon, to givo 
three blasts on a horn. 

' MS. — " Brave Arthur's Seat's a story higher ; 
Saint Abbe is shouting to Kintire, — 
' You lion, light up a crest of tire.' " 
As seen from the west, the ridge of Arthur's Seat bean a 
marked resemblance to a lion couchant. 

8 Mr. Oman, lajiiilord of the Waterloo Hotel. 

" Empty. 



704 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



It dro-wn'd St. Giles's jowing bell— 

Ciirle, now the King's come ! 

"My trusty Provost, tried and tight, 
Stand fonvard for the Good Town's right, 
There's waur than you been made a knight—* 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" My reverend Clergy, look ye say 
Tlie best of thanksgivings ye ha'e. 
4nd warstle for a sunny day — 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

" My Doctors, look that you agree, 
Cure a' the town without a fee ; 
My Lawyers, dinna pike* a plea — • 

Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn, 
Tliat dints on wood or clanks on airn. 
That fires the o'en, or winds the pirn — 
Cai'le, now the King's come I 

"Come forward with the Blanket Blue,^ 
Your sires were loyal men and true. 
As Scotland's foemen oft miglit rue — 
Carle, now the King s come ! 

"vScots downa loup, and riu, mid rave, 
We're steady folks and something grave, 
We'll keep the causeway firm and brave — 
Carle, now the King's come I 

" Sir Thomas,^ thunder from your rock,* 
Till Per.tland dinnles wi' the sliock, 

1 Tlie Lord Provost had the ai^reealile surprise to hear liis 
"lealth proposed, at tlie civic banquet given to George IV. in 
l!ie Parliumenl-House, as " Sir WilUam Arbuthnot, Bart.*' 

2 Tiie Blue Blanket is the standard of tiie incorporated trades 
of Ediiibiirgli, and is kept by tlieir convener, " at wiiose a[>- 
pearance therewith," observes Maitland, " 'tis eaid. that not 
inly the artificers of Edinburgh are obliged to repair to it, but 

all the artificers or craftsmen within Scotland are bound to foi- 
ow it, and fight under the convener of Edinburgh as aforesaid." 
According to an old tradition, this standard was used in the 
Holy Wars by a body of crusading citizens of Edinburgh, and 
was the first that was planted on the walls of Jerusalem, when 
that city was stormed by the Christian army under the famous 
Godfrey. But the real history of it seems to be this ; — James 
III,, a prince who had virtues which the rude age in which he 
lived could not appreciate, having been detained for nine 
monttis in the Castle of Etiinburgh by his factious nobles, was 
relieved by the citizens of Edinburgh, who assaulted the castle 
rtud took it by surprise ; on which occasion James presented 
the citizens with this banner, "with a power to display the 
t>ame in defence of their king, country, and their own right-s." 
■ -Jv'otc to this stanza in the " Account of the King^s Visit,** 
&c., 8vo. 1822. 

3 Sir Thomas Bradford, then commander of the forces in 
Scotland. 

4 Edinhnrgli Castle. 

s Lord Melville was colonel of the Mid-Lofhian Yeomanry 
Cavalry : Sir John Hope of Piukie, Bart., Major ; and Robert 



And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Melville, bring out your bands of blue, 
A' Louden lads, batth stout and true, 
With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, too — " 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" And you, who on yon bluidy braes 
Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise, 
Rank out — rank out — my gallant Grays — ' 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Cock o' the North, my Huntly bra', 
Where are you with the Forty-twa V 
Ah ! wae's ray heart that ye're awa' — • 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" But yonder come my canty Celts, 
With durk and pistols at their belts, 
Thank God, we've still some plaids and kilts- 
Carle, now the King's come I 

" Lord, bow the pibrochs groan and yell ! 
Macdonnell's® ta'en the field himsell, 
Macleod comes branking o'er the fell — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

"Bend up your bow, each Archer spark, 
For you're to guard him Ui,dit and dark; 
Faith, lads, for ance ye've hit the mark — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Young Errol,^ take the sword of state, 
The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate ;^° 

Cockburn, Esq., and Lord Elcho, were captains in llie same 
corps, to which Sir Walter Scott had formerly belonged. 

fi The Scots Grays, heade4l by their gallant colonel, General 
Sir James Stewart of Coltncss, Bart., were on duty at Edin- 
burgh during the King's visit. Bonaparte's exclamation at 
Waterloo is well known: " Ces beaux clievaux gris, comma 
lis travaillent t" 

' Marquis of Huntly, who since became the last Duke of 
Gordon, was colonel of the 42d Regiment, and died in J836. 

8 Colonel Ronaldson Macdonell of Glengarry — who died in 
January, 1828. 

sj The Earl of Errol is lieredJtary Lord High-Constable of 
Scotland, 

'" In more correct Gaelic orthography, Banamhorar-Chat, 
or the Great Lady (literally Female J.vrd of the Chattc) ; the 
Celtic title of the Countess of Sutherland. " Evin unto this 
day, tlie countrey of Sutlierland is yet called Cattey, the in- 
habitants Catteigh, and the Earl of Sutherland Morweir Cat- 
tey, in old Scottish or Irish ; which bnguage the inhabitants 
of this countrey doe still use."— Goriion's Ocnca/officn/ Hi's- 
tory of the Enrls of Suthrrlnnd , p. 18. It was determined 
by his Majesty, that the right of carrying the sceptre lay with 
this noble family ; and Lord Francis Leveson Gower (now 
Egerton), second son of the Countess (afterwards Duchess) of 
Sutherland, was permitted to act as deputy for his mother in 
that honorable office. After obtaining his Majesty's nermis- 
sion to depart for Dunrobin Castle, his place was supplied by 
the Honorable Jolin M. Stuart, second son of the Earl of iA^o- 
rav. -Ed. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 705 


Knight Mareschal,' see ye clear the gate — 


His metamorphosis behold. 


OiU-le, now tlio King's come I 


From Glasgow freeze to cloth of gold ; 




His back-sword with the iron-hilt, 


" Kind cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set, 


To rapier, fairly hatch'd and gilt ; 


But (linna be upon the fret — 


Was ever seen a gallant braver 1 


i'e'se hae the handsel of him yet, 


His very bonnet's grown a be.aver. 


Carle, now the King's come ! 


The Reformation, 


" My daughters, come with een sae blue. 


(2.)— Chap. n. 


Vour garlands weave, your blossoms strew ; 


This, sb', is one among the Seignory, 


He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you — 


Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealth 


Ciule, now the King's rone. '. 


And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst fully 




Lies in a thriftless sort of charity, 


" "WHiat shall we do for the propine — 


That goes a-gadding sometimes after objects, 


We used to oflfer sometliing fine, 


"Which wise men wiU not see when thrust upon 


But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine — 


them. The Old Couple. 


Carle, now the King's come ! 






(3.)— Chap. iv. 


" Deil care — for that I'se never start. 


Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft in't, 


We'll welcome him with Highland heart ; 


As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen. 


Whate'er we have he's get a part — 


In's grogram suit, gold chain, and well-black'd 


Caile, now the King's come 1 


shoes. 




Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a brain 


" I'll show him mason-work this day— 


Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather. 


Nane of your bricks of Bnbel day. 


Or seethes within the statesman's velvet nightcap. 


But towers shall stand till Time's away — 


Read me my Riddle. 


Carle, now the King's come 1 






(4.)— Chap. v. 


" I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair, 


Wherefore come ye not to court ? 


And gallant lads and lasses fair. 


Certain 'tis the rarest sport ; 


And what wad kind heart wish for mair ? — 


There are silks and jewels gUstening, 


Carle, now the Iviiig's conje 1 


Prattling fools and wise men hst^ning, 




Bullies among brave men justling. 


" Step out, Sir John,° of projects rife, 


Beggars amongst nobles busthng ; 


Come win the the thanks of an auld wife, 


Low-breath'd talkers, muiion hspers, 


And bring him health and length of hfe — 


Cutting honest throats by whispers ; 


Carle, now the King's come i" 


Wherefore come ye not to court ? 




Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. 




Skelton SkeltonizetK 
(.5.)_CnAP. VI. 


Iiaui tlje iTortuncs of Nigel. 


0, I do know hun — 'tis the mouldy lemon 




Which our court wits will wet their hps withai. 




1822. 


When they would sauce their honeyed conversa- 
tion 
With somewhat sharper flavor. — Marry, su-. 


MOTTOES. 




Tliat vu-tue's wellnigh left him — all the juice 


(1.)— Chap. i. 


That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out ; 


Now Scot and English are agreed. 


While the poor rind, although as sour as ever, 


And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, 


Must season soon the draff we give our grunters, 


Where, such the splendors that attend him, 


For two-legg'd things are weary on't. 


His very mother scarce had ken'd him. 


The Chamberlain — A Comedy. 


1 The Antlior's friend and relation, the late Sir Alexander 


The Right Honorable Sir John Sinclair, Bart., author of " The 


Keith, of Diinottar and Ravelstone. 


Code of Health and Longevity," &c. &c., — the well-knowQ 


3 .MS. — " Rise up. Sir John, of projects rife, 


patron and projector of national and patriotic plans and im 


And WUS3 him health and length of life, 


provements innumerable, died 21st December, 1835, in his 


And win the thanks of an auld wife." 
89 


eighty-second j'ear. — Ed 



Toe 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(6.) — Chap. vii. 
Things needful we have thought on ; but the thmg 
Of all most needful — that -which Scripture terms, 
As if alone it merited regard, 
The ONE thing needful — that's yet unconsider'd. 
The Chamberlain. 

(7.) — Chap. vnr. 
Ah 1 mark the matron well — and laugh not, Harry, 
At her old steeple-hat and velvet guard — 
I've caU'd her like the ear of Dionysius ; 
I mean that ear-form'd vault, built o'er the dun- 
geon. 
To catch the groans and discontented murmm-s 
Of liis poor bondsmen.. — Even so doth Martha 
Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes. 
Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city — 
She can retail it too, if that her profit 
Shall call on her to do so ; and retail it 
For your advantage, so that you can make 
Your profit jump with hers. 

The Conspiracy. 

(8.)— Chap, x 

Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels 
Of yonder dancing cubs of mottled bone ; 
And drown it not, Hke Egypt's royal harlot. 
Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimm'd wine-cup. 
These are tlie arts, Lothario, which shriuk acres 
Into brief yards — bring sterling pounds to far- 
things. 
Credit to infamy ; and the poor gull. 
Who might have Uved an honor'd, easy Ufe, 
To ruin, and an imregarded grave. 

The Changes. 

(9.) — Chap. xu. 
• This is the very barn-yard, 



'WTiere muster daUy the prime cocks o' the game, 
Rutfie their pinions, crow till they are hoarse. 
And spar about a barleycorn. Here, too, chickens 
The callow, rmiledged brood of forward folly, 
Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur, 
And tune their note like full-plumed Chanticleer. 
Tlie Bear Garden. 

(10.)— Chap. xiii. 
Let the proud salmon gorge the feather'd hook. 
Then strike, and then you have him. — He will 

wince ; 
Spm out your hne that it shall whistle from you 
Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have liim — • 
Marry ! you must have patience — the stout rock 
"Which is his trust, hath edges sometliing sharp ; 
And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge enough 
To mar your fishing — 'less you are more careful. 
Albion, or the Double Kings. 



(11.)— Chap. xvi. 
Give way — give way — I must and will have justice 
And tell me not of privilege and place ; 
Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. 
Look to it, every one who bars my access ; 
I have a heart to feel the injury, 
A hand to right myseU, and, by my honor. 
That hand shall grasp what gray -beard Law denies 
me. 21ie Chamberlain. 

(12.) — Chap. xvii. 
Come hither, young one — Mark me ! Thou art now 
'Mongst men o' the sword, that hve by repiitation 
More than by constimt income — Single-suited 
They are, I grant you ; yet each single suit 
Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand follow- 
ers — 
And they be men, who, hazarding their all. 
Needful apparel, necessary income. 
And human body, and immortal soul. 
Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — 
So strictly is that all bound m reversion ; 
Clothes to the broker, mcome to the usurer, — 
And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend ; 
Who laughs to see Soldadoes and fooladoes. 
Play better than himself his game on earth. 

The Mohocks. 

(13.) — Chap. svni. 
Ifother. What 1 dazzled by a flash of Cupid's 
mirror. 
With which the boy, as mortal urchins wont, 
Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of passengers — 
Then laughs to see them stumble ! 

Daughter. Mother ! no — 
It was a lightning-flash which dazzled me, 
And never shall these eyes see true again. 

Beef and Pudding — An Old English Comedy. 

(14.) — Chap. xix. 
By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle I 
Tliis were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier. 
To bmd his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow. 
And sing a roundel as she help'd to arm him, 
Though the rough foemiin's drmns were beat so nigh. 
They seem'd to bear the burden. 

Old Play. 

(15.) — Chj.p. XX. 
Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus. 
Since the ark rested on Mount A]-;irat. 
False man hath sworn, and womrm hath believed — 
Repented and reproach'd, and tlien beUeved once 
more. The New World. 

(16.) — Ch-ip. XXI. 
Rove not from pole to pole — the man lives here 
Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer ; 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 101 


And where in either sense, the cockney-put 


But that kind Christian love hath taught the les- 


May, if he pleases, get confounded ctii. 


son — 


On tlif Sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber, 


That they who merit most contempt and hate, 




Do most deserve our pity Old Play. 


(17.) — Chap. xxn. 




Chance will not do the work — Chance sends the 


(23.)— Ch.\p. xx.xi. 


breeze ; 


Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood ! 


But if the pilot slumber at the helm, 


Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue 


The very wind that wafts us towai-ds the port 


doublet. 


May dash us on the shelres. — The steersman's part 


That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn 


is vigUance, 


From the far source of old Assyrian kings. 


Blow it or rough or smooth. 


Who first made mankind subject to their sway. 


Old Play. 


Old Play. 


(18.)— Chap. xxiv. 


(24.)— Chap. xxxv. 


This is the time — Heaven's maiden-sentinel 


We are not worse at once — the course of evil 


Hath quitted her high watch — the lesser spangles 


Begins so slowly, and from such slight source, 


Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder 


An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay ; 


And the short lever — bid Anthony 


But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy — 


Keep with liis carabine the wicket-gate ; 


Ay, and religion too, — shall strive in vam 


And do thou bare thy knife and follow me, 


To turn the headlong torrent. 


For we will iu and do it — darkness like this 


Old Play. 


la dawning of our fortunes. 

Old Flay. 






(19.)— Chap. xxv. 
Death finds us 'mid our playtliings — snatches us, 


Jirom |3£BEril of tl)£ |]caK. 


As a cross nurse might do a wayward child. 
From all our toys and baubles. His rough call 




1823. 


Unlooses all our favorite ties on earth ; 






And well if they are such as may be answer'd 


MOTTOES. 


In yonder world, where aU is judged of truly. 


Old Play. 


(1.)— Chap. n. 




Why then, we will have bellowing of beeves, 


(20.)— Chap. xxn. 


Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots ; 


Give us good voyage, gentle stream — we stun not 


Blood shall flow freely, but it sliall be gore 


Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; 


Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry. 


Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks 


Jom'd to the brave heart's-blood of Johu-a-Barley 


">Vith voice of flute and horn — we do but seek 


com 1 OU Play. 


On the broad pathway of thy sweUing bosom 




To glide in silent safety. 


(2.) — Chap. rv. 


The Pouhle Bridal. 


N"o, sir, — I will not pledge— I'm one of those 




Who think good wine needs neither bush nor preface 


(21.) — Chap, xxvir. 


To make it welcome. If you doubt my word. 


This way lie safety and a sure retreat ; 


Fill the quart-cup, and see if I will choke on't. 


Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. 


Old Play. 


Most welcome danger then — Nay, let me say, 




Though spoke with swelling heai-t — welcome e'en 


(3.)— Chap. vi. 


shame ; 


You shall have no worse prison than my chamber 


And welcome punishment — for, call me guilty. 


Nor jailer than myself. 


I do but pay the tax that's due to justice ; 


The Captain. 


And call me guiltless, then that punishment 




Is shame to those alone who do inflict it. 


(4.) — Chap. xvi. 


The Tribunal. 


Ascasto. Can she not speak ? 




Oswald. If speech be only m accented sounds, 


(22.)— Chap. xxix. 


Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden's dumb 


How fares the man on whom good men would look 


But if by quick and apprehensive look. 


With eyes where scorn and censure combated, 


By motion, sign, and glance, to give each meaning 



•708 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Express as clothed in language, be term'd speech, 
She luxtli that -wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, 
Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse, 
Though it be mute and soundless. 

Old Play. 

(5.) — Chap. srn. 
Tliis is a love meeting ? See the maiden mourns, 
And the sad suitor bends his looks on earth. 
There's more hath pass'd between them than be- 
longs 
To Love's sweet sorrows. 

Old Flay. 

(6.) — Chap. xix. 
Now, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails 
Give their broad bosom to the buxom wind, 
Like lass that woos a lover. 

Anoyiynious, 

Cl.) — Chap. xxn. 
He was a fellow in a peasant's garb ; 
Yet one could censm'e you a woodcock's carving. 
Like any courtier at the ordinary. 

The Ordinary. 

(8.) — Chap. xxiv. 
We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, 
Which glide and sigh, and sign, and move their lips, 
But make no sound ; or, if they utter voice, 
'Tis but a low and undistinguish'd moaning. 
Which has nor word nor sense of utter'd sound. 

The Chieftain. 

(9.) — Chap. xxv. 
Tlie course of human life is chtingeful still 
As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; 
Or, like the hght dance which the wild-breeze 

weaves 
Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves ; 
Which now its breath bears down, now tosses high, 
Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. 
Such, and so varied, the precarious play 
Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day I 

Ajionynious, 

(10.) — Chap. xxvi. 
Necessity — thou best of peacemakers. 
As well as surest prompter of invention- 
Help us to composition 1 

Anonymous. 

(11.) — Chap, xxvii. 

Tliis is some creature of the elements 

Most Uke your sea-gull. He can wheel and whistle 
His screaming song, e'en when the storm is loud- 
est — 
Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam 



Of the wild wave-crest — slumber in the calm, 
And dally with the storm. Yet 'tis a gull, 
An arrant gull, with all this. 

The Chieftain. 

(12.) — Chap. xxxi. 
I fear the devil worst when gown and cassock, 
Or, in the lack of them, old Calvin's cloak. 
Conceals his cloven hoof. 

Anonymous. 

(13.) — Chap, xxxin. 
'Tis the black ban-dog of om' jail — -Pr-ay look on him, 
But at a wary distance — rouse him not — ■ 
He bays not till he worries. 

Tlie Black Dog of Kewgate. 

(14.) — Chap, xxxvni. 
" Speak not of uiceness, when there's chance of 

wreck," 
The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck 
To see the dying dolphin flap the deck : 
" If we go down, on us these gentry sup ; 
We dine upon them, if we haul them up. 
Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters, 
As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat the 

cheaters." 

The Sea Voyage. 

(15.) — Chap. xl. 

Contentions fierce, 

Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause. 

Albion. 

(16.) — Chap, xliii. 
He came amongst them hke a new-raised spirit. 
To sjjeak of dreadful judgments that impend. 
And of the wi'ath to come. 

The Reformer. 

(17.) — Chap. xliv. 
And some for safety took the dreadful leap; 
Some for the voice of Heaven seem'd calling on 

them ; 
Some for advancement, or for lucre's sake — 
I leap'd in froUc. 

The Dream. 

(18.)— CH.\r. XLv. 
High feasting was there there — the gilded roofs 
Rung to the wassaU-health — the dancer's step 
Sprung to the chord responsive — tlie gay gamester 
To fa:te's disposal flung his heap of gold. 
And laugli'd alike when it increased or lessen'd : 
Such virtue hatli com't-air to teach us patience 
Which sclioolmen preach in vain. 

Wliy come ye not to Court > 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



709 



(19.) — Chap. xivi. 
Here st.inJ I tight and trim, 
Quick of eye, thougli little of limb; 
He who clenieth the word I have spoken, 
Betwixt him and me sliall lances be broken. 

Lay of the Little John de Saintre. 



Jrom (©ucntin PunuarD. 



1823. 



(1.)— SONG— COUNTY GUT. 

Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea. 
The orange flower perfumes the bower. 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark, his lay who thriU'd all day. 

Sits hush'd liis partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour. 

But where is County Guy J 

The village maid steals through the shade, 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To beauty shy, by lattice high, 

Sings high-born Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above. 

Now reigns o'er eiirth and sky ; 
And high and low the influence know — • 

But where is County Guy ? 

Chap. iv. 



(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. .xi. 
Patntehs show Cupid blind — Hath Hymen eyesi 
Or is his sight warp'd by those spectacles 
■Which parents, guardiims, and advisers, lend him, 
That he may look through them on lands and man- 
sions. 
On jewels, gold, and all such rich donations, 
And see their value ten times magnified ? — 
Methinks 'twill brook a question. 

T/te_Miseries of Enforced Marriage, 

(2.)— Chap. xn. 
Tills is a lecturer so skill'd in poHcy, 
That (no disp.aragement to Satan's cunning) 
He well might read a lesson to the devil, 
And teach the old seducer new temptations. 

Old Play. 



(3.) — Chap. xrv. 
I see thee yet, fair France — thou favor'd land 
Of art and nature^thou art still before me ; 
Thy sons, to whom their labor is a sport, 
So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; 
Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing eyes 
And glossy raven-locks. But, favor'd France, 
Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell, 
In ancient times as now. 

Anonymous. 

(4.) — Chap. xt. 
He was a son of Egypt, as he told me. 
And one descended from those dread magicians, 
Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in 

Goshen, 
With Israel and her Prophet — matching rod 
With his the sons of Levi's — and eucomitering 
Jehovah's miracles with incantations. 
Till upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, 
And those proud sages wept for then- first-bom, 
As wept the unletter'd peasant. 

Anonymous. 

(5.) — Chap. xxrv. 
Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive ; 
Deal with me what your nobleness suggests — 
Thinking the chance of war may one day place 

you 
Where I nmst now be reckon'd — i' the roll 
Of melancholy prisoners. 



(6.) — Chap. xxv. 
No human quality is so well wove 
In warp and woof, but there's some flaw in it ; 
I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur, 
A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy 
Had well nigh been ashamed on't. For your 

crafty, 
Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest, 
Weaves his own snares so fine, he's often caught 

in them. 

Old Play. 

(7.) — Chap. xxvi. 
When Princes meet, astrologers may mark it 
An ominous conjunctiim, fuU of boding. 
Like that of Mars with Saturn. 

Old Play. 

(8.) — CHjiP. XXIX. 

Thy time is not yet out — the devil thou servest 
Has not as yet deserted thee. He aids 
The friends who drudge for him, as the blind man 
Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder 
O'er rough and smooth, until he reach'd the brink 
Of the fell precipice — then hurl'd liim downward. 

Old Play. 



710 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


(9.) — Chap. rxx. 


(5.) — Chap, xxiii. 


Our counsels -waver like the unsteady bark, 


Oh ! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant. 


That reels amid the strife of meeting currents. 


The bride of Heaven — Come — we may shake youi 


Old Play. 


purpose : 




For here I bring in hand a jolly suitor 


(10.) — Chap. xxxi. 


Hath ta'en degrees in the seven sciences 


Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. — Gentle 


That ladies love best — He is young and noble. 


maiden. 


Handsome and valiant, gay and rich, and liberal. 


Keep you your promise plight — leave age its sub- 


The Nun. 


tleties. 




And gray-hair'd policy its maze of falsehood ; 


(6.) — Chap. xxxn. 


But be you candid as the morning sky, 


It comes — it "wruigs me in my parting hour. 


Ere the high sun sucks vapors up to etam it. 


The long-liid crime — the well-disguised guilt. 


The Trial 


Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre I 




Old Play 
(7.) — Chap, xirrv. 




Jrom St. Honan's lUcll. 








Still though the headlong cavalier. 
O'er rough and smooth, in wild career. 




1823. 


Seems racing with the wind ; 
His sad companion — ghastly pale. 




MOTTOES. 


And darksome as a widow's veil. 




Cahe — -keeps her seat behind. 


(1.)— Chap, ii.— The Guest. 


Horace. 


Quis novus hie hospes ? 




Dido apud Virgilivm. 


(8.) — Ch.ap. xxvviii. 




What sheeted ghost is wandering through the 


Ch'm-maid ! — The German in the front p.arlor ! 


storm ? 


Boots's free Translation of t/ie Eneid. 


For never did a maid of middle earth 




Choose such a time or spot to vent her sorrows. 


(2.)— Chap. in. 


Old Play. 


There must be government in all society — 




Bees have theu- Queen, and stag herds have their 


(9.) — Chap, xxxrx. 


leader ; 


Here come we to our close — for that which follo-ws 


Rome had her Consuls, Athens had her Archons, 


Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. 


And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. 


Steep crags and headlong lins may court the pencil 


Tlie Album of St. Ronans. 


Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange adven- 

tm-es ; 
But who would paint the duU and fog-wrapt moor, 


(3.)— Chap. x. 


Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; 


In its long tract of sterile desolation! 


Thou art of those, who better help their friends 


Old Play. 


With sage advice, than usurers with gold, 

Or brawlers with theu- swords — I'U trust to thee, 






For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. 




Tlie Devil hath met his Match. 


Srje JSannatsnc eiui." 


(■t.)— Chap. xi. 
Nearest of blood should still be next in love ; 




1823. 


And when I see these happy children playing. 




AVliile WiUiam gathers flowers for Ellen's ringlets, 


I. 


And Ellen dresses flies for William's angle, 


Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, 


I scarce can think, that in advancbg life, 


To' sing in the praises of sage Bannatyue, 


Coldness, unkindness, interest, or suspicion. 




WiU e'er divide that unity so sacred, 


» Sir Walter Scott was the lirst President of tlie Clab, and 


Wliich Nature bound at bu-th. 


wrote tliese verses Tor tlie anniversary dinner of Marcli, 1823 


Anortymous. 


— Sec Life, vol. vii. p. 137. 



LYRICAL AND xMISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



71 J 



Wlic left such a treasure of old Scottish lore 
A3 enables eacli age to print one volume more. 
Oce ToUune more, my friends, one volume 

more, 
We'll rimsack old Bamiy for one volume 
more. 

II. 

And first, Allan Riimsay, w-as e.ager to glean 
From Bannatyne's Hortus liis bright Evergreen; 
Two little light volumes (intended for four) 
Still leave us the task to print one volume more. 
One volume more, itc. 

III. 

His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin 
How much he left out, or how much he put in ; 
The truth of the reading he thought was a 

bore. 
So tliis accurate age calls for one volume more. 
One volume more, <tc. 

IV. 
Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord HaUes, 
And weigh'd every letter in critical scales. 
But left out some brief words, which the prudish 

abhor. 
And castrated Banny in one volume more. 

One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more, 
We'll restore Banny's manhood in one volume 
more. 



John Pinkerton nest, and I'm truly concern'd 
[ can't call that wortliy so candid as letirn'd ; 
He rail'd at the pliiid and blasphemed the clay- 
more. 
And set Scots by the ears in his one volume 
more. 
One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more, 
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one vol- 
ume more. 

' In accorilance with his own regimen, Mr. Ritson published 
a volume entitled, "An Essay on Abstinence from Animal 
Food as a Moral Duty. 1802." 

2 See an account of the Metrical Antiquarian Researches of 
Pinkerton, Riu-oii, and Herd, &c. in the Introductory Remarks 
on Popular Poetry, ante, p. 544, et seq. 

3 James SibbaUl, editor of f^cottish Poetry, &c. "The 
Yeditur,'* was the name -^iven liim by the late Lord Eldin, 
then Mr. John Clerk, advocate. The description of him here 
is very accurate. 

* David Herd, editor of Songs and Historical Ballads. 2 
vols. He was called Greysleel by his intimates, from having 
been long in Qnsaccessful quest of the romance of that 
tame. 

5 This club was instituted in the year 18^, for the publication 
or reprint of rare and curious works connected with the history 



VI. 
As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a zazor, 
And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar,' 
His diet too acid, his temper too sour. 
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more.' 
But one volume, my friends, one volimie more, 
We'll dine on roast-beef and print one volimie 
more. 

vn. 

Tlie stout Gothic yedittir, next on the roU,' 
With his beard like a brush .and as black as a coal , 
And honest Greysteel* that was true to the core, 
Lent their hearts and their hands each to one vol- 
ume more. 

One volume more, Ac. 

vm. 

Since by these single champions what wonders 

were done. 
What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One ? 
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in our corps, 
And the Trade and the Press join for one voltune 

more. 

One volume more, &c, 

IX. 

Ancient libels and contraband books, I assure ye, 
We'll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury ; 
Then hear your Committee and let them count o'er 
The Chiels they intend in theu- three volumes more. 
Three voltunes more, i&c. 

X. 

They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient and 

Sext, 
And the Rob of Dumblane imd her Bishops come 

next ; 
One tome miscellaneous they'll add to yoiu" store. 
Resolving next year to print four volumes more. 
Four volumes more, my friends, four voltmie« 

more; 
Pay down yoiu: subscriptions for foui' volumes 
more.' 

and antiquities of Scotland. It consisted, at first, of a very few 
members, — gradually extended to one hundred, at which num- 
ber it has now made a final jiause. They assume the name of 
the Bannatyne Club from George Bannatyne, of whom little ii 
known beyond that prodigious effort which produced his pres- 
ent honors, and is, perhaps, one of the most ^ngnlar instances 
of its kind which the literature of any country exhibits. His 
labors as an amanuensis were undertaken during the time of 
pestilence, in 15ti8. The dread of infection had induced him 
to retire into solitude, and onder such circumstances he had 
the energy to form and execute the plan of saving the literatum 
of the whole nation ; and, undisturbed by the general mourn- 
ing for the dead, and general fears of the living, to devoto 
himself to the task of collecting and recording the triumphs of 
human genius in the poetry of his age anil country ; — thug, 
amid the wreck of all that was mortal, employing himself it 



712 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Co 3. (5. SLoctiiaxt, Ksq. 

ON THE COilPOSITION OF MAIDa's EPITAPH. 



1824. 



" Maids Marmorea dermis sub ima^ne Maida ! 
Ad ianuam domini sit tibi teira levis." 

See l,ife of Scott, vol. vii. pp. 275-881. 

" Deae John, — I some time ago wrote to iuform liis 

Fat worsljip of jaces, misprinted for donnis ; 

But that several Southrons assured me the januam 

Was a twitch to both eiu's of Ass Priscian's cra- 
nium. 

Tou, perhaps, may observe that one Lionel Ber- 
guer, 

In defence of our blunder appears a stout arguer : 

But at length I have settled, I hope, all these 
clatters. 

By a rou't in the papers — fine place for such 
matters. 

I have, therefore, to make it for once my com- 
mand, su*, 

Th.it my gudeson shall leave the whole thing in 
my hand, su-, 

And by no means accomplish what James says 
you threaten, 

Some banter in Blackwood to claim your dog- 
Latin. 

I have various reasons of weight, on my word, sir. 

For pronouncing a step of this sort were absurd, 
sm — 

Firstly, erudite sir, 'twas against your advising 

I adopted the lines tliis monstrosity Hes in ; 

For you modestlj' hinted my English translation 

Would become better far such a dignified station. 

Second — how, in God's name, would my bacon be 
saved, 



preservin;? tbe lays by which mortality is at once given to 
others, and obtained for the writer himself. He informs as of 
some of the numerous difficulties he had to contend with in 
this self-imposed task. The volume containing his labors, 
deposited in the Library of the Faculty of Advocates at Edin- 
burgh, is no less than eight hundred pages in length, and very 
neatly and closely written, containing nearly all the ancient 
poetry of Scotland now known to exist. 

This Caledonian association, which boasts several names of 
distinction, both from rank and talent, has assumed rather a 
broader foundation than the parent society, the Roxburghe 
Club in London, which, in its plan, being restricted to the 
reprinting of single tracts, each executed at the expense of an 
individual member, it follows as almost a necessary conse- 
quence, that no volume of considerable size has emanated from 
it, and its range has been thus far limited in point of utility. 
The Bannatyne, holding the same system with respect to the 
ordinary species of club reprints, levies, moreover, a fund 
among its membere of about jC^OO a year, expressly to be 
applied for the editing and jirinling of works of acknowledged 
importance, and likely to he attended with exj)ense beyond 
the reasonable bounds of an individual's contribution. In this 
way ei'ber a member of the Club, or a competent pereon under 



By not haying writ what I clearly (.ngraved ? 

On the contrary, I, on the whole, think it better 

To be whipp'd as the thief, thun his lousy rt>- 
setter. 

Thirdly — don't you perceive that I don't care a 
boddle 

Although fifty false metres were flimg at my 
noddle. 

For my back is as broad and as hard as Benlo- 
mon's, 

And I treat as I please both the Greeks and the 
Romans ; 

Whereas the said heathens might rather look 
serious 

At a kick on their drtmi from the scribe of Va- 
lerius. 

And, fourtlily and lastly — it is my good pleasure 

To remain the sole somxe of that murderous 
meastire. 

So stct pro ratione voluntas — ^be tractile. 

Invade not, I say, my own dear little dactyl ; 

If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our inter- 
course : 

To-morrow will see me in town for the winter- 
course, 

But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, 

My own pye-house daughter's good prog to de- 
vour, sir. 

Ergo — peace ! — on your duty, your squeamishnesa 
throttle. 

And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny 
thhrd bottle. 

A fig for all dactyls, a fig for aU spondees, 

A fig for all dunces and dominie Grundys ; 

A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east, anil 
west, SU-, 

Speates and raxes' ere five for a famishing guest. 



its patronage, superintends a particular volume, or set of vol- 
umes, tjpon these occasions, a very moderate number of copies 
are thrown off for general sale ; and those belonging to the 
Club are only distinguished from the others by being printed 
on the paper, and ornamented with the decorations, peculiar to 
the Society. In this way several useful and eminently valua- 
ble works iiave recently been given to the public for the first 
time, or at least with a degree of accuracy and authenticity 
which they h.id never before attained. — Abridged friivi lite 
Quarterhj Review — Art. Pitcairn^s Ancient Criminal Tri- 
als. February, 1831. 
I 1 There is an excellent story (but tot long for quotation) in the 
j jMemoire of the Somervilles (vol. i. p. 240) about an old Lord 
of that family, who, when he wished preparations to be made 
for high feasting at his Castle of Cowthally, used to send on a 
billet inscribed with this laconic phrase, " Speates and raxes,'* 
i. e. spits and ranges. Upon one occasion. Lady Somerville 
(being newly married, and not yet skilled in her husband's 
hieroglyphics) read the mandates as spears and jacks, and 
sent forth 200 armed horsemen, wliose appearance on the 
moors greatly alarmed Lord Somerville and his guest, wiio 
happened to be no less a person than King James III. — See 
Scott's Miscellaneous Prose, vol. xxii. p. 312. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



713 



And as Fatsman' and I have some topics for ha- 
ver, he'll 

Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Pev- 
eril, 

Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne, 
vou a 

Dog shall be deem'd if you fasten your Janna. 



atnes, 

ADDEESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE,' THE CELE- 
BRATED VENTRILOQUIST. 



1824. 



Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good 

To carry two visages under one hood ; 

What should folk say to you ? who have faces such 

plenty, 
Thxit fi-om under one hood, you last night shoVd 

us twenty ! 
Stand forth, arch deceiver, and teU us in truth, 
Ai'e you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth ? 
Man, woman, or child— a dog or a mouse ? 
Or are you, at once, each Uve thing in the house ? 
Each Uve thing, did I ask \ — each dead implement, 

too, 
A work-shop in your person, — saw, chisel, and 

screw I 
Above all, are you one individual ? I know 
You must be at least Ale.xandre and Co. 
But I think you're a troop — an assemblage — a 

mob. 
And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up the 

job; 
And instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse. 
Must read you the Riot-Act, and bid you dis- 
perse. 
Abbotsford, 23(f April? 

* Fatsman was one of Mr. James Ballantyne's many aliases. 
Another (to which Constable mostly adhered) was Mr. " Bas- 
ketfill" — an allusion to the celebrated printer Baskerville. 

2 •* lyhen Monsieur Jltexandre, the cdebrated ventrilo- 
quist, was in Scotland, in 1824, he paid a visit to Jlbhots- 
ford, where he entertained his distinguished host, and the 
other visitors, with his unrivaUcd imitations. A'eit morn- 
ing, when he was aliout to depart. Sir IVa/ter felt a good 
deal embarrassed as to the sort of acknowledgment he should 
offer ; but at length, resolving that it would probably be most 
agreeable to the young foreigner to be paid in professional 
coin, if in any, he stepped aside for a few mi.iutes, and on 
returning, presented him with this epigram. The reader 
need hardly be reminded that Sir tValtcr Scott held the of- 
fice of Sheriff of the county of Selkirk." — Scotch newspaper, 
1830. 
a The lines, with this date, appeared in the Edinburgh An- 
al Register of 1824. 
90 



SptloQue 

TO THE DRAMA FOITNDED ON " ST. KO.VAN's WELI " 



1824. 



" After the play, tlie following humorous address 
(ascribed to an eminent literary character) was 
spoken with infnite effect by Mr. Mackay in the 
character of Meg Dodds." — Edinhuryh Weekly 
Journal, 9th June, 1824. 

Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by a crowd of unruly 
boys, whom a town' s-officer is driving off. 

That's right, friend — drive the gaitlings back. 
And lend yon muckle ane a whack ; 
Yotu' Embro' bauns are grown a pack, 

Sae proud and saucy. 
They scarce will let an auld wife walk 

Upon yoiu' causey. 

I've seen the day they would been scaur'd, 
Wi' the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, 
Or maybe wud hae some regard 

For Jamie Laing — • 
The Water-hole' was right weel wared 

On sic a gang. 

But whar's the gude Tolbooth" gane now ! 
Whar's the atdd Claught,' wi' red and blue ? 
Whar's Jamie Laing ? and whar's John Doo !' 

And whar's the Weigh-house?' 
DeU hae't I see but what is new, 

Except the Playhouse I 

Yoursells are changed frae head to heel. 
There's some that gar the causeway reel 
With clashing hufe .and ratthng wheel, 

And horses canterin', 
Wha's fathers daunder'd hame as weel 

Wi' lass and lantern. 

* James Laing was one of the Depote-Clerks of the city of 

Edinburgh, and in his official connection with the Police and 
the Council-Chamber, his name was a constant terror to 6T'I* 
doers. He died in February, 180G. 

6 The Watch-hole. 

e The Tolbooth of Edinburgh, Tlie Heart of Mid-Lothian, 
was pulled down in 1817. 

' The ancient Town Guard. The reduced remnant of thij 
body of police was finally disbanded in 1817. 

8 John Doo, or Dhu — a terrific-looking and high-spirited 
member of the Town Guard, and of whom there is a print by 
Kay, etched in 1784. 

The Weigh-House, situated at the head of the West Bow, 
Lawnmarket, and which had long been looked upon as an en- 
cumbrance to the street, was demolished in order to make way 
for the royal procession to the Castle, which took place on tbt 
22d of August, 1832. 



714 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOEKS. 



Mysell being in the public line, 

I look for howfs I kenn'd lang syne, 

Wliar gentles used to di'ink gude wine, 

And eat cheap dinners ; 
But deil a soul gangs there to dine, 

Of saints or sinners I 

Fortune's^ and HunterV gane, alas 1 
And Bayle's' is lost in cmptj' space ; 
And now if folk would splice a brace, 

Or crack a bottle. 
They gang to a new-fangled place 

They ca' a Hottle. 

The deevil hottle them for Meg ! 
They are sae greedy and sae gleg, 
That if ye're served but wi' an egg 

(And that's puir pickin'), 
In conies a chiel and makes a leg, 

And charges chicken I 

" And wha may ye be," gin ye speer, 

" That brings your auld-warld clavers here ?" 

Troth, if there's onybody near 

That kens the roads, 
ril hand ye Bm'gundy to beer. 

He kens Meg Dodds. 

I came a piece frae west o' Currie ; 
And, since I see you're in a hurry, 
Tom- patience I'll nae langer worry. 

But be sae crouse 
As speaJf a word for ane Wdl Murray,* 

That keeps this house. 

Plays are auld-fashion'd things, in truth. 
And ye've seen wonders mair uncouth ; 
Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth. 

Or want of dramock. 
Although they speak but wi' theur mouth, 

Not with their stamock. 

But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry ; 

And surely to hae stooden sentry 

Ower this big house (that's far frae rent-free), 

For a lone sister, 
la claims as gude's to be a ventri — 

How'st ca'd — loquister. 

I Fortnne*s Tavern — a honse on the west side of the Old 
Stamp-otBce Close, High Street, and which was, in the early 
part of the last century, the mansion of the Earl of EglintOQn. 
— The Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of 
the day held his levees and dinners in this tavern. 

"i Hunter's — another once mnch-frequented tavern, in Wri- 
ter's Court. Royal Exchange. 

3 Bayle's Tavern and Cotfeehonse, originally on the North 
Bridge, east side, afterwards in Shakspeare Square, but re- 
moved to admit of the opening of Waterloo Place. Such was 
the dignified character of this house, that the waiter always 



Weel, sirs, gude'en, and hare a care, 
The bairns mak ftm o' Meg nae mair ; 
For giu they do, she tells you fair. 

And without failzie, 
As sure as ever ye sit there. 

She'll tell the Bailie 



Epfloaue.' 



1824. 



The sages — for authority, pray look 

Seneca's morals, or the copy-book — 

The sages to disparage woman's power. 

Say, beauty is a fan', but fading flower ; — 

I cannot tell — I've small philosophy — 

Tet, if it fades, it does not surely die, 

But, like the violet, when decayed in bloom. 

Survives through many a year in rich perfume. 

Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone, 

A thu'd wanes fast, since Mary fill'd the throne. 

Brief was her bloom, with scarce one simny day, 

'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : 

But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you 

boast, 
ShaU sympathy with Mary's woes be lost ! 
O'er Mary's mem'ry the learned quarrel. 
By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel. 
Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name 
The constant bm'den of his fatdt'ring theme ; 
In each old hall his gray-hair'd heralds tell 
Of Mary's pictm'e, and of Mary's cell. 
And show — my fingers tingle at the thought — 
The loads of tapestry which that poor Queen 

wrought. 
In vain did fate bestow a double dower 
Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and pow'r. 
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends — 
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends. 
Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst. 
They rose in ill fi'om bad to worse, and worst, 
In spite of errors — I dare not say more, 
For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore. 
In spite of all, liowever, humors vary. 
There is a talisman in that word Mary, 

appeared in full dress, and nobody was admitted who had not 
a white neckcloth — then considered an indispensable iusigninm 
of a gentleman. 

* Mr. William Murray became manager of the Edinburgh 
Theatre in 1815. 

6 " I recovered the above with some diflicnlty. I believe it 
was never spoken, but^vritten for some play, afterwards with- 
drawn, in which Mrs. H. Siddons was to have spoken it in the 
character o^* Queen Mary." — Extract from a Letter of Sir 
TValU- Scott to Mr. Constable, 22d October, 1824. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



lib 



That unto Scottish bosoms all and some 
Is found the genuine open sesaiituni I 
In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, 
It charms alike the castle and the hovel, 
Even you — forgive me — who, demure and shy, 
Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every fly. 
Must rise to tliis, else in her ancient reign 
The Rose of Scotland has survived in vain. 



Jrom Hcbgauntlct. 



182-1. 



" It was but three nights ago, that, ■worn 

out by the uniformity of my confinement, I had 
manifested more symptoms of despondence than I 
had before exhibited, which I conceive may have 
attracted the attention of the domestics, through 
whom the circumstance might transpire. On the 
next morning, the following lines lay on my table ; 
but how conveyed there, I cannot tell. The hand 
in which they are written is a beautiful Italian 
manuscript." — Dairsie Latiiner^s Journal^ Chap, x. 

As lords their laborers' hire delay, 
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, 

Which, if far short of present pay, 
Still owns a debt and names a sum. 

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, 
Although a distant date be given; 

Despair is treason towards man, 
And blasphemy to Heaven. 



Jrom <i[l)c jpctrotljeit. 



1825. 



(1.)— SONG— SOLDIER, "WAKE. 

I. 

SoLDEEE, wake — the day is peeping, 
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping, 
Never when the simbeams stiU 
Lay unreflected on the hill : 
'Tis when they are glinted back 
From axe and armor, spear and jack, 
Tliat they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 



n. 

Arm and up — the morning beam 
Hath CiUl'd the rustic to his team. 
Hath call'd tlie falc'ner to the lake. 
Hath call'd the huntsman to the brake • 
The earlj student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake— thy harvest, fame ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. 
Shield, that would be foeman's terror. 
Still should gleam the morning's mhror. 

HL 
Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; 
More paltry stdl the sportsman's gain : 
Vainest of all the student's theme 
Ends in some metaphysic dream : 
Yet each is up, and each has toil'd 
Since first the peep of dawn has smUed ; 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for fame. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror 1 
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror. 

Chap. xix. 



(2.)— SONG— THE TRUTH OF WOMAN. 



Woman's faith, and woman's trust- 
Write the characters in dust ; 
Stamp them on the running stream. 
Print them on the moon's pale beam, 
And each evanescent letter 
Shall be clearer, firmer, better, 
And more permanent, I ween. 
Than the thing those letters meaa 

n. 

I have strain'd the spider's thread 

'Gainst the promise of a maid ; 

I have weigh'd a gi'ain of sand 

'Gainst her plight of heart and hand ; 

I told my true-love of the token. 

How her faith proved hght, and her word was 

broken : 
Again her word and truth she plight. 
And I believed them again ere night. 

Chap, sx 



(.3.)— SONG— I ASKED OF MY HARP. 

"The minstrel took from his side a roti, 

and striking, from time to time, a Welsh descant 



T16 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


eung at others a lay, of which we can offer oiJy a 


Dull Peace ! the valley yields to thee, 


few fragments, literally translated from the an- 


And owns thy melancholy sway. 


cient language in which they were chanted, pre- 


Welsh Poem, 


mising that they are in that excursive symbohcal 




6tyle of poetry, which TaUessin, Llewarch, Hen, 


(2.) — Chap. vn. 


and other bards, had derived perhaps from the 


0, sadly shmes the morning sun 


time of the Druids." 


On leaguer'd castle wall, 




When bastion, tower, and battlement, 


I ask'd of my harp, " Who hath injured thy chords ?" 


Seem nodding to tbeh faU. 


And she repUed, "The crooked finger, which I 


Old Ballad. 


mocked in my tune." 




A blade of silver may be bended — a blade of steel 


(3.)— Chap. xn. 


abideth — 


Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 


Ivindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


And ladies of England tliat happy would 


The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips. 


prove, 
Marry never for houses, nor marry for land. 


But they are long corroded by the juice of worm- 


Nor marry for nothing but only love. 


wood; 


Family Quarrels, 


The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the wolf 




rangeth the mountain ; 


(4.) — Chap. xin. 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


Too much rest is rust, 




There's ever cheer in changing ; 


I ask'd the red-hot iron, when it glimmer'd on the 


We tyne by too much trust. 


anvil, 


So we'U be up and ranging. 


"Wherefore glowest thou longer than the fire- 


Old Song. 


brand V 




" I was born in the dark mine, and the brand in 


(5.) — Chap. xvn. 


the pleasant greenwood." 


Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


The blush upon her cheek has shamed the morning 




For that is dawnmg palely. Grant, good saints, 


I ask'd the green oak of the assembly, wherefore 


These clouds betoken naught of evil omen ! 


its boughs were dry and sear'd like the 


Old Play. 


horns of the stag ; 




And it show'd me that a small worm had gnaw'd 


(6.) — Chap, xxvii. 


its roots. 


Jidia. Gentle sir, 


The boy who remembered the scourge, midid the 


You are our captive — but we'll use you so, 


wicket of the castle at midnight. 


Tliat you shall think your prison joys may match 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


Whate'er your hberty hath known of pleasure. 




Roderick. No, fairest, we have trifled here tor 


lightning destroyeth temples, though then- spires 


long; 


pierce the clouds ; 


And, lingering to see your roses blossom. 


Storms destroy armadas, though their sails inter- 


Pve let my laurels wither. 


cept the gale. 


Old Play. 


He that is m his glory falleth, and that by a con- 




temptible enemy. 






Ivindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 




Chap. xxxi. 






from 3II)£ STalisman. 


(4.)— MOTTOES. 
(1.)— Chap. n. 


1825. 


(1.)— AHRTMAN. 


In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds. 




With rapid clangor hurried far ; 


" So saying, the Saracen proceeded to cnant 


Each hill and d.ale the note rebounds. 


verses, very ancient m the language and structure, 


But when return the sons of war ! 


which some have thought derive their source fi om 


Thou, born of stern Necessity, 


the worshippers of Arimanes, the Evil Principle." 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. iVi 


Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still 


Thou rul'st the fate of men ; 


Hukls orifjiii of woe auj ill ! 


Thine are the pangs of fife's last hour, 


When, bending at thy shrine, 


And — who dare answer ? — is thy power, 


"VVe view the world with troubled eye, 


Dark Spirit ! ended Then ? 


Where see we 'ueath tlie extended sky, 


CJiap. iii. 


An empij-e matching thine I 




If the Benigner Power can yield 




A fountain in the desert field, 




Where weary pilgrims drmk ; 


(2.)— SONG OF BLONDEL.— THE BLOODY 


Thme are the waves that lash the rock. 


VEST. 


Thine the tornado's deadly shock, 




Where countless navies sink 1 


" The song of Blondel was, of course, in the Nor- 




man language ; but the verses which foUow ex 


Or if He bid the soil dispense 


press its meaning and its manner." 


Balsams to cheer the sinking sense, 




How few can tliey deliver 


'Twas near the fair city of Benevent, 


From lingermg pams, or pang intense. 


When the sun was setting on bough and bent. 


Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, 


And knights were preparing in bower and tent. 


The aiTows of thy quiver ! 


On t)ie eve of the Baptist's tournament ; 




When in Lincoln-green a stripling gent. 


Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway, 


Well seeming a page by a princess sent, 


And frequent, while m words we pray 


Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went. 


Before another tlu'one, 


Inquired for the Enghshman, Thomas a Kent. 


Whate'er of specious form be there, 




The secret meaning of the prayer 


Far hath he fared, and farther must f:ire. 


Is, Ahriman, thine own. 


TUl he finds his pavifion nor stately nor rare, — 




Little save iron and steel was there ; 


S.ay, hast thou feeling, sense, and form, 


And, as lacking the coin to pay armorer's care. 


Thmider thy voice, thy garments storm. 


With his sinewy arms to the slioulders bare. 


As Eastern Magi say ; 


The good knight with hammer and file did repair 


With sentient soul of hate and wrath. 


The mail that to-morrow must see him wear, 


And wings to sweep tliy deadly path, 


For the honor of Saint John and his lady fair. 


And fangs to tear thy prey ? 






" Thus speaks my lady," the page said he. 


Or art thou mix'd in Nature's source, 


And the knight bent lowly both head and knee. 


An ever-operating force. 


" She is Benevent's Prmcess so high in degree. 


Converting good to Ul ; 


And thou art as lowly as knight may well be — 


An evil principle innate, 


He that would climb so lofty a tree. 


Contending with our better fate. 


Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee. 


And oh ! victorious still i 


Must dare some high deed, by which all men may 


Howe'er it be, dispute is vain. 


see 
BUs ambition is back'd by liis high chivalrie. 


On all without thou hold'st thy reign. 




Nor less on all within ; 


" Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he 


Each mortal passion's fierce career. 


said. 


Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear. 


And the knight lowly louted with hand and with 


Thou goadest into sin. 


head. 




" Fling aside the good armor in which thou art clad, 


WTiene'er a sunny gleam appears, 


And don thou tliis weed of her night-gear instead, 


To brighten up our vale of tears. 


For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread ; 


Thou art not distant far ; 


And charge, thus attii-ed, in the tournament dread. 


'Mid such brief solace of our lives. 


And fight as thy wont is where most blood b shed. 


Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives 


And bring honor away, or remain with the dead." 


To tools of death and war. 






Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his 1 reast, 


Thus, from the moment of our birth. 


The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently 


Long as we linger on the earth, 


hath kiss'd : 



il8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" Now bless'd be the moment, the messenger be 

blest ! 
Much houor'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest ! 
And say unto my lady, in this dear night •wee i 

dress'd. 
To the best arm'd champion I will not veU my 

crest ; 
But if I hve and bear me well, 'tis her turn to taie 

the test." 
Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay 

of the Bloody Vest. 



TEE BLOODY VEST. 



FTTTE SECOND. 



The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats — 
There was winning of honor, and losing of seats — 
There was hewing with falcliions, and splintering 

of staves. 
The yictors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves. 
0, many a knight there fought bravely and well. 
Yet one was accounted his peers to excel. 
And 'twas he whose sole armor on body and breast, 
Seem'd the weed of a damsel when boune for her 

rest. 

There were some dealt him wounds that were 

bloody and sore. 
But others respected his plight, and forbore. 
" It is some oath of honor," they said, " and I trow, 
'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow." 
Then the Priiice, for his sake, bade the tournament 

cease. 
He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung 

peace ; 
And the judges declare, and competitors yield. 
That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the 

field. 

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher. 
When before the fair Princess low louted a squire. 
And dehver'd a garment unseemly to view, 
With sword-cut and spear-thi'ust, all hack'd and 

pierced through ; 
All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood, 
With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud, 
Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween. 
Could have rested on spot was misuUied and clean. 

" Tliis token my master. Sir Thomas a Kent, 
Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent ; 
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the 
fruit, [suit ; 

He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his 
Thi'ough hfe's utmost peril the prize I have won, 



And now must the faith of my mistress be shown 
For she who prompts knights on such danger to run 
Must avouch his true service in front of the sun. 

" ' I restore,' says my miister, ' the garment Tva 

worn. 
And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn ; 
For its stains and its rents she should prize it the 

more. 
Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimson'd 

with gore.' " [press'd 

Then deep blush'd the Princess — yet kiss'd she and 
The blood-spotted robes to her hps and her breast. 
" Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall 

show 
If I value the blood on this garment or no." 

And when it was tune for the nobles to pass, 
In solemn procession to mmster and mass. 
The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall, 
But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore ovei 

aU; 
And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine 
When she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine. 
Over all her rich robes and state jewels, she wore 
That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. 

Then lords whisper'd ladies, as weU you may think, 
And ladies repUed, with nod, titter, and wink ; 
And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd 

down, [a frown : 

Tum'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with 
" Now since thou hast publish'd thy folly and guilt. 
E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast 

spilt ; 
Yet sore for your boldness you both wUl repent. 
When you wander as exiles from fau- Benevent." 

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he 

stood. 
Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood : 
" The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, 
I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives its wine ; 
And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame, 
Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and 

shame ; 
And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent. 
When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent." 

Chap. xxvi. 



(3.)— M T T E S . 

(I.)^Chap. IX. 
This is the Prince of Leeches ; fever, plague. 
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him, 
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. 

Anonyynoivt. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 719 


(2.)— Chap. xi. 


TiU the bewildering scenes ai-ound us seem 


One filing is certain in our Northern land, 


The vain productions of a feverish dream. 


Allow that bu-tli, or valor, wealth, or wit, 


Astolpho, a Bomance. 


Give each precedence to their possessor, 




Euvj-, that follows on such eminence. 


(9.) — Chap. xxiv. 


As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace, 


A grain of dust 


Shall pull them down each one. 


Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject 


Sir David Lindsay. 


Fastiiiiously the draught which we did thirst for ; 




A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass. 


(3.)— Chap. xm. 


Will sw.ay it from the truth, and wreck the argosy 


Ton talk of Gayety and Innocence ! 


Even tliis small cause of anger and disgust 


The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, 


Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes, 


They p.arted ne'er to meet again ; and Malice 


And wreck their noblest purposes. 


Has ever since been playmate to light Gayety 


TJte Crusade 


From the first moment when the smiling infant 




Destroys the fiower or butterfly he toys with, 


(10.)— Chap. xxvi. 


To the last chuckle of the dying miser, 


The tears I shed must ever fall ! 


Who on his deathbed laughs his last to bear 


I weep not for an absent swain. 


His wealthy neighbor has become a bankrupt. 


For time may happier hours recall, 


Old Play. 


And parted lovers meet again. 


(4.) — Chap. x-vi. 


I weep not for the silent dead. 


'Tis not her sense — for sure, in that 


Their pauis are past, their sorrows o'er. 


There's nothing more than common ; 


And those that loved their steps must tread, 


And all her wit is only chat. 


When death shall jom to part no more. 


Like any other woman. Song. 






But worse than absence, worse than death, 


(5.) — Chap. xvn. 


She wept her lover's suUied fame. 


Were every hair upon his head a life. 


And, fired with all the pride of birth, 


And every life were to be supplicated 


She wept a soldier's injured name. 


By numbers equal to those hail's qu.adrupled. 


Ballad- 


Life after life should out like waning stars 
Before the daybreak — or as festive lamps, 






Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel. 




Each after each are quench'd when guests depart. 


Slife of ^TapoUon. 


Old Play. 
(6.) — Chap. xrx. 




JujiE, 1825. 


Must we then sheath our still victorious sword ; 




Turn back our forward step, which ever trode 


While Scott was engaged in writmg the life of 


O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory ; 


Napoleon, Mr. Lockhart says, — " The rapid ac- 


Unclasp the mail, which with a solemn vow. 


cumulation of books and MSS. was at once flatter- 


In God's oAvu house we hung upon our shoulders ; 


ing and alarming ; and one of his notes to me, 


That vow, as unaccomplish'd as the promise 


about the middle of June, had these rhymes by 


Wliich village nurses make to still their children. 


way of postscript : — 


And after think no more of ? 




Tlie Crusade, a Tragedy. 


■When with Poetry deahng 




Room enough in a sliieling : 


(7.) — Ch-ap. XX. 


Neither cabm nor hovel 


When beauty leads the lion in her toils. 


Too small for a novel : 


Such are her charms, he dare not raise his mane. 


Though my back I should rub 


Far less expand the terror of his fangs. 


On Diogenes' tub, 


So great Alcides made his club a distaff. 


How my fancy could prance 


And spun to please fairOmphale. Anonymous 


In a dance of romance ! 




But my house I must swap 


(8.) — Chap. xxra. 


With some Brobdignag chap, 


'Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her 


Ere I grapple, God bless me ! with Emperot 


hand. 


Ifap." 


To change the face of the mysterious land ; 


Life, vol. vii. p. 391. 



720 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Jrom lHoobstock. 



1826. 



(1.)— AN HOUR WITH THEE. 

As hour with thee I — When earliest day 
Dapples with gold the eastern gray. 
Oh, what can frame my mind to beai 
The toil and turmoil, cark and care. 
New griefs, which coming hours unfold, 
And sad remembrance of the old ? 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When burning June 

Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; 

What shall repay the faithful swain, 

His laboi on the sultry plain ; 

And more than cave or sheltering bough. 

Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ? — 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When sun is set, 

O, what can teach me to forget 

The thankless labors of the day ; 

Tlie liopes, the wishes, flung away ; 

The increasing wants, and lessening gains, 

The master's pride, who scorns my pains ? — 

One hour with thee. 
Chap, xxvL 



(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. n. 

Come forth, old man — Thy daughter's side 
Is now the fitting place for thee : 

When Time hath quell'd the oak's bold pride, 

Tlie youtlifiil tendril yet may hide 
The ruins of the parent tree. 

(2.) — Chap. hi. 
Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your 

stage. 
To vapor forth the acts of this sad age. 
Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the 

West, 
And northern clashes, where you still fought best ; 
Tour strange escapes, your dangers void of fear, 
When bullets flew between the head and ear. 
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit, 
Of you I speak. 

Legend of Captain Jones. 



(3.)— Chap. rv. 
■ Yon path of greensward 



Winds round by spany grot and gay pavilion ; 
There is no flint to gall thy tender foot, 
There's ready shelter from each breeze or show- 
er. — 
But Duty guides not that way — see her stand. 
With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon 

chffs. 
Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy foot- 



Oft where she leads thy head must bear the 

storm. 
And thy shrunk form endm'e heat, cold, and 

hunger ; 
But she will guide thee up to noble heights, 
Which he who gains seems native of tlie sky. 
While earthly things lie stretch'd beneath his 

feet, 

Diminish'd, shrank, and valueless 

Anonymous. 

(4.)— Chap. v. 
My tongue pads slowly under this new language. 
And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phra- 
ses. 
They may be great in worth and weight, but hang 
Upon the native glibness of my language 
Like Saul's plate-armor on the shepherd boy, 
Encumbering and not arming him. 

J.S. 

(5.) — Chap. x. 
Here we have one head 



Upon two bodies — your two-headed bullock 

Is but an ass to such a prodigy. 

These two have but one meaning, thought, and 

counsel ; 
And when the single noddle has spoke out, 
The four legs scrape assent to it. 

Old Play. 



(6.) — Chap. xrv. 
■ Deeds are done on earth, 
their punishment ere the 



earth 



Which have 
closes 
Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working 
Of the remorse-stirr'd fancy, or the vision. 
Distinct and real, of unearthly being. 
All ages witness, that beside the couch 
Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost 
Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. 

Old Flay. 

(7.) — Chap. xvii. 
We do that in our zeal. 
Our calmer moments are afi'aid to answer. 

Anonymous, 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



'721 



(8.) — Chap. xxiv. 

The deadliest snakes are those which, twined 
'mongst flowers, 

Blend their bright coloring with the varied blos- 
soms. 

Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dew- 
drop ; 

In all 80 like what nature has most harmless. 

That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger, 

Is poison'd unawares. 

Old Play. 



Jlfncs to Stt Cutjbctt Sijatp. 



1827. 



" Sir Cuthbert Sbarp, who had been particu- 
larly kind and attentive to Scott when at Sunder- 
land, happened, in writing to him on some matter 
of business, to say he hoped he had not forgotten 
his friends in that quarter. Sir Walter's answer 
to Sir Cuthbert (who had been introduced to liim 
by his old and dear friend Mr. Surtees of Mains- 
forth) begins thus :" — 

Forget thee ? No I my worthy fere I 
Forget blithe mirth and gallant cheer ! 
Death sooner stretch me on my bier 1 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget the universal shout' 

When *' canny Sunderland" spoke out — 

A truth which knaves affect to doubt — 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget you ? No — though now-a-day 
I've heard your knowing people say, 
Disown the debt you cannot pay. 
You'll find it far the thriftiest way — 

But U—O no. 

Forget your kindness found for all room. 

In what, though large, seem'd still a small 

room. 
Forget my Surtees in a ball-room — 

Forget you ? No. 

Forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles. 
And beauty tripping to the fiddles, 
Forget my lovely friends the Liddelh — 

Forget you ? No. 

1 An allusion to the enthusiastic reception' of the Duke of 
Wellington at Sunderland. — Ed. 
3 This lay has been set to beantiful music b a lady whose 
91 



" So much for obUvioD, ray dear Sir C. ; and 
now, having dismounted from my Pegasus, who is 
rather spavined, I charge a-foot, like an old dra- 
goon as I am," ifec. Ac. — Life of Scott, vol. ix. p. 1 65. 



Jrom Cljronicles of tl}e dTanouigatc. 



1827. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— THE TWO DROVERS. 

Chap. n. 
Were ever .such two loving friends ! — 

How could they disagree ? 
thus it was he loved him dear, 

And thought how to requite him, 
And havhig no friend left but he. 
He did resolve to fight Iiim. 

Duke upon Duke. 



(2.)— MT AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR 

There are times 
Wlien Fancy plays her gambols, in despite 
Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth 
Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seems, 
When the broad, palpable, and marked partition, 
'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dissolved, 
As if the mental eye gain'd power to gaze 
Beyond the limits of the existing world. 
Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love 
Than all the gross realities of life. 

Anonynwui 



Jrom tl)£ Jair JHaiib of |)cvtl). 



1828. 



(1.)— THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE.* 

Ah, poor Louise I the livelong day 
She roams from cot to castle gay ; 

composition, to say notliing of her singing, might make any 
poet proud of hia verses, Mrs. Robert Arkwright, born Misi 
Kemble. 



722 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


And still her voice and viol say, 


2. 


Ah, maids, bewai-e the wcodland way, 


Pause upon thy pinion's flight. 


TliinV on Louise. 


Be thy course to left or right ; 




Be thou doom'd to soar or sink. 


Ah, poor Louise ! The sun was high, 


Pause upon the awful brink. 


It smirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye. 




The woodland wallc was cool and nigh. 


3. 


Wliere birds with chiming streamlets vie 


To avenge the deed expelling 


To cheer Louise. 


Thee untimely from thy dweUing, 




Mystic force thou shalt retain 


Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 


O'er the blood and o'er the braia 


Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; 




The wolves molest not paths so fair — 


4. 


But better far had such been there 


■WTien the form thou shalt espy 


For poor Louise. 


That darken'd on thy closing eye ; 




■When the footstep thou shalt hear, 


All, poor Louise ! In woody wold 


That thriU'd upon thy dying ear ; 


She met a huntsman fair and bold ; 




His baldric was of silk and gold. 


5. 


And many a witching tale he told 


Then strange sympathies shaU wake. 


To poor Louise. 


The flesh shall thiiU, the nerves shall quake 




The wounds renew their clotter'd flood, 


Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine 


And every drop cry blood for blood. 


Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; 


Chap. :ifirii 


For peace of mind that gift divine, 




And spotless innocence, were thine, 

Ah, poor Louise I 






Ah, poor Louise I Thy treasure's reft 1 




I know not if by force or theft. 
Or part by violence, part by gift ; 


(3,)— SONG OP THE GLEE-MAIDEN. 


But misery is all that's left 

To poor Louise. 


" She sung a melancholy dirge m Norman 
French ; the words, of which the following is an 


Let poor Louise some succor have ! 
Slie will not long your bounty crave, 


imitation, were united to a tune as doleful as they 
are themselves." 


Or tire the gay with warning stave — 


1. 


For heaven has grace, and earth a grave. 
For poor Louise. 

Chap. X. 


Yes, thou mayst sigh. 
And look once more at all around. 


At stream and bank, and sky and ground. 




Thy life its nnal comse has found. 




And thou must die. 


(2.)— DEATH CHANT. 


2. 


" Ere he guessed where he was gomg, the 


Yes, lay thee down. 


leech was hurried into the house of the late Oliver 


And wliile thy strugghng pulses flutter. 


Proudfute, from which he heard the chant of the 


Bid the gray monk liis soul-m.ass mutter. 


women, as they swathed and dressed the corpse 


And the deep bell its death-tone utter — 


if the umquhile Bonnet-maker, for the ceremony 


Thy life is gone. 


of next morning ; of which chant, the following 




Terses may be received as a modern imitation :" — 


S. 




Be not afraid. 


1. 


'Tis but a pang, and then a thrill. 


/lEWLESs Essence, thin and bare, 


A fever fit, and then a chill ; 


Wellnigh melted into air ; 


And then an end of human ill. 


Still with fondness hovering near 


For thou art dead. 


The earthly form thou once didst wear ; 


Chap. Tirir, 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. T23 


(4.)_M0TT0ES. 


Up rose the sun, o'er moor and mead ; 




Up with the sun rose Percy Rede ; 


( 1 .)— INTKODUCTORT. 


Brave Keeldar, from liis couples freed, 


The ashes here of murder'd Kings 


Career'd along the lea ; 


Beneath my footsteps sleep ; 


The Palfrey sprung with sprightly bound, 


Anil yonder lies the scene of death, 


As if to match the gamesome hound ; 


Where Mary learu'd to weep. 


His horn the gallant huntsman wound : 


Captain Marjorihanhs. 


They were a jovial three ! 


(2.)— Chaf. I. 


Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame. 


" Behold the Tiber 1" the vain Roman cried, 


To wake the wild deer never came, 


Viewing the ample Tay from Baighe's side ; 


Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game 


But Where's the Scot that would the vaunt repay. 


On Cheviot's rueful day ; 


And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay ? 


Keeldar was matchless in his speed. 


Anoiiifm<niS. 


Than Tarras, ne'er was stancher steed. 




A peerless archer, Percy Rede : 


(3.)— Chap. xi. 


And right dear friends were they. 


Fair is the damsel, passing fair — 




Sunny at distance gleams her smile ! 


The chase engross'd their joys and woes. 


Approach — the cloud of woeful care 


Together at the dawn they rose, 


Hangs trembling in her eye the while. 


Together shared the noon's repose. 


Zuchtda, a Ballad. 


By fountain or by stream ; 




And oft, when evening skies were red. 


(4.)— Chap. xv. 


The heather was their common bed. 


for a draught of power to steep 


Where each, as wildering fancy led. 


The soul of agony in sleep ! 

£ertha. 


StUl hunted in his dream. 




Now is the thrilling moment near. 


(5.) — Chap. xxin. 


Of silvan hope and silvan fear. 


Lo ! where he lies embalm'd in gore, 


Yon thicket holds the harbor'd deer. 


His wound to Heaven cries ; 


The signs the hunters know ; — 


The floodgates of his blood implore 


With eyes of flame, and quivering ears. 


For vengeance from the skies. 


The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ; 


Uranus and Psyche. 


The restless palfrey paws and rears ; 




The archer strings his bow. 
The game's afoot ! — Halloo ! Halloo ! 






Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue ; — 


STjie 3ieat!) of l^celtrat 


But woe the shaft that erring flew — 




That e'er it left the string I 
And ill betide the faithless yew 1 


1828. 




The stag bounds scatheless o'er the dew, 
And gallant Keekhar's Ufe-blood true 




Percy or Percival Rede of Tiochend, in Redes- 


Has drench'd the gray-goose wing. 


dale, Northumberland, is celebrated in tradition as 




a huntsman, and a soldier. He was, upon two 


The noble hound — he dies, he dies. 


occasions, singularly unfortunate ; once, when an 


Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes. 


arrow, which he had discharged at a deer, killed 


Stiff on the bloody heath he hes. 


liis celebrated dog Keeldar ; and again, when, be- 


Without a groan or quiver. 


ing on a hunting party, he was betrayed into the 


Now day may break and bugle sound, 


hands of a clan called Crossar, by whom he was 


And whoop and hollow ring around, 


nmrdered. Mr. Cooper's paintmg of the first of 


And o'er his couch the stag may bound, 


these incidents, suggested the following stanzas.' 


But Keeldar sleeps for ever. 


I These stanzas, accompanying an engraving from Mr. Coop- 


a whole plume of them — I owe, and with the hand of my heart 


er's subject, " The Death of Keeldar," appeared in The Gem 


acknowledge, a deep obligation. A poem from his pen is like- 


of 18^, a literary journal edited by Thomas Hood, Esq. In 


ly to confer on the book that contains it, if not perpetuity, at 


tlie aeltnowledgment to his contributors, Mr. Hood says, " To 


least a very Old Mortality. "^Prf/acfi, p. 4. The ori/ina] 


Sir Waller Scott — not merely a literary feather in my cap, bnl 


painting by Cooper, remains at Abbotsford. -Ed. 



724 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, 


the Black Friars of Saint Francis's Order, wearing 


Mark the poor palfrey's mute sui-prise, 


their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to con- 


He knows not that his comrade dies, 


ceal then- features. They appeared anxiously en- 


Nor what is death — but still 


gaged in measuring off a portion of the apartment ; 


His aspect hath expression drear 


and, wliile occupied m that employment, they sung. 


Of grief and wonder, mix'd with fear, 


in the ancient German language, rhymes more rude 


Like startled cliildren when they bear 


than Plulipson could well understand, but which 


Some mystic tale of ill. 


may be imitated thus ;" — 


But he that bent the fatal bow, 


Measukees of good and evU, 


Can well the sum of evil know, 


Bring the square, the line, the level, — 


4nd o'er his favorite, bending low. 


Bear the altar, dig the trench, 


In speechless grief recline ; 


Blood both stone and ditch shall drench. 


Can think he hears the senseless clay, 


Cubits six, from end to end, 


In unreproachful accents say. 


Must the fatal bench extend, — 


"The hand that took my life away, 


Cubits six, from side to side, 


Dear master, was it thine ? 


Judge and culprit must divide. 




On the east the Court assembles. 


" And if it be, the shaft be bless'd. 


On the west the Accused trembles — 


Which sure some erring aim address'd. 


Answer, brethren, all and one. 


Suice in your service prized, caress'd 


Is the ritual rightly done ? 


I in your service die ; 




And you may have a fleeter hound, 


On life and soul, on blood and bone. 


To nuitch the dun-deer's merry bound. 


One for all, and all for one. 


But by your couch will ne'er be found 


We warrant tliis is rightly done. 


So true a gu;u-d as I." 






How wears the night ? — Dotli morning shine 


And to liis last stout Percy rued 


In early radiance on the Rliine ? 


The fatal chance, for when he stood 


What music floats upon his tide ? 


'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud. 


Do birds the tardy morning chide ? 


And fell amid the fray. 


Bretlu-en, look out from hill and height, 


E'en with his dying voice he cried, 


And answer true, how wears the night ? 


" Had Keeldar but been at my side. 




Your treacherous ambush had been spied — 


The night is old ; on Rhine's broad breast 


I liad not died to-day !" 


Glance drowsy stars whicli long to rest. 




No beams are twinkling in the east. 


Remembrance of the erring bow 


There is a voice upon the flood. 


Long since had join'd the tides which flow. 


The stem still call of blood for blood ; 


Conveying human bliss and woe 


'Tis time we hsten the behest. 


Down dark oblivion's river; 




But Art can Time's stern doom arrest, 


Up, then, up 1 When day's at rest. 


And snatch his spoil from Lethe's breast, 


'Tis time tliat such as we are watchers ; 


And, in her Cooper's colors drest, 


Rise to judgment, brethren, rise ! 


The scene shall live for ever. 


Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes, 




He and night are matchers. 




Chap. xx. 






Jroin 2,n\u of CJficrstcm. 


(2.)— MOTTOES 




(L)— Chap. m. 




1829. 


CoESED be the gold and silver, which persuade 
Weak man to follow far fatiguing trade. 




(1.)— THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. 


The lily, peace, outshines the silver store, 


And life is "dearer than the golden ore. 


— " Philipson could perceive that the lights 


Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown, 


proceeded from many torches, borne by men muf- 


To every distant mart and wealthy town. 


fled m black cloaks, hke mourners at a funeral, or 


Hassan, or the Camel-Driver, 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



725 



(1.)— Chap. v. 



I was one 



Who loved the greeriTrood bank and lowing herd, 
The russet prize, the lowly peasant's hfe, 
Seasou'd with sweet content, more than the halls 
Wliore revellers feast to fever-height. Believe me, 
There ne'er was poison niix'd in maple bowl. 

Anoni/mous. 

(3.) — Chap. ti. 
When we two meet, we meet like rushing torrents ; 
Like warring winds, like flame.s from various points, 
That mate each other's fury — there is naught 
Of elemental strife, were tiends to guide it, 
Can match the wrath of man. 

Frenaud. 

(4.)— Chap. x. 
We know not when we sleep nor when we wake. 
Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye, 
Which to the slumberer seem realities ; 
.ind while they waked, some men have seen such 

sights 
As set at naught the evidence of sense, 
And left them well persuaded they were dreaming. 

Anonymous. 

(5.) — Chap. xi. 
These be the adept's doctrines — every element 
Is peopled with its separate race of spirits. 
The airy Sylphs on the blue ether float ; 
Deep in the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; 
The sea-green Naiad skims the ocean-billow, 
And the fierce fire is yet a friendly home 
To its pecuUar sprite — the Salamander. 

AnonyTHous. 

(6.) — Chap, xviii. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster, 

The grapes of juice divine, 
Wliich make the soldier's jovial courage muster ; 
O, blessed be the Rhine I 

Drinking Song} 

(7.) — Chap. xxii. 
Tell me not of it — I could ne'er abide 
The mummery of all that forced civihty. 
*' Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams 
The speech is spoken, and with bended knee, 
Heard by the smiling com'tier. — " Before you, sir ? 
It must be on the earth, then." Hajig it all 1 
The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion 
Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. 

Old Play. 

* This is one of tlie best and most popular of the German 
dittlea ■ — 

*' \ia Rbein, am Rhein, da wachsen nnscre Rebeo, 



(8.) — Chap, xxviii. 
A mirthful man he was — tlie snows of age 
Fell, but they did not cliill him. Gayety, 
Even in Hfe's closing, touch'd his teeming brain 
With such wild visions as the setting sun 
Raises in front of some hoar glacier, 
Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues. 

Old J'la,/. 

(9.) — Chap. xxx. 
Ay, this is he who weai's the wreath of bays 
Wove by ApoUo and the Sisters Nine, 
Which Jove's dread Ughtning scathes not. He hath 

doft 
The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside 
The yet more galling diadem of gold ; 
While, with a leafy circlet round his brows. 
He reigns the Khig of Lovers and of Poets. 

(10.) — Chap. xxxi. 

Want you a man 

Experienced in the world and its affairs ? 
Here he is for your purpose. — He's a monk. 
He hath forsworn the world and all its work — 
The rather that he knows it passuig well, 
'Special the worst of it, for he's a monk. 

Old Flay. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxiu. 
ToU, toll the belli 
Greatness is o'er, 
Tlie heart has broke, 
To ache no more ; 
An unsubstantial pageant all — 
Drop o'er the scene the funeral pall. 

Old Poem. 

(12.) — Chap. xxxv. 

Here's a weapon now, 

Shall shake a conquering general in his tent, 
A monarch on his tlu-onc, or reach a prelate. 
However holy be liis offices, 
E'en while he serves the altar. 

Old Play 



SET TO MUSIO BV JOHN "WHITEFIELD, MI'S. DOC. CAM. 



1830. 



The last of our steers on the board has been spread, 
And the last flask of wine in om- goblet is red , 

Gesegnet sei der Rhein," &c. 
3 Set to music in Mr. Thomson's Scottish Collection, pub- 
lished in 1830. 



/26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Up ! up, my brave kinsmen I belt swords and be- 
gone, 

There are dangers to dai'e, and there's spoil to be 
won. 

Tlie eyes, that so lately mix'd glances with ours, 
For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the 

towers. 
And strive to distinguish through tempest and 

gloom, 
The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. 

The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; 
And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a 

cloud ; 
'Tis the better, my mates 1 for the warder's dull 

eye 
Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigli. 

Our steeds are impatient ! I he;ir my blithe Gray ! 
There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh ! 
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane 
Shall marshal your march through the darkness 
and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle lias blown ; 

One pledge is to quaff yet — then mount and be- 
gone ! — 

To their honor and peace, that shall rest with the 
slain ; 

To then- health and theu: glee, that see Teviot 
again! 



Jlfncs on J^ortune. 



); n s c r f jp t f n 

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV. GEORGE SCOTT ' 



1830. 



To j'outh, to age, alike, this tablet pale 
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 
Art thou a parent ? Reverence this bier, 
The parents' fondest hopes Ue buried here. 
Art thou a youth, prepared on hfe to start. 
With opening talents and a generous heart. 
Fair hopes and flattering prospects all tliine ownl 
Lo ! here their end — a monumental stone. 
But let submission tame each sorrowing thought. 
Heaven crown'd its champion ere the fight was 
fought. 

' This young gentleman, a son of the anthor's friend and 
relation, Hugh Scott of Harden, Esq. (now Lord Polwartli), 
became Rector of Kentisbeare, in Devonshire, in 1828, and 
died ther« the 9th of June, 1830. This epitaph appeals on bis 
tomb i * the chancel there. 



1831. 



" By the advice of Dr. Ebenezer Clarkson, Sir 
Walter consulted a skilful meclianist, by namj For- 
tune, about a contrivance for the support of the Itmie 
limb, which had of late given him much pain, as well 
as inconvenience. Mr. Fortune produced a clever 
piece of handiwork, and Sir Walter felt at first 
great relief from the use of it ; insomuch that his 
spirits rose to quite the old pitch, and his letter to 
me upon the occasion overflows with merry ap- 
phcations of sundry maxims and verses about 
Fortune. 'Fortes Fortuna adjuvat'- — he says — 
' never more sing I 

" ' Fortune, my Foe, why dost thou frown on me ? 
And will my Fortune never better be ? 
Wilt thou, I say, for ever breed my pain ? 
And wilt thou ne'er retin-n my joys again ?" 

No — let my ditty be henceforth — 

Forttme, my Friend, how well thou favorest me ! 

A kinder Fortune man did never see ! 

Thou propp'st my thigh, thou rid'st my knee of 

pain, 
I'll walk, I'll moimt — Til be a man .ag.ain.' "^ 
Life, vol. X. p. 38. 



Jrom (!Iot:nt Hobcrt of lOaila. 



1831. 



MOTTOES. 



(1.)— Chap. u. 



Otkus. 



■ This superb successor 



Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speakest, 
Stands 'midst these ages as, on the wide ocean. 
The last spared fragment of a spacious land, 
That in some grand and awful ministration 
Of mighty nature has engulfed been, 
Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs 
O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns 
In lonely majesty. 

Constantine Faleologus, Scene I. 

s " I believe this is the only verse of the old song (often al- 
Inded to by r^hakspeare and his contemporaries) that has as 
yet been recovered." — LocKHART, Life of Scott, vol. X. 
p. 38. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 727 


(2.)— Chap. hi. 


To meet a lover's onset.— But though Nature 


Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, 


Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. 


Here, youth, thy brow unbraid. 


Feudal Times 


Each tribute that may grace 




The threshold here be paid. 


(8.)— Chap. xi. 


Walk with the stealthy pace 


Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous, 


Wbich Nature teaclies deer, 


Within it was a httle paradise. 


When, echoing in the chase, 


Where Taste had made her dwelling. Statuary, 


The liunter's horn they hear. 


First-born of human art, moulded her images. 


The Court. 


And bade men mark and worship. 




Anonymous. 


(3.)— Chap. v. 




The storm increases — 'tis no sunny shower. 


(9.)— Chap. xn. 


Foster'd in the moist breast of March or April, 


Tlie parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, 


Or such as parched Summer cools his hp with ; 


Weighing each word, and canvassing each syllable ; 


Heaven's windows ai-e flung wide ; the inmost 


Evading, arguing, equivocating. 


deeps 


And the stem Frank came with his two-hand 


Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; 


sword. 


On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, 


Watching to see which way the balance sways, 


And Where's the dike shall stop it ! 


That he may throw it in, and turn the scales. 


The Deluge, a Poem. 


Palestine. 


See Life, vol. x. p. 37. 






(10.)— Chap. xvi. 


(4.) — Chap. vi. 


Strange ape of man ! -who loathes thee whUe he 


Vain man 1 thou mayst esteem thy love as fair 


scorns thee ; 


Aj9 fond hyperboles suiince to raise. 


Half a reproach to us and half a jest. 


She may be all that's matchless in her person. 


Wbat fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure 


And all-divine in soul to match her body ; 


In viewing om- own form, our pride and passions. 


But take this from me — thou shalt never call her 


Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine I 


Superior to her sex, while one survives. 


Anonymous. 


And I am her true votary. 




Old Play. 


(11.) — Chap. x-vn. 




'Tis strange that, in the dark sulphiu-eous mine, 


(5.) — Chap. vin. 


Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores 


Through the vain webs which puzzle sophists' skill, 


Of slumbering thunder, Love wiU interpose 


Plain sense and honest meaning work then- way ; 


His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion 


So sink the varying clouds upon the Iiill, 


To burst, when the deviser's least »ware. 


Wlien the clear dawning brightens into day. 


Anonymous. 


Br. Watts. 






(12.) — Chap. xxrv. 


(6.)— Chap. ix. 


All is prepared — the chambers of the mine 


Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent. 


Are cramm'd with the combustible, which, harm- 


The skilful artist draws a sudden mound ; 


less 


By level long he subdivides then- strength, 


While yet unkindled, as the sable sand. 


Stealing the waters from their rocky bed. 


Needs but a spark to change its natiire so. 


Fhst to diminish what he means to conquer ; 


That he who wakes it from its slumbrous mood. 


Then, for the residue he forms a road. 


Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who 


Easy to keep, and painful to desert. 


knows 


And guiding to the end the planner aim'd at. 


That 'tis his towers which meet its fury. 


The Engineer. 


Anojiymous. 


(7.)— Chap. x. 


(13.)— Chap. xxv. 


These were wild times — the antipodes of ours : 


Heaven knows its time ; the bullet has its billet, 


Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves 


Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose ; 


In the broad lustre of a foeraan's shield 


Tlie fated beasts of Nature's lower strain 


Than m a mirror, and who rather sought 


Have each their separate task. 


To match themselves in battle, than in dalliance 


Old Play. 



"28 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ifom (Hastle Pangeroua. 


But he that creeps fi-om cradle on to grare, 
UnskiU'd save in the ve!-et course of fortune, 




Hath miss'd the discipline of noble hearts. 

Old Play. 


1831. 


MOTTOES. 


(4.) — Chap. xvm. 




His talk was of another world — his bodementa 


(1.)— Chap. v. 


Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; those who 


A TALE of sorrow, for your eyes may weep ; 


heard him 


A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle ; 


Listen'd as to a man in feverish dreams. 


A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch, 


Who speaks of other objects than the present. 


And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly. 


And mutters like to him who sees a vision. 


Old Play. 


Old Flay. 


(2.) — Chap. xi. 


(5.) — Chap. xx. 


Where is he ? Has the deep earth swallow'd him ? 


Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass, 


Or hath he melted like some aiiy phantom 


Do bravely each, and God defend the right ; 


That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun ? 


Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry, 


Or h.ath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, 


And thiice they shout on height, 


And pass'd beyond the circuit of the sight 


And then marked them on the EngUshmen, 


With things of the night's shadows ? 


As I have told you riglit. 


Anonymous. 


Saint George the bright, our ladies' knight. 




To name they were fuU fain ; 


(3.)— Chap. xiv. 


Our Englishmen they cried on height. 


The way is long, my children, long and rough — 


And thiice they shout again. 


TTie moors are dieary, and the woods are dark ; 


Old Ballad, 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 



i^ a 1 i b u i^ i 1 1 :' 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HISTORV. 



PREFACE. 

Though the Public seldom feel much interest in 
*uch communications (nor is tliere any reason why 
they sluiuld), the Autlior takes the liberty of stat- 
ing, that these scenes were commenced with the 
purpose of contributing to a miscellany projected 
by a much-esteemed friend." But instead of being 
conlined to a scene or two, as intended, the work 
gradually swelled to the size of an independent 
publication. It is designed to illustrate military 
antiquities, and the maimers of cliivalry. The 
drama (if it can be termed one) is, in no particular, 
either designed or calculated for the stage.' 

The subject is to be found in Scottish Iiistory ; 
but not to overload so slight a publication with 
antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure 
chronicles, may be sufficiently illustr.ited by the 
following passage from Pi.nkertox's Hislonj of 
Scotland, vol. i. p. 72. 

"The Governor (:mno 1402) dispatched a cou- 
siilerable force under Murdac, hLs eldest son: the 
Earls of Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, 
who entered England with an army of ten thou- 
sand men, carrying terror and devastation to the 
walls of Newcastle. 

"Henry IV. was now engaged in the Welsh 
war against Owen Glendour ; but the Ear', of 

1 Pablished by Constable & Co., Jone, 1822, in 8vo. 63. 

^ The author aMuilea to a collection of small pieces in verec, 
edited, for a charitable purpose, by Mrs. Joanna BailUe. — See 
Life of Scott, vol. vii. pp. 7, 18, 169-70. 

3 In the lir^t edition, the text added, •' In case any attempt 
shall Ije made to produce it in action (as has happened in simi- 
lar cases), the author takes the present opportunity to in- 
timate, that it shall be at the peril of those who make soch 
an experiment." Adverting to this passage, the J^cw Edin- 
burgh Review (July, 1822) .^aid, — " We, nevertheless, do not 
believe that any thing more essentially dramatic, in bo far as 
it goes, more capaTjle of stage elTii^'t, has appeared in England 
since the days of her greatest genius ; and giving Sir Walter, 
therefore, full credit for his coyness on the present occasion, 
we ardently h<»[ie that he is but trying his strength in the 
noflt ardaous of all literary enterprises, and that, ere long, he 
92 



JTorthumberland, and his .son, the Hotspur Percy 
with the Earl of March, collected a numerous array 
antl awaited the return of the Scots, impeded with 
spoil, near Milfield, in the north part of Northum- 
berland. Douglas had reached Wooler, in his re- 
turn ; and, perceiving the enemy, seized a strong 
post between the two armies, called Hoinildon- 
hill. In tliis method he rivalled his predecessor at 
the battle of Otterburn, but not with like success. 
The English advanced to the assaidt. and Henry 
Percy was about to lead them up tlie hill, when 
Mnrdi cauglit liis bridle, and advised liim to ad- 
vance no farther, but to pom" the dreadful shower 
of English arrows into the enemy. This advice 
was followed by the usual fortune ; for in all ages 
tile bow was the EngUsh instrument of victory ; 
and thougli the Scots, and perhaps the French, 
were superior in tlie use of the spear, yet this 
weapon was useless after the distant bow had de- 
cided tlie combat. Robert tlie Great, sensible of 
tills at the battle of Bannockburn, ordered a pre- 
pared detachment of cavalry to ru.sh among the 
English archers at the commencement, totally to 
disperse them, and stop the deadly effusion. But 
Douglas now used no such precaution, and the con- 
sequence was, that his people, drawn up on the 
face of the hill, presented one genend mark to the 
enemy, none of whose arrows descended in vain. 

will demon.strate his right to the highest honors of the tragic 
muse." The British Critic, for October, 1822, says, on the 
same head, " Thoagli we may not accede to tlie author's dec- 
laration, that it is ' in vo particular calcuhated for the stage,, 
we must not lead our readers to look for any tiling amounling 
to a regular drama. It would, we think, form an underplot 
of very great interest, in an hisiortcal play of customary length ; 
and although its incidents and personages are mixed up, in 
these scenes, with an event of real history, there is nothing in 
either to prevent their being interwoven in the plot of flr/ 
drama of which the action should lie in the confines of Kng.ann 
and Scotland, at any of the very numerous periods of Border 
warfare. The whole interest, indeed, of the story, is engrossed 
by two characters, imagined, as it appears to us, with great 
force and probability, and contrasted with oonsidernble skill 
and ctfect." 



730 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Scots fell without fight, and unrerenged, till 
a spirited knight, Swinton, exclaimed aloud, * O my 
brave comitrymen ! what fascination has seized 
you to-day, that you stand like deer to be shot, in- 
stead of indulging your ancient courage, and meet- 
ing your enemies hand to hand ? Let those who 
will, descend with me, that we may gain victor}', 
or hfe, or fall lite men.'' This being heard by 
Atlam Gordon, between whom and Swinton there 
remained an ancient deadly feud, attended with 
the mutual slaughter of many followers, he in- 
stantly fell on liis knees before Swinton, begged 
liis pardon, and desired to be dubbed a knight by 
him whom he must now regard as the wisest and 
the boldest of that order in Britain. The ceremony 
performed, Swinton and Gordon descended the 
hill, accompanied only by one hundred men ; and 
a desperate valor led the whole body to death. 
Had a similar spirit been shown by the Scottish 
army, it is probable that tlie event of the day 
would have been different. Douglas, who was cer- 
tainly deficient in the most important qualities of 
a general, seeing his army begin to disperse, at 
length attempted to descend the hill; but the 
English archers, retiring a little, sent a flight of ar- 
rows so .sharp and strong, that no armor could 
withstand ; imd the Scottish leader himself, whose 
panoply was of remm'kable temper, fell under live 
wounds, though not mortal. The English men-of- 
arms, knights, or squires, did not strike one blow, 
but remained .spectators of the rout, which was 
now complete. Great numbers of the Scots were 
slain, and near five hundred peri.shed in the river 
Tweed upon their flight. Among the illustrious 
captives was Douglas, whose chief wound deprived 
liim of an eye ; Murdac, son of Albany ; the Earls 
of Moray and Angus ; and about twenty-four gen- 
tlemen of eminent rank and power. The chief 
slain were, Swinton, Gordon, Livingston of Calen- 
dar, Ramsay of Dalliousie, Walter Sinchur, Roger 
Gordon, Walter Scott, and others. Such was the 
issue of the unfortunate battle of Homildon." 

It may be proper to observe, that the scene of 
action has, in the foUowmg pages, been transferred 
from HonuUlon to Halidon Hill. For this there 
was an obvious reason ;-:-for who would again ven- 
ture to introduce upon the scene the celebrated 
Hotspur, who commanded the English at the for- 
mer battle ? There are, however, several coinci- 
dences which may reconcile even the severer anti- 
quary to the substitution of Halidon Hill for 
Homildon. A Scottish army was defeated by the 
EngUsh on both occasion,?, and under nearly the 

* " Mile« magnnnimus (lominos Joliaiines Swinton, tanqnam 
voce Iiorriila praeconis exclamavk, dicens, O commilitones 
inclyti ! quis vos hoJie fascinavit non indulgere solita; probi- 
lati, quod nee dextris conseritis, nee ut viri corda erigitis, ad 

v.ideudum seniulos, qui vos, tanquain damuloa vel liinuulos 



same circumstances of address on the part of the 
victors, and mismanagement on that of the van- 
quished, for the Enghsh long-bow decided the day 
in both cases. In both cases, also, a Gordon was 
left on the field of battle ; and at Halidon, as a*. 
Homildon, the Scots were commanded by an ill- 
fated representative of the great house of Douglas, 
He of Homildon was surnamed Tiiirman, i. e. Lose- 
Ulan, from liis repeated defeats and miscai-riages ; 
and, with all the personal valor of his race, seems 
to have enjoyed so small a portion of their saga- 
city, as to be unable to learn miUtary experience 
from reiterated cidamity. I am fai-, however, from 
intimatmg, that the traits of imbecility and envy 
attributed to the Regent in the following sketch, 
are to be historically ascribed either to the elder 
Douglas of Halidon Hill, or to him called Tinemmi^ 
who seems to have enjoyed the respect of his 
countrymen, notwithstanding that, Uke the cele- 
brated Anne de Montmorency, he was either de- 
feated, or wounded, or made pri.scjner, in every 
battle which he fought. The Regent of the sketch 
is a character purely imaginary. 

The tradition of the Swinton family, which still 
survives in a lineal descent, and to which the au- 
thor has the honor to be related, avers, that the 
Swinton who fell at Homildon in the manner re- 
lated m the jireceduig extract, had .slain Gordon's 
father ; winch seems sufficient ground for adopting 
that cu'cumstance into the following dramatic 
sketch, though it is rendered improbable by other 
authorities. 

If any reader will take the trouble of looking at 
Eroissart, Fordun, or other hi.-^torians of the period, 
he will find, that the chMactcr of tlie Lord of 
Swinton, for strength, courage, and conduct, is by 
no means exaggerated. 



W. S. 



Abbotsford, 1822. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

SCOTTISH. 
The Rkgent ok Scotland. 

GOKUO.V, 

Swinton, 

Lennox, 

Sutherland, 

Ross, 

Maxwell, 

Johnstone, 

LiNDESAY, 

imparcatos, sagittarura jaculis perdere festiiianl. Descen 
dant mecum qui velint. et in nomine Domini lio*tPs penetni- 
bimus, ut vel sic vita potiamur, vel saltern ut niilites com ho- 
nore occumbamus," &c.~Fordun, Scoti-V/ironicitn, vol. U 
p. W. 



■ Scottish Chiefs and Nobles, 



HALIDON HILL. 



731 



Adam de Vipont, a Knight Ter.iplar. 

The Prior of Maison-Dikd. 

Reynald, Swbitons Squire. 

Hob Hattely, a Border Moss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
King Edward III. 

CnANDOS, ^ 

Percy, > English and Norman Nobles. 

KiBAUMONT, ) 

The Abbot of Waltuamstow. 



§alibon €)\i\. 



ACT I.— SCENE L 

The northern side of tfie eminence of Ilalidon. Tlie 
buck Scene represents the summit of the ascent, 
occupied by the Rear-guard of the Scottish anng. 
Bodies of armed Men appear as advaiicing frotn 
dijferent points, to join tlie main Body, 

Enter De Vipont and the Prior of Maison-Dieu. 

ViP. No further, Father — here I need no guid- 
ance — 

I have already brouglit your peaceful step 

Too near the verge of battle. 

Pri. Fain "would I see you join some Baron's 
biumer, 

Before I say farewell. The honor'd sword 

That fought so well in Syria, should not wave 

Amid the ignoble crowd. 

ViP. Each spot is noble in a pitched field. 

So that a man has room to fight and fall on't. 

But I shall find out friends. 'Tis scarce twelve 
years 

Since I left Scotland for the wars of Palestine, 

And then the flower of all the Scottish nobles 

Were known to me ; and I, in my degree, 

Xot iill unknown to them. 
Pel Alas ! there have been changes since that 
time ! 

The Royal Bruce, with Randolph, Douglas, Gra- 
hame. 

Then shook iu field the banners which now moulder 

Over their graves i' the chancel 
Vip. And thence comes it. 

That while I look'd on many a well-kncwn crest 

And blazon'd shield,' as liitherward we came, 

The faces of the Barons who display'd them 

' MS. — " I've look'd on many a well-known pennon 
Playing the air," &c. 



Were all unknown to me. Brave youths they 

seem'd ; 
Yet, surely, fitter to adorn the tilt-y.ard. 
Than to be leaders of a war. Tlieir followers. 
Young like themselves, seem like themselves un- 
practised — 
Look at their battle-rank. 

Pri. I cannot gaze on't with imdazzled eye. 
So thick the rays dart back from sliield and hel- 
met, 
And sword and battle-axe, and spear and pennon. 
Sure 'tis a gallant show ! Tlie Bruce himself 
Hath often conquer'd at the head of fewer 
And worse appointed followers. 

Vip. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led them. Rev- 
erend Father, 
'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat ; 
It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it. 
HI fate, that we should lack the noble King, 
And all his champions now ! Time call'd them not. 
For when I parted hence for Palestine, 
Tlie brows of most were free from grizzled hair. 
Pri. Too true, alas ! But well you know, in Scot- 
land 
Few hairs are eilver'd underneath the helmet ; 
'Tis cowls hke mine which Iiide them. 'Mongst 

the laity, 
"War's the rash reaper, who thrusts in his sickle 
Before the grain is white. Iu threescore yea" 
And ten, which I have seen, I have outUved 
Wcllnigh two generations of our nobles. 
The race which holds' yon summit is the third. 
Vip. Thou mayst outlive them also. 
Pri. Heaven forfend ! 

My prayer shall be, that Heaven will close my 

eyes. 
Before they look upon the wrath to come. 

Vip. Retire, retire, good Father ! — Pray for 
Scotland — 
Think not on me. Here comes an ancient friend, 
Brother in arms, with whom to-d.ay I'll join me. 
Back to your choir, assemble all 3'our brother- 

hootl, 
And weary Heaven with prayers for victory.' 

Pri. Heaven's blessing rest with thee. 
Champion of Heaven, and of thy suffering country I 
[Exit Prior. Vipont draws a little aside 
and lets dcnon the beaver of his helme. 

Enter Swi}iTo:i, followed by Reynald and others, to 
whom he speats as lie enters. 

Swi. Halt here, and plant my pennon, till tha 
Regent 
Assign our band its station in the host. 



2 MS.- 
■ MS,- 



' The yoDths wbo hold," &c. " aFe." 
" with prayers for Scotland's well *' 



732 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Key. That must be by the Standard. We have 

had 
Tliat right since good Saint David's reign at least. 
Fain would I see the Marcher would dispute it. 
Swi. Peace, Reynald ! Where the general plants 
the soldier. 
There is Iiis place of honor, and there only 
His valor can win worship. Thou'rt of those, 
\\Tio would have war's deep art bear the wild sem- 
blance 
Of some disorder'd hunting, where, pell-mell. 
Each trusting to the swiftness of liis horse. 
Gallants press on to see tlie quarry fall 
You steel-clad Soutlirons, Reyuald, are no deer ; 
And England's Edward is uo stag at bay. 

Vip. (adeancinff.) Thert needed not, to blazon 
forth the Swinton, 
His ancient burgonet, the sable Boar 
Chaiu'd to the gnarl'd oak.'^nor Ids proud step. 
Nor giant stature, nor the ponderous mace, 
Which only he, of Scotland's realm, can wield : 
His discii)liDe and wisdom mark the leader. 
As dotli liis frame the cliampion. Hail, brave 
Swinton ! 
Swi. Brave Templar, thanks ! Such your cross'd 
shoulder speaks you ; 
But the closed visor, which conceals your features. 
Forbids more knowledge. UmfraviUo, perhaps — 
Vip. (miclosing his helmet.) No ; one loss worthy 
of our sacred Order. 
Yet, uuless Syrian suns have scorch'd my features 
Swart as my sable visor, Alan Swinton 
Will welcome Symon Vipont. 

Swi. {embracing hhn.) As the blithe reaper 
Welcomes a practised mate, when the ripe harvest 
Lies deep beiVire him. and tlie sun is liigh ! 
Thou'lt follow yon old pennon, wilt thou not ? 
'Tis tatter'd since thou saw'st it> ami the Boar- 
heads 
Look as if brought from off some Clu-istmas boanl, 
Where knives liad notch'd them deeply. 

Vir. Have with them, ne'ertheless. The Stuai't's 
Chequer, 
The Bloody Heart of Douglas, Rxxse's Lymphads, 
Sutherland's Wild-cats, nor the royal Lion, 
Kiunpant in golden treasure, wins me from them. 
We'll back the Boar-heads bravely. I see round 

them 
A chosen band of lances — some well known lo me. 
Where's the main body of thy followers ? 

Swi. Symon de Vipont, thou dost see them all 
Tliat Swinton's bugle-horn can call to battle, 
However loud it rings. There's not a boy 
Left in ray halls, whose arm ha-s strength enough 

1 *' The armorial bearings of the ancient family of Swintou 
are snbli\ a cheveron. or, between three boars' iieatia erased, 
crgrnt. CaEST — a boar chaiaeU lo a tree, and above, on ail 
1«i;roU, Xesptire. SlppoRTKRS — two, boars !ilant]lng on a 



To bear a sword — there's not a man behind, 
However old, who moves without a stafl 
Striplings and graybeards, every one is here. 
And here aU should be — Scotland needs them all 
And more and better men, were each a Hercules, 
And yonder handful centuplied. 

Vip. a thousand followers — such, with friends 

and kinsmen, 
AUie.. and vassals, thou wert wont to lead — 
A thousimd followers shrimk to sixty lances 
In twelve years' space ? — And thy brave sons. Sir 

Alan? 
Alas ! I fear to ask. 

Swi. All slain, De Vipont. In my empty home 
A puny babe lisps to a widow'd mother, 
" Where is my griindsire ! wherefore do you 

weep ?" 
But for tKat prattler, Lyulph's house is heirless. 
I'll an old oak, from wliich the foresters 
Have hew'd four goodly boughs, and left beside 

me 
Only a -sapling, which the fawn may crush 
As he springs over it. 
Vip. All slain ? — alas ! 

Swi. Ay, all, De Vipont. And their attributes, 
John with the Long Spear — Archibald with the 

Axe — 
Richard the Ready — and my youngest darling. 
My Fair-hau''d WilUam — do but now survive 
In measures which the gray-hair'd minstrels sing, 
'V\^len they make maidens weep. 

Vip. These wars with England, they have rooted 

out 
The flowers of Christendom. Ktights, who might 

win 
The sepidclue of Christ from t'no rude heathen. 
Fall iu uulioly warfare ! 

Swi. Unlioly warfare ! ay, Toll hast thou named 

it; 
But not with England — wovJd her cloth-yard shafts 
Had bored their cuirasi.e*. ! Their lives had been 
Lost hke their grands'.re's, iu the bold defence 
Of their dear coimtrj^ — but in private feud 
With the proud Gordon, fell my Long-spear'd 

John, 
He with the Axe, and he men caU'd the Ready, 
Ay, and my 7iiir-hair'd Wdl — the Gordon's wrath 
Devour'd my gallant i.isue. 

Vip. bii.cfc thou dost weep, their death is un- 
avenged? 
S .v(. Templar, what think'st tliou me ? — See 

yonder rock, 
Frofli which the fountain gu.shes — is it less 
Compact of adamant, though waters flow from it { 



compartment, whereon are the words, Jf Pcitsc/ 
Baronage, p. 132. 



~Dougla9** 



3 MS. — " Of the dear land that Horsed them — but io fend." 



Firm hearts have moister eyes. — Tliey are 

avenged ; 
I wept not till they were — till the proud Gordon 
Had with his Hfe-bkmd dyed my father's sword, 
In guerdon that lie thinud my fatlier's Uneagc, 
And then I wept my sons; and, as the Gordon 
Lav at my feet, there was a tear for him, 
Wliich mingled with the rest. We liad been 

friends. 
Had shared the banquet and tlie chase together. 
Fought side by side, — and our cause of strife, 
Woe to the pride of both, was but a light one ! 
Vip. Ton are at feud, then, with the mighty 

Gordon ? 
Swi. At deadly feud. Here in this Border- 
land, 
Where the sire's quarrels descend upon the son, 
As due a part of his inheritance. 
As the strong castle and the ancient blazon. 
Where private Vengeance holds the scales of jus- 
tice, 
Weighmg each drop of blood as scrupulously 
As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence, 
Not in this land, 'twixt Solway and Saint Abb's, 
Rages a bitterer feud than mine and theirs, 
The Swinton and the Gordon. 

Vip. You, with some threescore lances — and the 
Gordon 
Leading a thousand followers. 

Swi. You rate him far too low. Since you 
sought Palestine, 
He hath had grants of baronies and lordships 
In the far-distant North. A thousand horse 
His southern friends and vassals always number'd. 
Add Badenoch kerne, and horse from Dey and 

Spey, 
He'll count a thousand more. — And now, De Vi- 

pont. 
If the Boar-heads seem in your eyes less worthy 
For lack of followers — seek yonder standard — 
The bounding Stag, with a brave host arovind it ; 
There the young Gordon makes his earliest field. 
Ami pants to win his spurs. His father's friend. 
As well as mine, thou wert — go, join his pennon. 
And grace him with thy presence. 

Vip. When you were friends, I was the friend 
of both. 
And now I can be enemy to neither ; 
But my poor person, though but slight the aid. 
Joins on this field the banner of the two 
Which hath the smallest following. 

Swi. Spoke like the generous Knight, who gave 
up all. 
Leading and lordship, in a heathen land 
To fight, a Christian soldier I Yet, in earnest, 

> MS.— " Bharply." 

* MS. — " As we do pass," &c. 



I pray, De Vipont, ytiu would join the Gordon 

In this high battle. 'Tis a noble youtli, — 

So fame doth vouch him, — amorous, quick, and 

valiant ; 
Takes knighthood, too, this day, and well may use 
His spurs too rashly' in the wish to win them. 
A friend like thee beside him in the fight. 
Were worth a hundred spears to rein his valor 
And temper it with prudence ; — 'tis the aged eagle 
Teaches his brood to gaze upon the sun, 
With eye undazzled. 

Vip. Alas! brave Swinton ! Wouldst thou train 

the hunter 
That soon must bring thee to the bay \ Your 

custom. 
Your most unchristian, savage, fiend-like custom, 
Binds Gordon to avenge his father's death. 

Swi. Why, be it so ! I look for nothing else : 
My part was acted when I slew his father, 
Avenguig my four sons — Young Gordon's sword. 
If it should find my heart, can ne'er inflict there 
A pang so poignant as his father's did. 
But I would perish by a noble hand. 
And such wiU his be if he bear him nobly, 
Nobly and wisely on this field of HaUdon. 

Enter a Pursdivant. 
Pub. Sir Knighte, to Council ! — 'tis the Regent's 
order, 
That knights and men of leading meet him in- 
stantly 
Before the royal standard. Edwai'd's army 
Is seen from the hill-summit. 

Swi. S.ay to the Regent, we obey his orders. 

\Exit PCESUIV.*NT. 

\To Retnald.] Hold thou my casque, and furl 
iny pennon up 
Close to the staff. I will not show my crest, 
Nor standard, tiU the common foe shall challenge 

them. 
I'll wake no civil strife, nor tempt the Gordon 
With aught that's like defiance. 

ViP. Will he not know your features ? 

Swi. He never saw me. In the distant North, 
Against liis wiU, 'tis said, liis friends detaui'd him 
During his nurture — caring not, belike, 
To trust a pledge so precious near the Boar-tusks. 
It was a natural but needless caution : 
I wage no war with childien, for I think 
Too deeply on mine own. 

ViP. I have thought on it, and will see the 
Gordon 
As we go hence' to council. I do bear 
A cross, which binds me to be Christian priest. 
As weU as Christian champion.' God may grant, 

3 MS. — " Tlie cross I wear appoints me Christian priest 
As well as Christian warrior," &c 



734 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tliat I, at once his fatlier's friend and yours, 
May make some peace betwixt you.* 

Swi. When that your priestly zeal, and knightly 
valor, 
Shall force the grave to render up the dead. 

[Exeunt severally. 



SCENE IL 



The summit of Halidon Hill, before the lirr/nit's 
Tent The Royal Standard of Scotland is Sfcn 
in the background, with the Pennons and Ban- 
ners of the principal Nobles around it. 

Council of Scottish Nobles and Chiefs. Sutheu- 
L.\ND, Roes, Lennox, M.\xwell, a7id other No- 
bles of the hiffhest rank, are close to the Regent's 
persoit, and in the act of keen debate. Vipont 
with Gordon aiid others, retnain grouped at some 
distance on the right hand of the Stage. On the 
left, standing also apart, is Swinton, alone and 
bare-headed. The Nobles are dressed in Highland 
or Lowland habits, as historical costume requires. 
Trumpets, Heralds, dc. arc in attendance. 

Len. Nay> Lordings, put no shame upon my 
counsels. 
I did but say, if we retired a little. 
We should have fairer field and better vantage. 
I've seen King Robert — ay. The Bruce liimself — ■ 
Retreat six leagues in length, and tliink no shame 
on't. 
Reg. Ay, but King Edward sent a haughty 
message, 
Defying us to battle on this field. 
This very hill of Halidon ; if we le.ave it 
Unfought withal, it squares not with our honor. 
Swi. {apart.) A perilous honor, that allows the 
enemy, 
And such an enemy as this same Edward, 
To choose our field of battle ! He knows how 
To make our Scottish pride betray its master 
Into the pitfall. 

\^During this speech the debate among the No- 
bles is continued. 
SuTH. (aloud.) We will not back one furlong — 
not one yard, 
Nc, nor one inch ; where er we find the foe. 
Or where the foe finds us, there will we fight him. 
Retreat will dull the spirit of our followers, 
Who now stand prompt for battle. 

Ross. My Lords, methinks great Morarchat^ has 
doubts, 
Tliat, if his Northern clans once turn the seam 

J In the MS, the scene terminates with thia hne. 
3 Morarctiate is the ancient Gaelic designation of the Earls 
ftf Futhertand. See ante, page 704, note. 



Of their check'd hose beliind, it will be liard 
To halt and rally them. 

SuTH. Say'st thou, MacDonnell ? — Add another 
falsehood, 
And name when Morarchat was coward or traitor ? 
Thine island race, as chronicles can tell. 
Were oft affianced to the Soutlu-on cause ; 
Loving the weight and temper of their gold. 
More than the weight and temper of their steel. 

Reg. Peace, my Lords, ho ! 

Ross {throwing dmon his Glove.) MacDonnell 
wUl not peace ! There lies my pledge. 
Proud Morarchat, to witness thee a liar. 

Max. Brought I all Nithsdale from the Western 
Border ; 
Left I my towers exposed to foraying England, 
And tliieving Annandale, to see such misrule I 

John. Who speaks of Annandale ? Dare Max- 
well slander 
The gentle House of Lochwood ?' 

Reg. Peace, Lordings, once again. We represent 
The Majesty of Scotland — in oiu- presence 
Brawhng is treason. 

SuTH. Were it in presence of tlie King himself 
What should prevent my saying — 

Enter Lindesat 

Lin. You must determine quickly. Scarce a mile 

Parts our vanguard from Edward's. On tlie plain 

Bright gleams of armor flash through clouds of dust. 

Like stars through frost-mist — steeds neigh, and 

weapons clash — 
And arrows soon will whistle — the worst sound 
That waits on English war. — You must determine. 
Reg. We are determined. We will spare proud 
Edward 
Half of the groimd that parts us. — Onward, Lords ; 
Saint Andrew strike for Scotland 1 We will lead 
The middle ward ourselves, the Royal Standard 
Display'd beside us ; and beneath its shadow 
Shall the young gallants, whom we knight tliis day. 
Fight for their golden spurs. — Lennox, thou'rt wise, 
And wilt obey conmiand — leail tliou tlie rear. 
Len. The rear ! — wliy I the rear 'I Tlie van were 
fitter 
For liim who fought abreast with Robert Bruce. 
Swi. {apart.) Discretion hath forsaken Lenncjt 
tool 
The wisdom he was forty years in gathering 
Has left him in an instant. 'Tis contagious 
Even to witness phrensy. 

Sdth. The Regent hath determined weU. The 
rear 
Suits him the best who counseU'd our retreat. 

3 Lochwood Castle was the ancient seat of the Jolmstones, 
Lords of Annandale. 



HALIDON HILL. 



735 



Lkn. Proud Northern Tliane, the van were soon 
tile rear, 
Were thy disoriler'd followers planted tliere. 

SuTii. Then, fi ir that very word, I make a vow 
By my broad Earldom, and my father's soul, 
That, if 1 have not leading of the van, 
I will not fight to-day ! 

Ross. Morarchat 1 thou the leading of the van ! 
Not whilst MacDonnell Uves. 

Swi. (apart.) Nay, then a stone would speak. 
[Addresses the Regent.] May't please your Grace, 
And 3 ou, great Lords, to hear an old man's counsel, 
Tliat hath seen fights enow. These open bickerings 
Dishearten all our host. If that your Grace, 
■With these great Earls and Lords, must needs 

debate. 
Let the closed tent conceal your disagreement ; 
Klse 'twill be said, ill fares it with the flock, 
K shepherds wrangle, when the wolf is nigh. 
Reg. The old Knight counsels welL Let every 
Lord, 
Or Chief, who leads five hundred men or more, 
Follow to council — others are excluded — 
We'll have no vulgar censurers of our conduct — 

[Looking at Swinton. 
Young Gordon, your high rank and numerous fol- 
lowing 
Give you a seat with us, though yet unkniglited. 
Gordon. I pray you, pardon me. My youth's 
unfit 
To sit in couucil, when that Knight's gray hairs 
And wisdom wait without. 

Reg. Do as you will ; we deign not bid you twice. 
{The Regent, Ross, Sutherland, Lennox, 
Maxwell, etc. enter tlie Tent. The rest re- 
main firouped about the Stage. 
Go«. (observing Swi.) That helmetless old 
Knight, his giant stature. 
His awful accents of rebuke and wisdom. 
Have caught my fancy strangely. He doth seem 
Like to some vision'd form which I have dream'd of. 
But never saw with waking eyes till now. 
I will accost him. 

Vip. Pray you, do not so ; 
Anon m give you reason why you should not. 

There's other work in hand 

Gob. I will but ask his name. Tliere's in his 
presence 
Something that works upon me like a spell. 
Or like the feeling made my childish ear 
Dote upon tales of superstitious dread, 
Attracting while they chill'd my heart with fear. 
Now, born the Gordon, I do feel right well 
I'm bound to fear naught earthly — and I fear 
naught. 



' A namennmasical to Volacian eare. 
And harsh in aouotl to thine." — CoriolanuB. 



I'll know who this man is 

[Accosts Swi.NTON. 

Sir Knight, I pray you, of your gentle courtesy, 
To tell your honor'd name. I am ashamed. 
Being unknown in arms, to say that mine 
Is Adam Gordon. 

SwiNTON (shows emotion, but iristtinth/ subdues it.) 
It is a name that soundeth in my ear 
Like to a death-knell — ay, and like the call 
Of the shrill trumpet to the mortal fists ; 
Yet, 'tis a name which ne'er hath been dishonored. 
And never wUl, I trust — most siu-ely never 
By such a youth as thou. 

GoR. Tliere's a mysterious courtesy in tliis, 
And yet it yields no answer to my question. 
I trust you hold the Gordon not unworthy 
To know the name he asks ? 

Swi. Worthy of all that openness and honor 
May show to friend or foe — but for my name, 
Vipont will show it you ; and, if it sound 
Harsh in your ear,' remember that it knells there 
But at your own request. This day, at least. 
Though seldom wont to keep it in concealment. 
As there's no cause I should, you had not heard it 

GoK. Tills strange 

Vip. Tlie mystery is needful. Follow me. 

[Thei/ retire behind the siile scene. 

Swi. (looking after them.) 'Tis a brave youth 
How blush'd his noble cheek, 
Wliile youthful modesty, and the embarrassment 
Of curiosity, combined with wonder, 
And half suspicion of some slight intended, 
All mingled in the flush ; but soon 'twill deepen 
Into revenge's glow. How slow is Vipont ! — 
I wait the issue, as I've seen spectators 
Suspend the motion even of the eyehds, 
Wieu the slow gunner, with his lighted match, 
Approach'd the charged cannon, in the act 
To waken its dread slumbers. — Now 'tis out; 
He draws his sword, and rushes towards me, 
Who will nor seek nor shun him. 

Enter Gordon, withheld by Vipont. 
Vip. Hold, for the sake of Heaven ! O, for the 
sake [your fathei, 

Of your dear country, hold ! — Has Swinton slaii. 
And must you, therefore, be yourself a parricide. 
And stand recorded as the selfish traitfir, 
Who, in her hour of need. Ills country's cause 
Deserts, that he may wreak a private wrong ! 
Look to yon banner — that is Scoiiand's standard ; 
Look to the Regent — he is Scotland's general ; 
Look to the English — they are Scotland's foemen ! 
Bethink thee, then, thou art a son of Scotland, 
And think on naught beside." 



2 In the MS. the five last lines of Vipont'a speech are intei 
polated. 



736 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



GoE. He liatli cnme here to brave me! — Off! 
uuliand me ! 
Thou canst not be my father's ancient friend, 
That stands 'twixt me and him who slew my father. 

Vip. You know not Swinton. Scarce one pass- 
ing thought 
Of liis liigh mind was with you ; now, his soul 
Ts fix'd on this day's battle. You might slay him 
At unawares before he saw your blade drawn. — 
Stand still, and watch him close.' 

Enter Maxwell from tlu; tent. 

SwL How go our council.^, Ma.\well, may I ask ? 

Max. As wild as if the very wind and sea 
With everj' breeze and every billow battled 
For their precedence.^ 

Swi. Most sure they are possess'd ! Some evil 
spirit. 
To mock their valor, robs them of discretion. 
Fie, fie upon't ! — 0, that Dunfermline's tomb 
Could render up The Bruce ! that Spain's red shore 
Could give us back the good Lord James of Doug- 
las ! 
Or that fierce Randt>lph, with his voice of terror, 
Were here, to awe these brawlers to submission ! 

Vip. to GoE. Thou hast perused him at more 
leisure now. 

GoE. I see the giant form which all men speak of, 
The stately port — but not the sullen eye, 
Not the bloodthu-sty look, that should belong 
To liim that made me orphan. I shall need 
To name my father twice ere I can strike 
At such gray hairs, and face of such command ; 
Yet my hand cleuclies on my falchion hilt. 
In token he shall die. 

Vip. Need I again remind you, that the place 
Permits not private quarrel. 

GoR. I'm calm. I will not seek— nay, I will 
shun it — 
And yet methinks that such debate's the fiishion. 
You've heard how taunts, reproaches, and the lie. 
The he Itself, have flovra from mouth to mouth ; 
As if a band of peasants were disputing 
About a foot-ball match, rather than Chiefs 
Were ordering a battle. I am young. 
And lack experience ; tell me, brave De Vipont, 
Is such the fashion of your wars in Palestine ! 

Vip. Such it at times hath been ; and then the 
Cross 
Hath sunk before the Crescent. Heaven's cause 
Won us not victory where wisdom was not. — 
Behold yon Enghsh host come slowly on, 
With equal front, rank marshall'd upon rank. 
As if one spirit ruled one moving body ; 

1 MS. — ** You must not here — not where the Royal Btandard 
Awaits the attack of Scotland's enemies, 
Against the common foe — wage private quarrel. 
He braves you not — his Uu>uglit is on the event 



The leaders, in their places, each prepared 
To charge, support, and rally, as the fortun* 
Of changeful battle needs : then look on ours, 
Broken, disjointed, as the tumbling surges 
Which the winds wake at random. Look on botli. 
And dread the issue ; yet there might be succor. 
GoE. We're fearfully o'eriuatch'd in discipline ; 
So even my inexperienced eye can judge. 
What succor save in Heaven ? 

Vir. Heaven acts by human means. The art- 
ist's skill 
Supplies in war, as in mechanic crafts, 
Deficiency of tools. There's courage, wisdom, 
And skiU enough, hve in one leader here, 
As, flung into the balance, might avail 
To counterpoise the odds 'twixt that ruled ho.st 
And our wild multitude. — I must not name him. . 
GoE. I guess, but dare not ask. — What band is 
yonder, 
Arranged so closely as tlie English discipline 
Hath marshall'd then- best files ? 

Vip. Know'st thou not the pennon ? 
One day, perhaps, thou'lt see it all too closely ; — 
It is Sir Alan Swinton's. 

GoE. These, then, are his, — the relics of hia 
power ; 
Yet worth an host of ordinary men. — 
And I must slay ray country's sagest le.ider. 
And crush by numbers that determined handful, 
Wheu most my country needs their practised aid, 
Or men will say, " There goes degenerate Gordon 
His father's blood is on the Swinton's sword. 
And his Is in his scabbard !" [Muses. 

Vip. (apart.) High blood and mettle, mix'd with 
early wLsdom, 
Sparkle m this brave youth. If he survive 
This evil-omeu'd day, I pawn my word 
That, in the ruin which I now forbode, 
Scotland has treasure left. — How close he eyes 
Each look and step of Swinton ! Is it hate, 
Or is it admiration, or are both 
Conmiiiigled strangely in that steady gaze ? 
[Swinton and Maxwell return from the bottom 
of the stage. 
Max. Tlie storm is laid at length amongst thes* 
counsellors ; 
See, they come forth. 

Swi. And it is more than time ; 
Var I can mark the vanguard archery 
Iliuidling their quivers — bending up their bows. 

Enter the Regent and Scottish Lords. 
Reg. Thus shall it be, then, since we may uc 
better : 

Of tliis day's field. Stand still and watch bim 
closer." 
3 " Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend 
Which is the mightier." — Hamlet. 



HALIDON HILL. 



137 



ind, since no Lord will yield one jot of -way 
To this high urgency, or give the vanguard 
Up to anothur's guidance, we will abide them 
Even oil this bent ; and aa our troops are rank'd, 
So sliall they meet the foe. Chief, nor Tliane, 
Nor Nol le, Ciiu comphiin of the precedence 
Whicli c lance has tlius assign'd him. 

Swi. (apart.) O, siige discipline, 
That leaves to chance the mariihalling of a battle ! 

GoR. Move liim to speech, De Vipont. 

Vip. Move him ! — Move whom ? 

GoK. Even liim, whom, but brief space since. 
My hand did burn to put to utter silence. ; 

Vip. I'U move it to him. — Swinton, speak to 
them, 
They lack thy counsel sorely. 

Swi. Had I the thousand spears which once I led, 
I had not thus been silent. But men's wisdom 
Is rated by their means. From the poor leader 
Of sixty lances, wlio seeks words of weight ? 

GoR. {steps forward.) Swinton, there's that of 
wisdom on thy brow, 
And valor in thine eye, and that of peril 
In this most urgent hour, that bids me say, — 
Bids me, thy mortal foe, say, — Swinton, speak, 
For King and Country's sake ! 

Swi. Nay, if that voice commands me, speak I 
wiU; 
It sounds as if the dead lays charge on me. 

Reg. {To Lennox, with whom he has been co7isult- 
ing.) 
'Tis better than you tliink. This broad hill-side 
Affords fair compass for our power's display. 
Rank above rank rising in seemly tiers ; 
So that the rearward st.onds as fair and open • 

Swi. As e'er stood mark before an EngUsh archer. 

Reg. Who dares to say so ! — Who is't dare im- 
peach 
Our rule of discipline ? 

Swi. a poor Knight of these Marches, good my 
Lord ; 
Alan of Swinton, who hath kept a house here, 
He and his ancestry, since the old days 
Of Malcolm, called the Maiden. 

Reg. You have brought here, even to this pitched 
field, 
In which tlie Royal Banner is display'd, 
I think some sixty spears, Sir Knight of Swinton ; 
Our musters name no more. 

Swi. I brought each man I had ; and Chief, or 
Earl, 
Thane, Duke, or dignitary, brings no more ; 
And with them brou^'ht I what may here be use- 
ful— 
An aged eye ; which, what in England, Scotland, 
Spain, France, and Flanders, hath seen fifty battles, 
/Vnd ta'en some judgment of them ; a stark hand 
too, 1 



Wliich plays as with a straw with this same mace, 
Which if a yomig arm here can wield more lighily, 
I never more will offer word of counsel. 

Len. Hear him, my Lord ; it is the noble Swin- 
ton — 
He hath had high experience. 

Max. He is noted 

Tlie wisest warrior 'twixt the Tweed and Solway,— 
I do beseech you, hear him. 

John. Ay, heai' the Swinton — hear stout old Sir 
Alan; 
Maxwell and Johnstone both agree for once 

Reg. Where's your impatience now ? 
Late you were all for battle, would not hear 
Ourself pronounce a word — and now you gaze 
On yon old warrior in his antique armor. 
As if he were arisen from the dead, 
To bring us Bruce's counsel for the battle. 

Swi. 'Tis a proud word to speak ; but he who 
fought 
Long under Robert Bruce, may something guess, 
Without comnnmication with the dead, 
At what he would have counsell'd. — Bruce had 

bidden ye 
Review your battle-order, marshall'd broadly 
Here on the bare hill-side, and bidden you mark 
Yon clouds of Southron archers, bearing down 
To the gi-een meadow -lands which stretch beneath — 
The Bruce had warn'd you, not a shaft to-day 
But shall find mark witliin a Scottish Imsom, 
If thus our field be order'<l. The callow boys, 
Wlio draw but four-foot bows, shall gall our front, 
While on our mainward, anil upon the rear. 
The cloth-yard shafts shall fall like death's own 

darts. 
And, though bhnd men discharge them, find a mark. 
Thus shall we die the death of slaughter'd deer. 
Which, driven into the toils, are shot at ease 
By boys and women, while they toss aloft 
AU idly anil in vain their br.inchy horns. 
As we shall shake our unavailing spears. 

Reg. Tush, tell not me ! If their shot fall Hie 
hail, 
Our men have Milan coats to bear it out. 

Swi. Never did armorer temper steel on stithy 
That made sure fence against an English arrow ; 
A cobweb gossamer were guard as good' 
Against a wasp-sting. 

Reg. Who fears a wasp-sting ? 

Swi. I, my Lord, fear none 

Yet should a wise man brush the insect off. 
Or he may smart for it. 

Reg. We'll keep the hiU; it is the vantage- 
ground 
When the main battle joins. 

Swi. It ne'er will join, while their light aicherv 

1 MS. " gaard as thick." 



V38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Can foil our spearmen and our barbed liorse. 
To hope Plantagenet would seek close combat 
When he can conquer riskless, is to deem 
Sagacious Edward simpler than a babe 
In battle-kuowletlge. Keep the hill, my Lord, 
With tile main body, if it is your pleasure ; 
]iut let a body of your chosen horse 
Make execution on yon waspish archers. 
Vve done such work beft)re, and love it well; 
If 'tis your pleasure to give me the leading. 
The dames of Sherwood, Ingle wood, and Weardale, 
Shall sit in widowhood and long for venison. 
And long in vain. Whoe'er remembers Bannock- 
burn, — 
And when shall Scotsman, tUl the last loud trumpet, 
Forget that stirring word ! — knows that great battle 
Even thus was fought and won. 

Len. This is the shortest road to bandy blows ; 
For when the bills step forth and bows go back, 
Then is the moment that our hardy spearmen. 
With their strong bodies, and their stubborn hearts, 
And limbs well knit by mountain exercise, 
At the close tug shall foil the short-breath'd South- 
ron. 

Swi. I do not say the field will thus be won ; 
The English host is numerous, brave, and loyal ; 
Their Monarch most accompU.sh'd in Wiir's art, 
Skill'd, resolute, aud wary 

Reg. And if your scheme secure not victory,' 
Wliat does it promise us ? 

Swi. This much at least — 

Darkling we shall not die : the peasant's shaft, 
Loosen'il perchance without au aim or purpose, 
Shall not drink up the life-blood we derive 
From those famed ancestors, who made their breasts 
This frontier's barrier for a thousand years. 
We'll meet these Southron bravely hand to hand, 
And eye to eye, and weapon against weapon ; 
Each man who falls shall see the foe who strikes 

him. 
Wliile our good blades are faithful to the hilts. 
And our good hands to these good blades are faith- 
ful. 
Blow shall meet blow, and none fall unavenged — 
We shall not bleed alone. 

Reg. And this is all 

Your wisdom hath devised ? 

Swi. Not all ; for I would pray you, noble Lords 
(If one, among the guilty guiltiest, might), 
For this one day to charm to ten hours' rest 
The never-dying worm of deadly feud, 

1 " Tlie gpnerous abandonment of private dissension, on the 
part of Gor Ion, which the historian has described as a momen- 
tary impulse, is depicted by the dr.imalist with great skill and 
knowledge of human feeling, as the result of many powerful 
ond conflicting emotions. He has, we think, been very suc- 
cessful in his attempt to express the hesitating, and sometimes 
tetrograde movements of a young and ardent mind, in its tran- 
•ition from the first glow of indignation aganst his hereditary 



That gnaws our vexed hearts — think no one foe 

Save Edward and Iiis host : — days will remain,'* 

Ay, days by far too many will remain. 

To avenge old feuds or struggles for precedence ;- - 

Let this one day be Scotland's. — For myself, 

If there is any here may claim from me 

(As well may chance) a debt < .f blood and hatred. 

My hfe is his to-morrow unre? sting. 

So he to-d.ay will let me do the best 

That my old arm may achieve for the dear cotmtry 

That's mother to us both. 

[Gordon sIiows much emotion during this 
and the preceding speech of Swinton. 

Reg. It is a dream — a vision ! — if one troop 
Rush down upon the archers, all will follow. 
And order is destroy'd — we'll keep the battle- 
rank 
Our fathers wont to do. No more on't. — Ho ! 
Wliere be those youths seek knighthood from our 
sword ? 

Her. Here are the Gordon, Somerville, and Hay, 
And Hepburn, with a score of gallants more. 

Reg. Gordon, stand forth. 

GoK. I pray your Gr.ace, forgive me. 

Reg. How 1 seek you not for knighthood ? 

GoR. I do tliirst for't. 

But, pardon me — 'tis from another sword. 

Req. It is yomr Sovereign's — seek you for a wor- 
thier ? 

GoR. Who would drink purely, seeks the secret 
fountain. 
How small soever — not the general stream. 
Though it be deep and wide. My Lord, I seek 
The boon of knighthood from the honor'd weapon 
Of the best knight, and of the sagest leader. 
That ever graced a ring of cliivalry. 
— Therefore, I beg the boon on bended knee, 
Even from Sir Alan Swmton. [Kneels. 

Reg. Degenerate boy ! Abject at once and in- 
solent ! — 
See, Lords, he kneels to him that slew his father ! 

GoR. {starting np.) Shame be on him, who speaks 
such shameful word ! 
Shame be on him, whose tongue would sow dissen- 
sion, 
■Wlien most the time demands that native Scotsmen 
Forget each private wrong 1 

Swi. {interrupting him.) Youth, since you crave 
me 
To be your su'e in chiv.ah-y, I remina you 
War has its duties, Office has its reverence 

foeman, the mortal antagonist of his father, to the no less warm 
and generous devotion of feeling which is inspired in it by the 
contemplation of that foeman's valor and virtues." — British 
Critic. 
3 MS.—" For this one day to chase our country's curse 

From yonr vex'd bosoms, and think no one enemy 
But those in yonder army — days enow, 
Ay days." &c. 



HALIDON HILL. 



739 



Wlo governs in the Sovereign's name is Sover- 
eign ;— 
Crave the Lord Regent's pardon. 

GoR. You task me justly, and I crave his pardon, 
[Bows to the Regent. 
His and these noble Lords' ; and pray them all 
Bear witness to my words. — Ye noble presence. 
Here I remit unto the Knight of Swinton 
All bitter memory of my father's slaughter. 
All thoughts of mahce, hatred, and revenge : 
By no base fear or composition moved, 
But by the thought, that in our country's battle 
All hearts should be as one. I do forgive him 
As freely as I pray to be forgiven. 
And once more kneel to liim to sue for knighthood. 

Swi. [affected^ and drawijig his sword.) 
Alas I brave youth, 'tis I should kneel to you. 
And, tendering thee the hilt of the fell sword 
That made thee fatherless, bid thee use the point 
After thine own discretion. For thy boon — 
Trumpets be ready — In the HoUest name, 
And in Our Lady's and Saint Andrew's name, 

[Touchi7iff his shoulder with his sword, 
I dub thee Knight ! — Arise, Sir Adam Gordon ! 
Be faithful, brave, and O, be fortunate. 
Should this ill hour permit I 

\_The trumpets sound; the Heralds cry 
" Largesse," and the Attendants shout 
" A Gordon ! A Gordon !" 

Reg. Beggars and flatterers ! Peace, peace, I say ! 
We'll to the Standard ; knights shall there be made 
Who will with better reason crave your clamor. 

Len. What of Swinton's counsel ? 
Here's Maxwell and myself think it worth noting. 

Reg. {with concentrated indignation.) 
Let the best knight, and let the sagest leader, — 
So Gordon quotes the man who slew his father, — 
With his old pedigree and heavy mace. 
Essay the adventure if it pleases him. 
With his fair threescore horse. As for ourselves. 
We will not peril aught upon the measure. 

GoE. Lord Regent, you mistake ; for if Sir Alan 
Shall venture such attack, each man who calls 
The Gordon chief, and hopes or fears from him 
Or good or evil, follows Swinton's banner 
In this achievement. 

Reg. Why, God ha' mercy ! This is of a piece. 
Let young and old e'en follow their own counsel, 
Since none will list to mine. 

Ross. The Border cockerel fain would be on 
horseback ; 
'Tis safe to be prepared for fight or flight : 
And this comes of it to give Northern lands 
To the false Norman blood. 

GoE. Hearken, proud Chief of Isles I Within 
my stalls 
I have two hundred horse ; two hundred riders 
Mount guard upon my castle, who would tread 



Into the dust a thousand of your Redshanks, 
Nor count it a day's service. 

Swi. Hear I tliis 

From thee, young man, and on the day of battle ! 
And to the brave MacDonnell ? 

GoH. 'Twas he that urged me; but I am re 

buked. 
Reg. He crouches like a leash-hound to his mas- 
ter!' 
Swi. Each hound must do so that would head 
the deer — 
'Tis mongrel curs that snatch at mate or master. 
Reg. Too much of this. Sirs, to the Royal Stand- 
ard! 
I bid you in the name of good King David. 
Sound trumpets — sound for Scotland and King 
David ! 
[The Regent and the rest go off, and the 
Scene closes. Manent Gordon, Swin- 
ton, and ViPONT, with Reynalu and fol- 
lowers. Lennox follows the Regent; 
hut returns^ and addresses Swinton. 
Len. 0, were my western horsemen but come up, 
I would take part with you I 

Swi. Better that you remain. 

They lack discretion ; such gray head as yours 
May best supply that want. 
Lennox, mine ancient friend, and honor'd lord. 
Farewell, I think, for ever I 

Len. Farewell, brave friend I — and farewell, 
noble Gordon, 
Whose sun will be echpsed even as it rises ! — 
The Regent will not aid you. 

Swi. We will so bear us, that as soon the blood- 
hound 
Shall halt, and take no part, what time his com- 
rade 
Is grapphng with the deer, as he stand still. 
And see us overmatch'd. 

Len. Alas I thou dost not know how mean hia 
pride is. 
How strong his envy. [him. 

Swi. Then we will die, and leave the shame with 

[Exit Lennox. 
ViP. {to GoEDON.) What ails thee, noble youth f 
What means this pause ? 
Thou dost not rue thy generosity ? 

GoE. I have been hurried on by strong impulaa, 
Like to a bark that scuds before the storm. 
Till driven upon some strange and distant coast, 
Which never pilot dream'd o£ — Have I not for- 
given! 
And am I not still fatherless ? 

Swi. Gordon, no ; 

For while we live I am a father to thee. [be. 

GoE. Thou, Swinton ? — no 1 — that cannot, cannot 

1 In the MS. this speech and the next are interpolated 



740 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Swi. Then change the phrase, and say, that 
while we live, 
Gordon shall be my son. If thou art fatherless. 
Am I not childless too ? Bethink thee, Gordon, 
Our death-feud was not like the liousehold fire. 
Which the poor peasant hides among its embers, 
To smoulder on, and wait a time for waking. 
Ours was the conflagration of the forest, 
AVhirh, in its fury, spares nor sprout nor stem. 
Hoar oak, nor saplh^g — not to be extinguish'd. 
Till Heaven, in mercy, sends down all her waters ; 
Eut, once subdued, its flame is quench'd for ever ; 
And spring shall hide the tract of devastation,' 
With foliage and with flowers. — Give me thy 
hand. 
GoR. My hand and heart ! — And freely now 1 — 

to fight ! 
Vip. How will you act ? [TbSwiNTON.] The Gor- 
don's b.and and tliine 
Are in the rearward left, I think, in scorn — 
HI post for them who wish to charge the foremost I 
Swi. We'll turn that scorn to vantage, and de- 
scend 
Sidelong the hill— some winding path there must 

be— 
O, for a well-skill'd guide I 

[Hob Hattely starts upjrojn a Thicket. 
Hob. So here he stands. — An ancient friend. Sir 
Alan. 
Hob Hattely, or, if you like it better. 
Hob of the Heron Plume, here stands your guide. 
Swi. An :mcient friend ? — a most notorious 
knave. 
Whose throat I've destined to the dodder'd oak 
Before my castle, these ten months and more. 
Was it not you who drove from Simprim-mains, 
And Swinton-quarter, sixty head of cattle ? 

Hub. What then, if now I lead your sixty 
lances 
Upon tlie English fl.onk, where they'll find spoil 
Is worth six hundred beeves ? 

Swi. Why, thou canst do it, knave. I would not 
trust thee 
With one poor bullock ; yet would risk my life, 
And all my followers, on thine honest guidance. 

Hob. There is a dingle, and a most discreet one 
(I've trod' each step by star-liglit), that sweeps 

round 
The rearward of this hill, and opens secretly 
Upon the archers' flank. — Will not that serve 
Your present turn. Sir Alan! 

Swi. Bravely, bravely 1 

GoE. Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan. 
Let all who love the Gordon follow me ! 

Swi. Ay, let aU follow — but in silence follow. 

* MS. — " But, once estingnisli'd, it is qnencird for ever. 

And spring shall hide the blackness of its ashes." 



Scare not the hare that's couchant on her form— 
Tlie cushat from her nest — brush not, if possible, 
The dew-drop from the spray — 
Let no one wliisper, until I crj', "Havoc!" 
Then shout as loud 's ye will. — On, on, brave Hob; 
On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful Scots- 
man I 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 

A rising Ground immediateli/ in front of the Posi- 
tion of the English Main Body. Percy, Chandos, 
RiBAUMONT, and other English and Norinan No- 
bles, are grouped on the Stage. 

Per. The Scots still keep the hill — the sun grows 

high. 
Would that the charge would sound. 

Cha. Thou sceut'st the slaughter, Percy. — Whc 

comes here ? 

Enter the Abbot of Waltbamstow. 
Now, by my life, the holy priest of Walthamstow 
Like to a lamb among a herd of wolves ! 
See, he's about to bleat. 

Ab. The King, methinks, delays the onset long. 

Cha. Your general. Father, like your rat-catcher 
Pauses to bait his traps, and set his snares. 

Ab. The metaphor is decent. 

Cha. Reverend sir, 

I will uphold it just. Our good King Edward 
Will presently come to this battle-field. 
And speak to you of the last tilting match. 
Or of some feat he did a twenty years since ; 
But not a word of the day's work before him. 
Even as the artist, sir, whose name otfends you. 
Sits prosing o'er his can, until the trap fall. 
Announcing that the vermin are secured. 
And then 'tis up, and on them. 

Per. Chandos, you give your tongue too oold a 
Ucense. 

Cha. Percy, I am a necessary evil. 
King Edward would not want me, if he could, 
And could not, if he would. I know my value. 
My heavy hand excuses my light tongue. 
So men wear weighty swords in their defence, 
Although they may otfend the tender shin. 
When the steel-boot is doff'd. 

Ab. My Lord of Chandos, 

This is but idle speech on brink of battle, 
Wlien Christian men should think upon their sms ; 
For as the tree falls, so the trunk must lie. 
Be it for good or evil. Lord, bethink thee. 
Thou hast withheld from our most reverend hous* 
The tithes of Everingham and Settleton ; 



HALIDON HILL. 



T41 



Wilt tliou make satisfaction to the Church 
Before lier tliuiiilera strike thee ? I do warn thee 
[n most paternal sort. 

Cha. I thaiik you, Father, filially, 
rhousjh but a truant son of Holy Church, 
I wouUl not choose to undergo her censures. 
When Scottish blades are waving at my throat. 
I'll m;ike fair composition. 

Ab. No composition ; I'll have all, or none. 

Cuj. None, then — 'tis soonest spoke. I'll take 
my chance. 
And trust my sinful soul to Heaven's mercy, 
Rather than risk my worldly goods with thee — 
My hour may not be come. 

Ab. Impious — impenitent — 

Per. Huah 1 the King — the King ! 

Enter King Edward, attended bg Baliol and 
ot/iers. 
King (apart to Cha.) Hark hither, Chandos 1 — 
Have the Yorkshire archers 
Yet joiu'd the vanguard ? 

Cha. They are nuircliing thither. 
K. Ed. Bid them make haste, for shame— send 
a quick rider. 
The loitering knaves ! were it to steal my venison. 
Their steps were light enough. — How now. Sir 

Abbot? 
Say, is your Reverence come to study with us 
The princely art of war ? 

Ab. I've had a lecture from my Lord of Chandos, 
In which he term'd yoiu- Grace a rat-catcher. 
K. Ed. Chandos, how's tliis ! 
Cha. 0, I will prove it, su-'. — These skipping 
Scots 
Have changed a dozen times 'twixt Bruce and 

Bidiol, 
Qmtting eiich House when it began to totter ; 
They're fierce and cunning, treacherous, too, as 

rats, 
And we, as such, will smoke them in their fast- 
nesses. 
K. Ed. These rats have seen your back, my Lord 
of Chandos, 
And noble Percy's too. 

Per. Ay ; but the mass which now lies welter- 
ing 
On yon hiU side, like a Leviathan 
That's stranded on the shallows, then had soul 

in't, 
Order and discipline, and power of action. 
Now 'tis a headless corpse, which only shows. 
By wild convulsions, that some life remains in't. 
K. Ed. True, they had once a head ; and 'twas a 
wise, 
Although a rebel head. 
Ab. (bowing to the King.) Would he were here 1 
we should find one to match him. 



K. Ed. There's sometliing in that wish which 
wakes an echo 
Within my bosom. Yet it is as well. 
Or better, that The Bruce is in liis grave. 
We have enough of powerful foes on earth, — 
No need to sunmion them from other worlds. 
Per. Your Grace ne'er met 'I'he Bruce ? 
K. Ed. Never himself; but in my earliest field, 
I did encounter with liis famous capt.iins, 
Douglas and R.andolph. Faith ! they press'd me 
hard. 
Ab. My Liege, if I might urge you with a ques- 
tion, 
WiU the Scots fight to-day ? 

K. Ed. (sharply.) Go look your breviary. 
Cha. (apart.) The Abbot has it — Edward will 
not answer 
On that nice point. We must [observe his hu- 
mor. — 

[Addresses the King. 
Your first campaign, my Licgo ? — Tliat was in 

Weardale, 
When Douglas gave oiu: camp yon midnight ruffle. 
And turn'd men's beds to biers ? 

K. Ed. Ay, by Siunt Edward ! — I escaped right 
nearly. 
I was a soldier then for holidays. 
And slept not m mine armor : my safe rest 
Was st.irtlcd by the cry of " Douglas ! Douglas I" 
And by my couch, a grisly chamberlain. 
Stood Alan Swinton, with liis bloody mace. 
Itwasachurolunan saved me — my stout chaplain, 
Heaven quit his epu'it 1 caught a weapon up. 
And grappled wilh the giant. — How now, Louis ? 

Enter an Officer, who whispers the King. 

K. Ed. Say to him, — thus — and thus 

[ Mliispert. 
Ab. Tliat Swinton's dead. A monk of ours re- 
ported. 
Bound homeward from St. Ninian's pilgrimage. 
The Lord of Gordon slew liim. 

Per. Father, and if your house stood on om 
borders, 
You might have cause to know that Swinton lives. 
And is on horseback yet. 

CnA. He slew the Gordon, 

That's all the difference — a very trifle. 

Ab. Trifling to those who wage a war more 
noble 
Than with the arm of flesh. 

CuA. (apart.) The Abbot's vex'd, I'll rub the 
sore for him. — 
(Aloud.) I have seen priests that used that arm of 

flesh. 
And used it sturdily. — Most reverend Father, 
What -say you to the chaplain's deed of arms 
In the Kiug's tent at Weardale ? 



V42 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ab. It was most sinful, being against the canon 
Proliibitiiig all churclmien to bear -weapous ; 
Ami as be fell in that unseemly guise, 
Perciiance his soul may rue it. 
K. Ed. (overhearing the last words.) Who may 
rue? 
Antl "whut is to be rued ? 

CuA. (apart.) I'll match liis Reverence for the 
tithes of Everingham. 
— The Abbot says, my Liege, the deed was sinful. 
By which your chaplain, wielduig secular weap- 

on.s, 
Secure<l your Grace's Hfe and hberty, 
And tliat he suffers for't in purgatory. 
K. En. (to the Abbot.) Say'st thou my chaplain 

is in purgatoi"y ? 
Ab. It is the canon .speaks it, good my Liege. 
K. Ei). In purgatory 1 thou ehalt pray liim out 
on't. 
Or I will make thee wish thyself beside him. 

Ad. My Lord, perchance his soul is past the aid 
Of all the Church may do — there is a place 
From which there's no redemption. 

K. El). And if I thought my faithful chaplain 
there, 
Thou .shiiiddst there join him, priest ! — Go, watch, 

fast, pray, 
And let me have such prayers as will storm Heav- 
en — 
None of your maim'd and mutter "d hunting masses. 
Ab. (apart to Cha.) For God's sake take him off. 
Cha. Wilt thou compound, then, 
The tithes of Everingham ? 

K. Ed. I tell thee, if thou bear'st the keys of 
Heaven, 
Abbot, thou shalt not turn a bolt with them 
'Gainst any well-deserving Englisli subject. 

Ab. (to Cha.) We wiU compound, and grant thee, 
too, a share 
I' the next indulgence. Thou dost need it much, 
And greatly 'twill avail thee. 

CuA. Enough — we're friends, and when occasion 
serves, 

I will .strike m, 

[Ijooks as if towards the Scottish Army. 
K. Ed. Answer, proud Abbot ; is my chaplain's 
soul. 
If fli'.u knowest aught on't, in the evil place! 
Cha. My Liege, the Yorkshire men have gain'd 
the meadow. 
I see the pemion green of merry Sherwood. 

K. Ed. Then give the signal instant ! We have 
lost 
But too much time already. 

1 ,MP. — " Tlie viewless, the resistless plagne," &c. 

s T]:e well-known expression by which Robert Brace cen- 



Ab. My Liege, your holy chaplain's blessed 

soul — 
K. Ed. To hell with it and thee ! Is this a timo 
To speak of monks and chaplains? 

[F/onrish of trumpets, answered by a 
distant sound of Buyles. 
See, Chandos, Percy — Ha, Saiut George! Saint 

Edward ! 
See it descending now, the fatal hail-^hower, 
The storm of England's wrath — sure, owir't, resist- 
less, 
Which no mail-coat can brook. — Brave English 

hearts I 
How close they shoot together ! — as one eye 
Had aim'd five thousand shafts — as if one hand 
Had loosed five thousand bow-strings ! 

Pee. The thick voUey 

Darkens the air, and hides the sun from us. 

K. Ed. It falls on those shall see the sun no 
more. 
The winged, the resistless plague' i.s with them. 
How their ve.\'d host is reeling to and fro. 
Like the chafed whale with fifty lances in him. 
They do not see, and cannot shun the wound. 
The .storm is viewless, as death's sable wing, 
Unerring as his scythe. 

Pee. Horses and riders are going down together. 
'Tis almost pity to see nobles fall. 
And by a peasant's arrow. 

Bal. I coidd weep them. 

Although they .are my rebels. 

Cha. (aside to Per.) His conquerors, he means, 
who cast him out 
From his usurped kingdom. — (Aloud.) 'Tis the 

worst of it. 
That knights can claim small honor in the field 
Wliich archers win, unaided by our Lances. 
K. Ed. The battle is not ended. [Looks toward* 
the field. 
Not ended ? — scarce begun ! Wliat horse are 

these. 
Rash from the thicket underneath the hill ? 

Per. They're Hainaulters, the followers o f Queen 

Isabel. 
K. Ed. (hastily.) Hainaulters ! — thou art bhnd — 
wear Hainaidters 
Saint Andrew's silver cross ? — or would they 

charge 
Full on our archers, and make havoc of them ? — 
Bruce is alive again — ho, rescue ! rescue I — 
Who was't sm-vey'd the ground ! 
Riba. Most royal Liege — 
K. Ed. a rose hath fallen from thy chaplet, 
Ribaumont. 



snred the negligence of Randolph, for permitting an English 
body of cavalry to pass his flank on tbe lay preceding toe 
battle o" Bannockbum 



HALIDON HILL. 



14 f 



Rin.\. ril win it back, or lay my head beside it. 

[Exit. 
K. En. Saint George 1 Saint Edward ! Gentle- 
men, to liorse. 
And to the rescue T — Percy, lead the biU-men ; 
Chandos, do thou bring up the men-at-arms. — 
If yonder numerous liost sliould now bear down 
Bold as their vanguard {to the Abbot), thou mayst 

pray for us. 
We may need good men's prayers. — To the rescue. 
Lords, to the rescue ! ha. Saint George 1 Saint Ed- 
ward !' 

[^Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 

A part of the Field of Battle betwixt Ine two Main 
Annies. Tumults behind the scenes; alarums, 
and cries of " Gordon, a Goi'don," " Swinton," &c. 

Enter, as victorious over the English vanguard, 
ViPONT, Retnald, and others. 

Vip. 'Tis sweet to hear these war-cries sound 
together, — 
Gordon and Swinton. 

Rey. 'Tis passing pleasant, yet 'tis strange 
withal. 
Faith, wlicn at first I heard the Gordon's slogan 
Sounded so near me, I had nigli struck down 
The knave who cried it.^ 

Enter Swinton and Gordon. 
SwT. Pitch down my pennon in yon holly buslu 
GoK. Mine in the thorn beside it ; let them wave. 
As fought tlus morn their masters, side by side. 

Swi. Let tlie men rally, and restore their ranks 
Here in thi.s vantage-ground — tlisonler'd chase 
Leads to disorder'd fliglit ; we have done our 

part. 
And if were suceor'd now, Plantagenet 
Must turn his bridle .southward. — 
Heynald, spur to the Regent with tlie ba.snet 
Of stout De Grey, the leader of their vangu.ird ; 
Say, that in battle-front the Gordon slew him. 
And bv thjit token bid him send us succor. 



1 "III the second act, after the EngUsh nohles have amosed 
themselves ill some trifling conversation with the Abbot of 
VValtham^^tow, Edward is introduced; and his proud coura- 
geous temper and sliorl manner are very admirably delineated ; 
though, if our historical recollections do not fail us, it is more 
conipletely the picture of Longshanks than that of the third 

Edwar.l We conceive it to be extremely probable 

that Sir Walter Scott had resolved to commemorate some of 
the events in the life of Wallace, and had already sketched 
that hero, and a Templar, and Edward the First, when his 
eye glanced over the description of Homildon Hill, in Pinker- 
ton's History ol' Scotland ; that, being plea-sed with the char- 
acters of Swinton and Gordon, he transferred his Wallace to 
BwintOD ; and that, for Uw sake of retaining his portrait of 



GoR. And tell liim that when Selby's headlong 

charge 
Had wellnigh borne me do\vn, Sir Alan smote hina 
I cannot send his helmet, never nutslieJI 
Went to so many shivers. — Harkye, grooms ! 

[7o those behind the seenct, 
Wliy do you let my noble steed stand stiffening 
After so hot a course ? 

Swi. Ay, breathe your horses, they'll have worl 

anon. 
For Edward's men-at-arms will soon be on tis, 
The flower of England, Gascony, antl Flanders ; 
But with swift succor we will bide them bravely.— 
De Vipont, thou look'st sad ?' 

Vip. It is because I hold a Templar's sword 
Wet to the crossed liilt witli Cliristian blood. 
Swi. The blood of English archers — what can 

gild 
A Scottish blade more bravely ? 
Vip. Even therefore grieve I for those gallant 

yeomen, 
England's peculiar and appropriate sons, 
Known in no otlier land. Each boasts his hearth 
And field as free as the best lord liis barony, 
Owing subjeetitin to no human vassalage. 
Save to tiieir King and law. Hence aie they resi>- 

lute, 
Leading the van on every day of battle. 
As men who know the blessmgs they defend. 
Hence are they frank and generous in peace, 
As men wlio have their portion in its plenty. 
No otlier kingdom shows such worth and happi 

ness 
Vcil'd in such low estate-:-tlierefore I mourn 

them. 
Swi. I'll keep my sorrow for our native Scots, 
WIk), spite of hardship, poverty, oppression. 
Still follow to the field their Cliieftain's banner. 
And die in the defence on't. 

GoE. And if I live and see my halls agam. 
They sliall have portion m tlie good they fight 

for. 
Each hardy follower .shall have his field, 
His liousehold liearth ami sod-built home, as free 
As ever Southron had. They shall be liappy ! — 



EdwanI, as there happened to be a Gordon and a Douglas at 
the battle of Halidoun in the time of Edward the Tliird, and 
there was so much similarity in the circumstances of the coo* 
test, he preserved his Edward as Edward the Third, retaining 
also his old Knight Templar, in defiance of the anachronism," 
— Moutlily Review, July, 182^. 

3 The M.'?. adds — " such was my surprise.** 

s '* While thus enjoying a breathing time, Swinton observet 
the thoughtful countenance of De Vifioiit. See wliat follows 
Were ever England and Englishmen more nobly, more beauti- 
fully, more justly characterized, than by the latter, or was 
patriotic feeling ever belter sustained than by the former and 
his brave companion in arms?** — JVcw Editiburt-h Review, 



1U 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it ! — ' 
I have betray'd myself. 

Swi. Do not belieTe it. — 

Vipont, do thou look out from yonder height, 
And see -what motion in the Scottish host, 
And in King Edward's. — 

[Exit ViPONT. 
Now will I counsel thee ; 
The Templar's ear is for no tale of love, 
Being wedded to his Order. But I tell thee, 
The brave young knight that hath no lady-love 
Is like a lamjj unlighted ; his brave deeds, 
And its rich painting, do seem then most glorious. 
When the pure ray gleams through them. — 
Hath thy Elizabeth no other name f 

GoR. Must I then speak of her to you. Sir Alan ? 
Tlie thought of thee, and of thy matchless strength. 
Hath conjured phantoms up amongst her dreams. 
The name of Swinton hath been spell sufficient 
To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek. 
And wouldst thou now know hers ? 

SwT. I would, nay must. 

Tliy father in the paths of chivalry. 
Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy course 

by- 

GoR. Nay, then, her name is — hark 

[ Whispers. 

Swi. I know it well, that ancient northern house. 

GoR. 0, thou shalt see its fairest grace and honor 
In my Elizabeth. And if music touch thee 

Swi. It did, before disasters had untuned me. 

GoE. O, her notes 
Shall liush each sad remembrance to oblivion, 
Or melt them to such gentleness of feeling. 
That grief shall have its sweetness. Who, but she. 
Knows the wild harpings of our native land ? 
Whether they lull the shepherd on his hill. 
Or wake the knight to battle ; rouse to merriment, 
Or soothe to sadness ; she can touch each mood. 
Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in arms, 
And gray-hair'd bards, contend wliich shall the first 
And choicest homage render to the enchantress. 

Swi. Tou speak her talent bravely. 

GoR. Though you smile, 

I do not speak it half. Her gift creative. 
New measures adds to every air she wakes ; 
Varying and gracing it with liquid sweetness, 
Like the wild modulation of tlie lark ; 
Now leaving, now returning to the strain I 
To listen to her, is to seem to wander 
In some enchanted labyrinth of romance. 
Whence nothing but the lovely fairy's will, 

* " There wanted but a little of the tender passion to make 
/his youth every way a liero of romance. Bui the poem has 
no ladies. How admirably i« this defect sop^ilied ! In his 
euthusiaiitic a;".»icipation of prosperity, he allows a name to 
■scape i]im." — .\'cto Edinburgh Review. 

3 " Amid tl.ti confusion and din of the battle, ttenaderu 



Who wove the spell, can extricate the wanderer. 
Methinks I hear her now ! — 

Swi. ^ Bless'd privilege 

Of youth ! There's scarce three miimtes to decide 
'Twixt death and life, 'twi.\t triumph and defeat, 
Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bower, 

List'ning her harping ! 

[Enter ViPONT. 
Where are thine, De Vipont ! 

Vip. On death — on judgment — on eternity ! 
For time is over with us. 

Swi. There moves not, then, one pennon to oui 
aid, 
Of all that flutter yonder ! 

Vip. From the main English host come rushing 
forward 
Pennons enow — ay, and their Rojal Standard. 
But ours stand rooted, as for crows to roost on. 

Swi. {to himself.) I'll rescue him at least. — 
Young Lord of Gordon, 
Spur to the Regent — show the instant need 

GoE. I penetrate thy purpose ; but I go not. 

Swa. Not at my bidding? I, thy sire in chiv- 
ab-y— 
Thy leader in the battle ? — I command tliee. 

GoE. No, thou wilt not command me seek my 
safety, — 
For such is thy kind meaning — at the expense 
Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for Scot- 
land. 
Wliile I abide, no follower of mine 
Will turn his rein for life ; but were I gone, 
'Wliat power can stay them ? and, our band dis- 
persed. 
What swords shall for an instant stem yon host. 
And save the latest chance for victory >. 

Vip. The noble youth speaks truth ; and were 
he gone. 
There will not twenty spears be left with us. 

GoE. No, bravely as we have begun the field. 
So let us fight it out. The Regent's eyes. 
More certain than a thousand messages. 
Shall see us stand, the barrier of his host 
Against yon bursting storm. If not for honor. 
If not for warUke rule, for shame at least 
He must bear down to aid us. 

Swi. Must it be so ? 

And am I forced to yield the sad consent. 
Devoting thy young Ufe ?' 0, Gordon, Gordon 1 
I do it as the patriarch doom'd his issue ; 
I at my country's, he at Heaven's command ; 
But I seek vainly some atoning sacrifice,* 

unexpectedly greete4, with a dialogue, which breathes indeed 
the soft sounds of the lute in the clang of trumpets."— Jt/ojitV 
ly Review. 

3 MS. — " And am I doom'd to yield the sad consent 
That thus devotes thy life V 

* MS. — " O, could there be some lesser sacrifice." 



HALIDON HILL. 



74S 



Rather than each a victim ! — {Trumpets.) Hark, 

they come ! 
That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. 

GoR. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it 
gayly.— 
Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry, "Gor- 
don ! 
Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth !" 

[Exeunt. Loud Alarums. 



SCENE IIL 

Another part of the Field of Battle, adjacent to the 
former Scene. 

Alarums. Enter Swinton, followed by 
Hob Hattklt. 

Swi. Stand to it yet I The man who flies to-day. 
May bastards warm them at his household hearth ! 
Hob. That ne'er shall be my curse. My Magdalen 
Is trusty as my broadsword. 

Swi. Ha, thou knave,' 

Art thou dismounted too ? 

Hob. I know. Sir Alan, 

You want no homeward guide ; so threw my reins 
Upon my palfrey's neck, and let liim loose. 
Witliin an hour he stands before my gate ; 
And Magdalen wiU need no other token 
To bid the Melrose Monks say masses for me. 
Swi. Thou art resolved to cheat the halter, then ? 
Hoe. It is my purpose. 

Having lived a tliief, to die a brave man's death -, 
And never had I a more glorious chance for't. 
Swi. Here lies the way to it, knave. — Make in, 
make in. 
And aid young Gordon 1 

[Exeunt. Loud and long Alarums. Af- 
ter which the back Scene rises, and 
discovers Swixton o?). the ground, 
Gordon supporting him ; both much 
wounded. 
Swi. All aie cut down — the reapers have pass'd 
o'er us. 
And hie to distant harvest. — My toil's over ; 
There lies my sickle. [Dropping his sword.^ Hand 

of mine again 
Shall never, never wield it 1' 

GoR. valiant leader, is thy light extinguish'd ! 
That only beacon-flame which promised safety 
In tliis day's deadly wrack ! 
Swi. My lamp hath long been dim 1 But thine, 
young Gordon, 



1 This speech of Swintoa's is interpolated on the blank page 
9f the manuscript. 
94 



Just kindled, to be quench d so suddenly. 

Ere Scotland saw its splendor ! 

GoE. Five thou.sand horse hung idly on yon liill. 
Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid ua I 
Swi. It was the Regent's envy. — Out ! — alas ' 
Why blame I him I — It was our civil discord, 
Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred. 
Which framed this day of dole for our poor coun 

try.- 
Had thy brave fiither held yon leading staff. 
As well his rank and valor might have claim'd it, 
We had not fall'n unaided. — How, O how 

Is he to answer it, wliose deed prevented 

GoE. Alas 1 alas ! the author of the death-foud 

He has lus reckoning too 1 for had your sons 

And num'rous va-ssals lived, we had lack'd no aid. 

Swi. May God assoil the dead, and liim who 

follows ! 

We've drank the poison'd beverage wliich we 

brew'd : 
Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold wliirl- 

wind I — 
But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart 
Pour'd oil upon tlie wounds our hate inflicted ; 
Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no forgive- 
ness, — 
Why should'st thou share our punishment ! 

GoE. All need forgiveness — [distant alarum.'^ — 
Hark, in yonder shout 
Did the main battles counter I 

Swi. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou 
canst. 
And tell me bow the day goes. — But I guess, 

Too surely do I guess 

GoE. All's lost ! all's lost ! — Of the main Scot- 
tish host, 
Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward ; 
And some there are who seem to turn their spears 
Against their countrymen. 

Swi. Rashness, and cowardice, and secret trea- 
son. 
Combine to ruin us ; and our hot valor, 
Devoid of disciphne, is madmen's strength. 
More fatal unto friends than enemies ! 
I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more 

on't. — 
Let thy hanils close them, Gordon — I will dream 
My fair-hair'd William renders me that office I 

[Dies. 
GoE. And, Swinton, I will think I do that duty 
To my dead father. 

Enter De Vipont. 
Vip. Fly, fly, brave youth ! — A handful of thy 
followers. 
The scttter'd gleaning of this desperate day, 
Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue. — 
O linger not 1 — I'll be your guide to thcra 



746 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



GoE. Look there, and bid me fly I — Tlie oak has 
fall'n ; 
And the young ivy bush, which learn'd to climb 
Sy its support, must needs partake its falL 

Vip. Swinton ? Alas I the best, the bravest, 
strongest. 
And sagest of our Scottish cliiv.ilry ! 
Forgive one moment, if to save the living. 
My tongue should wrong the dead. — Gordon, be- 
think thee. 
Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse' 
Of him who slew thy father. 

GoR. Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry. 
He taught my youth to soar above the promptings 
Of mean and selfish vengeance ; gave my youth 
A name that shall not die even on this death- 
spot. 
Records shall tell this field had not been lost, 
Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon. 

[Tru7npets. 
Save thee, De Vipont. — Harkl the Southron 
trumpets. 
Vu". Nay, without thee, I stir not. 

Unier Edwaed, Chandos, Pebci, Baliol, dc. 
GoR. Ay, they come on — the Tyrant and the 
Traitor, 
Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol. — 
O for a moment's strength in tliis poor arm, 
To do one glorious deed ! 

[fie rushes on the English^ hut is made 
prisoner itrith VrpoNT. 
K. Ed. Dis.inn them — ^harm them not ; though 
it was they 
Made havoc on the archers of our vanguard. 
They and that bulky champion. Where is he ? 
CuA\. Here lies the giant ! Say liis name, young 

Knight ? 
GoR. Let it suffice, he was a man this morning.' 
Cha. I question'd thee in sport. I do not need 
Tliy infnrniation, y-)uth. Who that has fought 
Through all these Scottish wars, but knows his 
crest. 



1 MS. — " Thou hast small caase to tarry with the corpse.** 
^ In Ills narrative of events on tile day al'ter the hattle of 
PhpritTinuir. Sir Walter Scott says, " Amongst the gentlemen 
who fell on this occasion, were several on both sides, alike 
eminent for hirth and cliaracter. The body of the gallant 
young Earl of Stratlimore was found on tite field watched by 
a faithful old domestic, who, bein<^ asked the name of the pei^ 
son wliose body he waited upon with so much care, made this 
striking reply, 'He was a man yesterday.'" — TtUes of a 
Grandfather. 

3 MS. — "Stood arm*d beside my coach," &c. 

< "The character of Pwinton is obvionsly a favorite with 
the aothor, to which circumstance we are probably indebted 
fertile strong relief in which it is given, and the perfect verisi- 
Li.litude wliicli belongs to it. The stately commanding figure 
■f the vetertin warrior; whom, by the illusion of his art, the 



The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak. 
And that huge mace still seen where war was 
wildest ! 
King Ed. 'Tis Alan Swinton ! 
Grim chamberlain, who in my tent at Weardale, 
Stood by my startled couch' with torch and mace. 
When the Black Douglas' war-cry waked my 
camp. 
GoR. (sinking down.) If thus thou know'st him, 
Tliou wilt respect his corpse.* 

K. Ed. As belted Knight and crowned i&ig, I 

will 
GoR. And let mine 
Sleep at his side, in token that our death 
Ended the feud of Swinton and of Gordon. 

K. Ed. It is the Gordon ! — Is there aught beside 
Edward can do to honor bravery. 
Even in an enemy ! 

GoE. Nothing but this : 
Let not base Bahol, with his touch or look. 
Profane my corpse or Swinton's. I've some breath 

still. 
Enough to say — Scotland — Elizabeth ! [Dies. 

Cha. Bahol, I woidd not brook such dying 
looks. 
To buy the crown you aim at. 

K. Ed. (to Vip.) Vipont, thy crossed sliield shows 
ill in warfare 
Against a Christian King. 

Vip. That Christian King is warring upon Scot- 
land. 
I was a Scotsman ere I was a Templar,* 
Sworn to my country ere I knew my Order. 
K. Ed. I will but know thee as a Christian cham 
pion. 
And set thee free unransom'd. 

Enter Abbot of Walthamstow. 
Ab. Heaven grant your Majesty 
Many such glorious days as this has been ! 

K. Ed. It is a day of much and high advan- 
tage; 
Glorious it might have been, hail all our foes 

author has placed in veritable presentment before us ;.— hii ven 
erable age, superior prowess, and intuitive decision ; — tli-? broils 
in which he had engaged, the misfortunes lie had suffered, and 
the intrepid fortitude with which he sustained tliem, — together 
with that rigorous control of temper, not to be shaken even 
by unmerited contumely and insult; — these qualities, grouped 
and embodied in one and the same character, render it morally 
iir'^ossible that we shoatd not at once sympathize and ajlmire. 
The inherent force of his character is finely ilhi^lrat^-d in the 
etlect produced upon Lord Gordon by the first appearance of 
the man 'who had made him fatherless.'" — Kdinbur^k 
Mftgazine, July, 18%. . 

6 A Venelian General, observing his soldiers testified some 
nnwillingness to fight against those of the Pope, whom they 
regarded as father of the Church, addressed tliem in terms of 
similar encouragement. — "Fight on! we were Venetians be- 
fore we were Christians." 



HALIDON HILL. 



74*} 



Fought like these two brave champions.- 

tho tlrums, 
Sound trumi)ets, and pursue the fagitivee, 



-Strike 



I "It is generally the case that much expectation ends in 
disappoinlnient. The free delineation of character in some of 
the recent Scoltisli Novels, and the admirable conversations 
ioters|)ersed throughout tliem, raised hopes that, when a regu- 
lar drama should be attempted by the person who was con- 
sidered as tlieir aullior, tlic success wonld be eminent. Its 
announcement, too. in a solemn and formal manner, did not 
diminish tlie interest of the public. Tlie drama, however, 
which was expected, turns out to be in fact, and not only in 
name, merely a dramatic sketch, which is entirely deficient in 
plot, and contains but three characters, Swinton, Gordon, and 
Edward, in whom any interest is endeavored to be excited. 
With some exceptions, the dialogue also is flat and coarse; 
and for all these defects, one or two vigorou* descriptiona of 
battle scenes will scarcely make sufficient atonement, except 
in the eyes of very enthusiastic friends." — Monthly Review. 



"Halidon Hill, we understand, unlike the earlier poems of 
its aothor. has not been received into the ranks of popular 
favor, i^uch rumors, of course, have no effect on our critical 
judgment ; but we cannot forbeur saying, that, thinking as we 
do very higiily of the spirit and taste willi which an interest- 
ing tale is ht-re sketched in natnral and energetic verse, we 
are yet far from feeling surprised that the approbation, which 
it is our pleas-ing duty to bestow, should not have been antici- 
pated by the or^iinary readers of the work before ns*. It bears, 
in truth, no great resemblance to the narrative poems fiom 



Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. BerwicVs 

render'd — , 

These wurs, I trust, will soon find lasting close.' 

which Sir Walter Scott derived his tirst and high reputation, 
and by which, for the present, his genius must be character- 
ized. It is wholly free from many of tlieir most obvious faults 
— their carelessness, their irregularity, and tlieir inequality both 
of conception and of execution ; but it wants likewise no incon- 
siderable portion of their beauties — it has less ' pomp and cir- 
cumstance,' less picturesque description, romantic association, 
and cliivalrous glitter, less sentiment and reflection, less i>er- 
haps of all their striking charms, with the single exception of 
that one reilceming and sufficing quality, wliich forms, in our 
view, the highest recommendation of all the author's worka 
of imagination, their unaifccied and unflug^'ing viour. Thia 
perhaps, after all, is only saying that we have before ua a 
dramatic poem, instead of a metrical tale of romance, anit 
that the author has had too much taste and discretion to b«- 
dizen his scenes with inajjpropriate and encumbering orna 
ment. There is, however, a class of readers of poetry, and a 
pretty large class, too, who have no relislj for a work, howevei 
naturally and strongly the character? and incidents may be 
conceived and sustained — however appropriate and maidy may 
be the imagery and diction — from which they cannot select 
any isolated passages to store in their memories or their com- 
monplace books, to whisper into a lady's ear, or transcribe into 
a lady's album. With this tea-table and watenng-place school 
of critics, ' Halidon Hill' must expect no favor ; it lias no rant 
— no mysticism — and, worst orteace of all, no atTectaiion,"— 
British Critic, October, 1822. 



745 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



iltac^itff's Cross. 



INTRODUCTION. 

These few scenes had the honor to be included 
in a Miscellany, published in the year 1823, by Mrs. 
Joanna Baillie, and are here reprinted, to unite 
them with the trifles of the same kind which owe 
their birth to the author. The singular history of 
the Cross and Law of Clan MacDuff is given, at 
length enough to satisfy the keenest antiquary, in 
The Minstrehy of the Scottish Border.' It is here 
only necessary to state, that the Cross was a place 
of refuge to any person related to MacDuflf, within 
the ninth degree, who, having committed homicide 
in sudden quarrel, should reach this place, prove 
his descent from the Thane of Fife, and pay a cer- 
tain penalty. 

The shaft of the Cross was destroyed at the 
Reformation. The huge block of stone which 
served for its pedestal is still in existence near 
the town of Newburgh, on a kind of pass which 
commands the county of Fife to the southward, 
and to the north, the windings of the magnificent 
Tay and fertile country of Angus-shire. The Crqss 
bore an iiiscription, which is transmitted to us in 
sn miintelhgible form by Sir Robert Sibbald. 

Abbotsford, January, 1830. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 

[• Monks of Lindores. 

[ Scottish Barons. 



NiXIAN, 

■Waldhave, 

llSnESAY, 

Maukioe Beekeley, 



MRS. JOANNA BAILLIE, 

AUTHORESS OP 

'THE PLAYS ON THE PASSIONS." 



PRELUDE. 



Nat, smile not. Lady, when I speak of witchcraft. 
And say, that still there lurks amongst our glens 
Some touch of strange enchantment.^Mark that 
fragment. 



' Vol. iv. p. 266, in the Appendix to Lord Sonlis, 
Clan MacDuff." 



* Law of 



I mean that rough-hewn block of massive stone 
Placed on the summit of this mountain-pass, 
Commanding prospect wide o'er field and fell. 
And peopled village and extended moorland, 
And the wide ocean and majestic Tay, 
To the far distant Grampians. — Do not deem it 
A loosen'd portion of the neighboring rock, 
Detach'd by storm and thunder — 'twas the pedestal 
On wliich, in ancient times, a Cross was rear'd. 
Carved o'er with words which foil'd pliilologists ; 
And the events it did commemorate 
Were dark, remote, and umlistinguishable, 
As were the mystic characters it bore. 
But, mark, — a wizard, born on Avon's bank. 
Tuned but liis harp to this wild northern tlieme. 
And, lo 1 the scene is hallow'd. None shall pass, 
Now, or in after days, beside that stone, 
But he shall have strange visions ; thoughts and 

words, 
Tliat shake, or rouse, or thrUl the human heart. 
Shall rush upon his memory wlien he hears 
The spirit-stirring name of this rude symbol ; — 
Oblivious sages, at that simple spell. 
Shall render back their terrors with their woes, 
Alas I and with their crimes — and the proud 

phantoms 
Shall move with step familiar to liis eye. 
And accents which, once heard, the ear forgets net, 
Though ne'er again to Ust them. Siddons, thine, 
Thou matchless Siddons ! thrill upon our ear ; 
And on our eye thy lofty Brother's form 
Rises as Scotland's monarch. — But, to thee, 
Joanna, why to thee speak of such visions ? 
Thine own wild wand can raise them. 

Yet since thou wilt au idle tale of mine, 
Take one wliich scarcely is of worth enough 
To giTe or to withliold. — Our time creeps on, 
Fancy grows colder as the silvery liair 
Tells the advancmg winter of our Ufe. 
But if it be of worth enough to please, 
Tliat worth it owes to her who set the task ; 
If otherwise, the fault rests with the author. 



UlatSlurs (!lro0s. 

SCENE L 

The mmmit of a Rocky Pass near to Neichurgh, 
about two miles from the ancient Abbey of Lin- 
dores, in Fife. In the centre is MacDuff's Cross. 



MACDUFF'S CROSS. 



749 



an antique Monument ; arid, at a small distance^ 
oil one side, a Chapel, with a Lamp burning. 

Enter, as having ascended the Pass, Ninian and 
Waldhave, Mo7iks of Lindores. Ninian crosses 
himself, and seems to recite his devotions, Wald- 
have stands gazing on tJie prospect, as if in deep 
contemplation. 

NiN. Here stands the Cross, good brother, conse- 
crated 
By tile bold Thaue unto his patron saint 
Magridius, once a brother of our house. 
Canst thou not spare an ave or a creed ? 
Or hath the steep ascent exhausted you ? i^some. 
You trode it stoutly, though 'twas rough and toil- 

Wal. I have trode a rougher. 

NiN. On the Highland hills— 

Scarcely within our sea-girt province here. 
Unless upon the Lomonds or Bennarty. 

Wal. I spoke not of the literal path, good father. 
But of the road of life which I have travell'd, 
Ere I assumed tliis habit ; it was bounded, 
Hedged in, and limited by earthly prospects, 
As ours beneath was closed by dell and thicket. 
Here we see wide and far, and the broad sky. 
With wide horizon, opens full around. 
While earthly objects dwindle. Brother Ninian, 
Faui would I hope that mental elevation 
Could raise me equally o'er worldly thoughts, 
And place me nearer heaven. 

NiN. 'Tis good moraUty. — But yet forget not. 
That though we look on heaven from this high em- 
inence. 
Yet doth the Prince of all the airy space, 
Arch foe of man, possess the realms between. 

Wal. Most true, good brother; and men may 
be farther 
From the bright heaven they aim at, even because 
Tliey deem themselves secure on't. 

NiN. {after a pause.) You do gaze — 

Strangers are wont to do so — on the prospect. 
You is the Tay roll'd down from Highland hills, 
That rests his waves, after so rude a race, 
In the fau- plains of Gowrie — further westward. 
Proud Stirhng rises — yonder to the east, 
Dundee, the gift of God, and fair Montrose, 
And still more northward lie the ancient towers — 

Wal. OfEdzell. 

NiN. How ? know you the towers of Edzell ? 

Wal. I've heard of them. 

NiN. Then have you heard a tale, 

Which when he tells, the peasant shakes his head, 
And shuns the mouldering and deserted walls. 

Wal. Why, and by whom, deserted i 

NiN. Long the tale, — 
Enough to say that the last Lord of Edzell, 
Bold Louis Lindesay, had a wife, and found 



Wal. Enough is said, indeed — since a weak 
woman. 
Ay, ami a tempting fiend, lost Paradise, 
When num was innocent. 

NiN. Tliey fell at strife. 

Men s.iy. on slight occasion : that fierce Lindesay 
Did bend his sword against Do Berkeley's breast 
And that the lady threw herself between : 
That then De Berkeley dealt the Baron's death- 

wound. 
Enough, that from that time De Berkeley bore 
A spear in foreign wars. But, it is said. 
He hath return'd of late ; and, therefore, brother, 
The Prior hath ordain'd our vigil here. 
To watch the privilege of the sanctuary. 
And rights of Clan MacDuif. 

Wal. What rights are tliese 1 

NiN. Most true ! you are but newly come fron: 
Rome, 
And do not know our ancient usages. 
Know then, when fell Macbeth beneath the arm 
Of the predestined knight, unborn of woman. 
Three boons the victor ask'd, and thrice did MaV 

colm. 
Stooping the sceptre by the Thane restored. 
Assent to his request. And hence the rule. 
That first when Scotland's King a-ssumes the crown, 
MacDuff's descendant rings his brow with it: 
And hence, when Scotland's Iving calls forth his 

host, 
MacDuflf 's descendant leads the van in battle: 
And last, in guerdon of the crown restored. 
Red with the blood of the usurping tyrant, 
The right was granted in succeeding time, 
That if a kinsman of the Thane of Fife 
Commit a slaughter on a sudden impulse. 
And fly for refuge to this Cross MacDuff, 
For the Thane's sake he shall find sanctuary ; 
For here must the avenger's step be staid. 
And here the panting homicide find safety. 

Wal. And here a brother of your order watcher 
To see the custom of the place observed ? 

NiN. Even so ; — such is our convent's holy right, 
Since Saint Magridius — blessed be his memory 1— 
Did by a vision warn the Abbot Eadmir. — 
And chief we watch, when there is bickering 
Among the neighboring nobles, now most Ukely 
From this return of Berkeley from abroad, 
Having the Lindesay 's blood upon his hand. 

Wal. The Lindesay, then, was loved among his 
friends ? 

NiN. Honor'd and fear'd he was — but little 
loved ; 
For even liis bounty bore a show of sternness ; 
And when his passions waked, he was a Sathan 
Of wrath and injury. 

Wal. How now. Sir Priest ! (fiercely) — Forgive 
me {recollecting himself) — I was dreaming 



750 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORK& 



Of an old baron, vrho did bear about him 
Some touch of your Lord Reynold. 

NiN. Lindesa^^'s name, my brother, 
Indeed was Reynold ; — and methinlis, moreover, 
That, a3 you spoke even now, he would have 

spoken. 
I brought hun a petition from our convent : 
He granted straight, but in such tone and manner, 
By my good s.aint ! I thought myself scarce safe. 
Till Tay roU'd broad between us. I must now 
Unto the chapel — meanwhile the watch is thine ; 
And, at thy word, tlie limTying fugitive, 
Should such arrive, must here find sanctuary ; 
And, at thy word, the fiery-paced avenger 
Must stop his bloody course^e'en as swoln Jordan 
Controll'd his waves, soon as they touch'd the feet 
Of those who bore the ark. 

Wal. Is this my charge ? 

NiN. Even so ; and I am near, should chance re- 
quire me. 
At midnight I relieve you on your watch, 
When we may taste together some refreshment : 
I have cared for it ; and for a flask of wine — 
There is no sin, so that we drink it not 
Until the midnight horn', when lauds have toll'd. 
Farewell a while, and peaceful watch be with you ! 
[£xit towards the Chapel. 

Wal, It is not with me, and alas ! alas ! 
X know not where to seek it. This monk's mind 
Is with his cloister match'd, nor lacks more room. 
Its petty duties, formal ritual. 
Its Immble pleasures and its paltry troubles. 
Fill up his round of life ; even as some reptiles. 
They say, are moulded to the very shape, 
And all the angles of the rocky crevice. 
In which they live and die. But for myself. 
Retired in passion to the narrow cell, 
Coucliitig my tired limbs in its recesses. 
So ill-adapted am I to its limits, 

Tliat every attitude is agony. 

How now I what brings him back ? 

Re-enter Ninian. 
NiN. Look to yoiu' watch, my brother; horse- 
men come : 
1 heard their tread wlien kneeling in the chapel. 
Wai. (looking to a distance.) My thoughts have 
rapt me more than thy devotion. 
Else had I heard the tread of distant horses 
Farther than thou couldst hear the sacring bell ; 
But now in truth they come : — flight and pursuit 
Ai'e sights Tve been long strange to. 

NiN. See how they gallop down the opposing 
hiUl 
Yon gray steed bounding down the headlong path, 
As on the level meadow ; while the black. 
Urged by the rider with liis naked sword. 
Stoops on his prey, as I have seen the falcon 



Dashing upon the heron. — Thou dost frown 
And clench thy hand, as if it grasp'd a weapon ! 
Wal. 'Tis but for shame to see a man fly thus 
While only one pursues him. Coward, turn ! — 
Turn thee, i say ! thou art as stout as he, 
And well mayst match thy single sword with his — ■ 
Shame, that a man should rein a steed like thee, 
Yet fear to turn his front against a foe I — ■ 
I am ashamed to look on them. 

NiN. Yet look again ; they quit their horses now, 
Unfit for the rough path : the fugitive 
Keeps the advantage stiU. — They strain towards 
us. 
Wal. I'll not believe that ever the bold Thane 
Rear'd up his Cross to be a sanctuary 
To the base coward, who shunn'd an equal com- 
bat- 
How's this ? — that look — that mien — mine eyes 
grow dizzy ! — 
NiN. He comes ! — thou art a novice on this 
watch, — 
Brother, I'll take the word and speak to him 
Pluck down thy cowl; know, that we spi'-itunl 

champions 
Have honor to maintain, and must not seem 
To quail before the laity. 

[Walohave lets down his cowl, aiu* 
steps back. 

Enter Maueice Berkeley. 
NiN. Wlio art thou, stranger ? speak thy name 

and purpose. 
Ber. I claim the privilege of Clan MacDuff. 
My name is Maurice Berkeley, aud my lineage 
Allies me nearly with the Thane of Fife. 

NiN. Give us to know the cause of sanctuarj" ? 
Ber. Let him show it, 

Against whose violence I claim the privilege. 

Enter Lindesat, enth his svord drawn. He rushes 
at Bekkele- ■. NiMAX hitcrposes. 

NiN. Peace, in the name of Saint Magridius-I 
Peace, in our Prior's name, ard in the name 
Of that dear symbol, whici. dia purch'ise peace 
And good-will towards man ! i do command thee 
To sheath thy sword, and stir no contest hen:. 

Lin. One charm I'U try first, 
To lure the craven from the enchanted circle 
Which he hath harbor'd in. — Hear you, De Berke 

ley. 
This is my brother's sword — the hand it arms 
Is weapon'd to avenge a brother's death : — 
If thou hast heart to step a furlong off. 
And change three blows, — even for so short a spaco 
As these good men may say an ave-marie, — 
So, Heaven be good to me ! I will forgive thee 
Thy deed and all its consequences. [thought 

Bek. Were not my right hand fetter'd by th» 



MACDUFF'S CROSS. 



751 



That slaying thee wore but a double guilt 
In whidi to steep my soul, no bridegroom eyer 
Stepp'd forth to trip a measure with his bride, 
More joyfully than I, young m;m, would rush 
To meet thy chidleuge. 

IjIN. He quails, and shuns to look upon my 
weapon, 
Yet boasts himself a Berkeley 1 

Bee. Luidesay, and if there were no deeper cause 
For shunning thee than terror of thy weapon. 
That rock-hewn Cross as soon should start and stir, 
Because a shepherd-boy blew horn beneath it, 
As I for brag of thine. 

NiN. I charge you both, and in the name of 
Heaven, 
Breathe no defiance on this sacred spot. 
Where Cliristiat men must bear them peacefully. 
On p:un of the Church thunders. Calmly tell 
Your cause of difference ; and. Lord Lindesay, thou 
Be first to speak them. 

Lin. Ask the blue welkin — ask the silver Tay, 
The northern Grampians — all things know my 

wrongs ; 
But ask not me to tell them, while the villain. 
Who wrought them, stands and listens with a 
smile. 

NiN. It is said — 
Since you refer us thus to general fame — 
That Berkeley slew thy brother, the Lord Louis, 
In his own halls at Edzell 

IiiN. Ay, in his halls — 
In his own halls, good father, that's the word. 
In his own halls he slew him, wliile the wine 
Pass'd on the board between I The gallant Thane, 
Who wreak'd Macbeth's inhospitable murder, 
Rear'd not yon Cross to sanction deeds hke these. 

Bee. Thou say'st I came a guest ! — I came a 
victim, 
A destined victim, traiu'd on to the doom 
His frantic jealousy prepared for me. 
He fix'd a quarrel on me, and we fought. 
Can I forget the form that came between us. 
And perish'd by his sword ? 'Twas then I fought 
For vengeance, — until then I guarded life. 
But then I sought to take it, and prevail'd. 

Lin. Wretch ! thou didst first dishonor to thy 
victim. 
And then didst slay him ! 

Bee. There is a busy fiend tugs at my heart, 
But I will struggle with it ! — Youthful knight, 
Vly heart is sick of war, my hand of slaughter ; 
I come not to my lordships, or my land. 
But just to seek a spot in some cold cloister. 
Which I may kneel on living, and, when dead. 
Which may suffice to cover me. 
Forgive me that I caused your brother's death ; 
And I forgive thee the injurious terms 
With which thou taxest me. 



Lin. Take worse and blacker. — Murderer, adult 
erer 1 — 
Ai t thou not moved yet ? 

Bee. • Do not press me fuither. 

Tlie hunted stag, even when he seeks the thicket, 
Compell'd to stand at bay, grows dangerous ! 
Most true thy brother perish'd by my hand. 
And if you term it murder — I must bear it. 
Thus far my patience can ; but if thou brand 
The purity of yonder martyr'd saint. 
Whom then my sword but poorly did avenge. 
With one injurious word, come to the valley. 
And I will show thee how it shall be answer'd ! 

NiN. This heat. Lord Berkeley, doth but ill ac 
cord 
With thy late pious patience. 

Bee. Father, forgive, and let me stand excused 
To Heaven and thee, if patience brooks no more. 
I loved this lady fondly — truly loved — 
Loved her, and was beloved, ere yet her father 
Conferr'd her on another. While she Uved, 
Each thought of her was to my soul as hallow'd 
As those I send to Heaven ; and on her grave. 
Her bloody, early grave, while this poor hand 
Can hold a sword, shall no one cast a scorn. 

Lin. Follow me. Thou shalt hear me call the 
adulteress 
By her right name. — Fm glad there's yet a spur 
Can rouse thy sluggard mettle. 

Bee. Make then obeisance to the blessed Cross, 
For it shall be on earth thy last devotion. 

[They are going off, 

Wal. {rushing forward.) Madmen, stand ! — 
Stay but one second — answer but one question. — 
There, Maurice Berkeley, canst thou look upon 
That blessed sign, and swear thou'st spoken truth ? 

Bee. I swear by Heaven, 
And by the memory of that murder'd innocent. 
Each seeming chai'ge against her was as false 
As our bless'd Lady's spotless. Hear, each saint 1 
Hear me, thou holy rood ! hear me from heaven. 
Thou martyr'd excellence ! — Hear me from penal 

fire 
(For sure not yet thy guilt is expiated) ! 
Stern ghost of her destroyer 1 

Wal. (throws back his cowl.) He hears ! he 
hears ! Thy spell hath raised the dead. 

Lin. My brother 1 and alive ! — 

Wal. Alive, — but yet, my Richai'd, dead to 
thee, 
No tie of kindred binds me to the world ; 
AU were renounced, when, with reviving life, 
Came the desire to seek the sacred cloister. 
Alas, in vain ! for to that last retreat. 
Like to a pack of bloodhounds in full chase, 
My passion and my wrongs have follow'd me, 
Wrath and remorse — and, to fiU up the cry, 
Thou hast brought vengeance hither. 



762 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Lin. I but sought 

To do the act and duty of a brother. 

Wal. I ceased to bo so when I left the world • 
But if he can forgive as I forgive, 
God sends me here a brother in mine enemy, 
To pray for me and witli me. If thou canst, 
De Berkeley: give thine hand. — 

Bee. {gives his hand.) It is the will 



Of Heaven, made manifest in thy preservation. 
To inliibit farther bloodshed ; for De Berkeley, 
The votary Mam-ice lays the title down. 
Go to his halls, Lord Richard, where a maiden, 
Kin to his blood, and daughter in affection, 
Heirs his broad lands; — If thou canst lovr her; 

Lindesay, 
Woo her, and be successful. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



753 



iEl)c Doom of iDcuovgoil. 



PREFACE 

The first of these dramatic pieces' was long 
Buice written, for the purpose of obliging the late 
Mr. Terry, then Manager of the Adelphi Theatre, 
for whom the Author had a particular regard. The 
manner in wliich the mimic goblins of Devorgoil 
ai'e intermixed with the supernatural macliinery, 
was found to be objectionable, and the production 
had other faults, which rendered it unfit for rep- 
resentation.^ I have called the piece a Melo- 
drama, for want of a better name ; but, as I learn 
from the unquestionable authority of Mr. Colman's 
Random Records, that one species of the drama is 
termed an extravaganza, I am sorry I was not 
sooner aware of a more appropriate name than 
that which I had selected for Devorgoil. 

The Author's Pubhshers thought it desirable, 
that the scenes, long condemned to oblivion, 
should be united to similar attempts of the same 
kind ; and as he felt indifferent on the subject, 
they are printed in the same volume with Hali- 
don Hill and MacDuff 's Cross, and thrown off in 
a separate form, for the convenience of those who 
possess former editions of the Author's Poetical 
Works. 

The general story of the Doom of Devorgoil is 
founded on an old Scottish tradition, the scene of 
wliich lies in Galloway. The crime supposed to 
have occasioned the misfortunes of this devoted 
house, is similar to that of a Lord Herries of 
Hoddam Castle, who is the principal personage 
of Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe's interesting 
ballad, in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
vol. iv. p. 307. In remorse for his crime, he 
built the singular monument called the Tower 
of Repentance. In many cases the Scottish super- 
Btitions allude to the fairies, or those who, for 



1 " The Doom of Devorgoil," and " Auchindrane," were 
published logeii:er in an octavo volume, in the spring of 1830. 
For Ibe origin and progress of the first, see Life of Scott, vol. 
pr). .9^-'m, -285-6, 

Mr IMniel Terry, the comedian, distinguished for a verv 
9» 



sins of a milder description, are permitted to 
wander with the " rout that never rest," a.s they 
were termed by Dr. Leyden. They imitate hu- 
man labor and human amusement.s, but their toil 
is useless, and without any advantageous result ; 
and their gayety is unsubstantial and hollow. The 
phantom of Lord Erick is supposed to be a spectre 
of tills character. 

The story of the Ghostly Barber is told in many 
countries ; but the best narrative founded on the 
passage, is the tale called Stumme Liebe, among 
the legends of Musieus. I think it has been in- 
troduced upon the Enghsh stage in some panto- 
mime, which was one objection to bringing it upon 
the scene a second time. 
Abbotsford, jiprit, 1830. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 

Oswald of Devorgoil, a decayed ScottUh Baron. 

Leonard, o Ranger. 

DuEWARD, a Palmer. 

Lancelot Blackthorn, a Companion of Leonard, 

in love with Katleen. 
Gullckammer, o conceited Student. 
OwLSPiEGLE and ) Maskers, represented by Black 
Cockledemoy, ^ thorn and Katleen. 

Si'iRiT OF Lord Erick of Devorgoil. 
Peasants, Shepherds, and Vassals of inferior rank. 

Eleanor, Wife of Oswald, descetided of obscure 

Parentage. 
Flora, Daughter of Oswald. 
Katleen, Niece of Eleanor, 



peculiar style of humor on the stage, and. moreover, by 
personal accoinplishments of various sorts not generally share:! 
by members of his profession, was, during many years, oq 
terms of intimacy witli Sir Walter tfeolt. He died 22d Juno 
1829. 



J54 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



®l)e Doom of PeoorgoU. 

ACT I.— SCENE L 

The Scene represents a wild and hilly, but not a 
mountainous Country, in a frontier District of 
S, otland, Thejiat Scene exhibits the Castle of 
J)evorr/oil, decayed, arid partly ruinous, situated 
upon a Lake, and connected with the Layid by a 
Dratcbridge, which is lowered. Time — Sunset. 

Flora enter.': from the Castle, looks timidly around, 
then comes forward and speaks. 

He is not liere — those pleasures are not ours 
Which placid evening brings to all things else. 



The sun upon the lake is low, 

The wild birds hush their song, 
The hills have evening's deepest glow, 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide, 
In the cahn sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame on turret high, 

WHio waits her gallant knight. 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armor briglit. 
Tlie village maid, with hjmd on brow, 

Tlie level ray to shade, 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans row, 

By day they swam apart. 
And to tlie thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
Tlie woodlark at his partner's side, 

Twitters liis closing song — 
All meet whom day and care divide. 

But Leonard tarries long. 

[Katleen has come out of the Castle 
while Flora was singing, and speaks 
when the Song is ended. 

Kat. Ah, my dear coz ! — if that your mother's 
niece 
May so presume to call your father's daughter — 
All these fond things have got some home of com- 
fort 



I The auUior thought of omitting this song, which was, ill 
faci. abridged into one in " Quentin Darward," termed Coonty 
G«y. [See ante, page 709.] It seemed, however, neces- 



To tempt their rovers back — the lady's bower. 
The shepherdess's hut, the wild swan's couch 
Among the rushes, even the lark's low nest. 
Has that of promise which lures home a lover, — • 
But we have naught of this. 

Flo. How call you, then, this castle of my sire, 
The towers of Devorgoil ? 

Kat. Dungeons for men, and palaces for owls; 
Yet no -wise owl would change a farmer's barn 
For yonder hungry hall — our latest mouse, 
Our last of mice, I tell you, has been found 
Starved in the pantry ; and the reverend spider. 
Sole living tenant of the Baron's hails, 
'WTio, train'd to abstinence, lived a whole summer 
Upon a single fly, he's faraish'd too ; 
The cat is in the kitclien-chimney seated 
Upon our last of fagots, destined soon 
To dress our la.st of suppers, and, poor soul. 
Is starved with cold, and mewling mad with himger 

Flo. D'ye mock our misery, Katleen f 

Kat. No, but I am hysteric on the subject. 
So I must laugh or cry, and laughing's lightest. 

Flo. Why stay you with us, then, my merrj 
cousin ? 
From you my su-e can ask no filial duty. 

Kat. No, thanks to Heaven ! 
No noble in wide Scotland, rich or poor. 
Can clami an interest in the vulgar blood 
Th.at dances in my veins ; and I might wed 
A forester to-morrow, nothing fearing 
The wrath of high-born kindred, and far less 
That the dry bones of lead-lapp'd ancestors 
Would clatter in tlieir cerements at the tidings. 

Flo. My mother, too,would gladly see you placeci 
Beyond the verge of our uuliajipiness,^ 
Which, like a witch's circle, bhghts and taints 
Whatever comes within it. 

Kat. Ah ! my good aunt 1 

She is a careful Idnswoman and prudent. 
In all but marrying a ruin'd baron. 
When she could take her choice of honest yeomen • 
And now, to balance this ambitious error, 
She presses on her daughter's love the suit 
Of one, who hath no touch of nobleness. 
In manners, birth, or mind, to recommend him, — 
Sage Master Gullcrammer, the new-dubb'd 
preacher. 

Flo. Do not name him, Katleen ! 

Kat. Ay, but I must, and witli some gratitude. 
I said but now, I saw our last of fagots 
Destined to dress our last of meals, but said not 
That the repast consisted of choice dainties. 
Sent to our larder by that liberal suitor. 
The kind Melchisedek. 



eary to the sense, that the original stanzas should be relalnerf 
here. 
3 MS. — " Beyond the circle of oar wcetohedneM.'* 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



1U 



Flo. "Were famisbing the word, 

Td famish ere I tasted them — the fop, 
The fool, the lowborn, low-bred, pedant coxcomb I 

Kat. There spoke the blood of long-descended 
sires ! 
My cottage wisdom ought to echo back, — 

the snug parsonage ! the well-paid stipend ! 
The yew-hedged garden ! beeliives, pigs, and poul- 
try! 

But, to speak honestly, the peasant Katleen, 
Valuing these good things justly, still would scorn 
To wed, for such, the paltry Gullcrammer, 
As much as Lady Flora. 

Flo. Slock me not with a title, geutle cousin, 
Which poverty has made ridiculous. — 

[Trumpets far off. 
Hark ! they have broken up the weapon-shawing ; 
The vassals are dismiss'd, and marching homeward. 

Kat. Comes your sire back to-night ? 

Flo. He did purpose 

To tarry for the banquet. This day only, 
Summnn'd as a king's tenant, he resumes 
The right of rank liis birth assigns to liim. 
And mingles with the proudest. 

Kat. To return 

To his domestic wretchedness to-morrow— 

1 envy not the privilege. Let us go 

To yonder height, and see tlie marksmen practise : 
They shoot theu- match down in the dale beyond. 
Betwixt the Lowland and the Forest district. 
By ancient custom, for a tun of wine. 
Let us go see which wins. 

Flo. That were too forward. 

K.IT. Why, you may drop the screen before 
your face, 
Which some cliance breeze may haply blow aside 
Just when a youth of special note takes aim. 
It chancea even so that memorable morning. 
When, nutting in the woods, we met young Leon- 
ard ; — 
And in good time here comes Ids sturdy comrade. 
The rough Lance Blackthorn. 

Enter L.i.vcelot Blackthorn, a Forester, with the 
Carcass of a Peer on his back, and a Gun in his 
hand. 

Bla. Save you, damsels I 

K.\T. Godden, good yeoman. — Come you from 

the Weaponshaw ? 
Bla. Not \, indeed ; there lies the mark I shot at. 
\_Lays doiim th^ Deer. 
The time has been I had not miss'd the sport, 
Although Lord Nithsdale's self had wanted ven- 
ison ; 
But this same mate of mine, young Leonard Dacre, 
Makes me do what he lists ; — he'll win the prize, 

though : 
The Forest dLitrict will not lose its honor. 



And that is all I care for — {some shouts are heard.) 

Hark ! they're at it. 
m go see the issue. 

Flo. Leave not here 

The produce of yom' hunting. 

Bla. But I must, though. 

This is his lair to-night, for Leonard Dacre 
Cliarged me to leave tlie stag at Devorgoil ; 
Then show me quickly where to stow the quarry. 
And let me to the sports — {^more shots.) Come, 
hasten, damsels ! 
Flo. It is impossible — we dare not take it. 
Bla. There let it lie, then, and I'll wind my 
bugle, 
That all within these tottering walls may know 
That here lies venison, whcso likes to lift it. 

\_A 'jout to blow. 
Kat. [to Flo.) He will alarm your motlier ; and. 
besides. 
Our Forest proverb teaches, that no question 
Should ask where venison comes from. 
Your careful mother, with her wonted prudence. 
Will hold its presence plead its own apology. — 
Come, Blackthorn, I will show you where to stow it. 
\_Ea:eant Katleen and Blackthorn into 
the Castle — more shooting — then a dis- 
tant shout — Strapglers, armed in differ- 
ent ways, pass over the Stage, as if from 
the Weaponshaw. 
Flo. Tlie prize is won ; that general shout pro- 
claim'd it. 
The marksmen and the vassals are dispersing. 

\Shc draiey back. 
First V.^ssal (a peasant.) Ay, ay, — 'tis lost and 
won, — the Foivst have it. 
'Tis they have all the luck on't. 

Second Vas. (a shepherd.) Luck, sayst thou, 

man ? 'Tis practice, skill, and cunning. 
Third Vas. 'Tis no such thing. — I liad liit the 
mark precisely, 
But for tills cursed flint ; and, as I fired, 
A swallow cross'd mine eye too — Will you teU me 
That that was but a chance, mine honest shepherd ? 
First Vas. Ay, and last ye.ar, when Lancelot 
Blackthorn won it. 
Because my powder happen'd to be damp. 
Was there no luck in that ? — The worse luck mine. 
Second Vas. Still I say 'twas not chance ; it 

might be witchcraft. 
First Vas. Faitli, not unlikely, neighbors ; for 
these foresters 
Do often haunt about tills ruin'd castle. [ere,— 
Fve seen myself tliis spark, — young Leonard Da 
Come stealing like a ghost ere break of day, 
And after sunset, too, along this path ; 
And well you know the haunted towers of Dc 

vorgoil 
Have no good reputation in the land. 



766 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Shep. That have they not. I've heard my fa- 
ther say, — 
Gliosts dance as lightly in its moonlight halls. 
As ever maiden did at Midsummer 
Upon the village-green. 

FmsT Vas. Those that frequent such spirit- 
haunted ruins 
Must needs know more than simple Christians do. — 
See, Lance this blessed moment leaves the castle. 
And comes to triumph over us. 

[Blackthorn enters from the Castle, and 
cotnes forward while they speak. 
Third Vas. A mighty triumph ! What is't, af- 
ter all, 
Except the drivmg of a piece of lead, — 
As learned Master GuUcrammer defined it, — 
Just through the middle of a painted board. 

Black. And if he so define it, by your leave, 
Tour learned Master GuUcrammer's an ass. 

Third Vas. (angrllt/.) He is a preacher, hunts- 
man, under favor. 
Second Vas. No quarrelling, neighbors — you 
may both be right. 

Enter a Fourth Vassal, with a (gallon stoup of wine. 
Fourth Vas. Why stand you brawling here ? 
Young Leonard Dacre 
Has set abroach the tun of wine he gain'd. 
That all may drink who Ust. Blackthorn, I sought 

you; 
Your comrade prays you will bestow tliis flagon 
Where you have left the deer you Mll'd this morn- 
ing. 
Black. And that I will ; but first we will take 
toU 
To see if it's worth carriage. Shepherd, thy 

horn. 
There must be due allowance made for leakage, 
And that will come about a draught apiece. 
Skink it about, and, when our tluoats are liquor'd, 
We'll merrUy trowl our song of weaponshaw. 

\_They drink about out of the Shepherd's 
horn, and then ung. 



We love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum's 

rattle, 
They call us to sport, and they call us to battle ; 
And old Scotland shall laugh at the threats of a 

stranger. 
While our comrades in pastime are comrades in 

danger. 

If there's mirth in our house, 'tis our neighbor that 

shares it — 
If peril approach, 'tis our neighbor that dares it ; 
And when we lead off to the pipe and the tabor. 
Tile fair hand we press is the hand of a neighbor. 



Then close your ranks, comrades, the bands that 
combine them, 

Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, join'd to en- 
twine them; 

And we'll laugh at the threats of each insolent 
stranger. 

While our comrades in sport are our comrades in 
danger. 

Black. Well, I must do mine errand. Master 



[^Shaking it. 
Is too consumptive for another bleeding. 
Shep. I must to my fold. 

Third Vas. I'll to the butt of wine. 

And see if that has given up the ghost yet. 
First V.\s. Have witli you, neighbor. 

[Blackthorn enters the Castle, the rest ex- 
eunt severally. Melchisedek Gullcram- 
MER wafehes them off the stage, and then 
enters from a side-scene. His costume is 
a Oeneua eloak and band, xeith a high- 
eroipned hat; th^ rest of his dress in the 
fashion of James the First's time. He 
looks to the windmes of the Castle, then 
draws back as if to escape ohsereation, 
while he hrns]tes his cloak, drives ih^ 
xchite threads from his waistcoat with his 
wetted thumb, and dusts his shoes, all 
with the air of one who would not will- 
ingly be observed engaged in these offices. 
He then adjusts his collar aitd band, 
comes forward and speaks. 
Gull. Right comely is thy garb, Melchisedek ; 
As well beseemeth one, whom good Saint Mungo, 
The patron of our land and university, 
Hath graced with license both to teach and 

preach — 
Who dare opine thou hither plod'st on foot ? 
Trim sits thy cloak, unruffled is thy band. 
And not a speck upon thine outward man. 
Bewrays the labors of tliy weary sole. 

[Touches his shoe, and smiles complacently. 
Quaint was that jest and pleasant ! — Now will I 
Approach and hail the dwellers of this fori ; 
But specially sweet Flora Devorgoil, 
Ere her proud sire return. He loves me not, 
Mocketh my hneage, flouis at mine advance 

inent — 
Sour as the fruit the crab-tree furnishes, 
And hard as is the cudgel it supplies ; 
But Flora — she's a lily on the lake, 
And I must reach her, tliough I risk a ducking, 

[As Gullcrammer moves towards the draw 

bridge, Bauldie Durwakd enters, and in 

terposes himself betwixt him. and the Cas 

tie. Gullcrammer stops and speaks. 

Whom have we here ? — that ancient fortune-teller 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



757 



Papist and sorcerer, aiid stti dy beggar. 
Old Biiuldie Durward ! Would I were well past 
liiin ! 

[DuRWARD ailrajiceSj parlli/ in the dresfi of a 
palmer, partly in that of an old Scottish 
mendicant, having coarse blue cloak and 
badge, white beard, d:c. 
Due. The blessing of the evening on your wor- 
ship, 
And on your taff'ty doublet. Much I marvel 
Your wisdom chooseth such trim garb,' wlien tem- 
pests 
Are gathering to the bursting. 
GiiLLCKAMMER [looks to his drcss, and then to the 
ski/, with some apprehension.) 

Sui'ely, Bauldie, 
Tliou dost belie the evening — in the west 
The light sinks down as lovely as this band 
Drops o'er this mantle — Tush, man ! 'twill be 
fair. 
DfE. Ay, but the storm I bode is big with blows, 
Horsewliips for hjiilstones, clubs for thunderbolts ; 
And for tlie wailing of the midnight wind. 
The unpitied howling of a cudgeU'd coxcomb. 
Come, come, I know thou seek'st fair Flora Devor- 
goil. 
(luL. And if I did, I do tlie damsel grace. 
Hei mother thinks so, and she has accepted 
At these poor hands gifts of some consequence. 
And curious dainties for the evening cheer. 
To which I am invited — She respects me. 

DuB. But not so doth her father, haughty Os- 
wald. 

Bethink thee, he's a baron 

Gtn.. And a bare one ; 

Construe me that, old man! — The crofts of Muc- 

klewhame — 
Destined for mine so soon as heaven and earth 
Have shared my uncle's soul and bones between 

them — 
The crofts of JIucklewhame, old man, which nour- 
ish 
Three scores of sheep, three cows, with each her 

follower, 
A female palfrev' eke — I will be candid. 
She is of that meek tribe whom, in derision. 
Our wealthy southern neighbors nickname don- 
keys 

Dt'E. She hath her follower too, — when thou art 

there. 
GuL. I say totliee, these crofts of Mucklewhame, 
In the mere tything of their stock and produce. 
Outvie whatever patcli of land remains 
To tliis old ruggeil castle and its owner. 
Well, therefore, may Melcliisedek Gullcrammer, 
Younger ft" Mucklewhame, for such I write me, 

1 MS. — *' That yoa sliould w&lk in Each trim guise." 



Master of Arts, by grace of good Saint Andrew, 
Preacher, in brief expectance of a kirk, 
Endow'd with ten score Scottish pounds per an- 
num. 
Being eight pounds seventeen eight in sterling 

coin — 
Well, then, I say, may tliis Melchisedek, 
Thus liighly graced by fortune — and by nature 
E'en gifted as tliou seest — aspire to woo 
The daugliter of the beggar'd Devorgoil. 

DuR Credit an old man's word, kind Master 

GuUcrimnner, 
You will not find it so. — Come, sir, I've known 
The hospitably of Mucklewhame ; 
It reach'd not to profuseness — yet, in gratitude 
For tlie pure water of its living well. 
And for the barley loaves of its fair fields. 
Wherein chopp'd straw contended witli the grain 
Whicli best should satisfy the appetite, 
I would not see the hopeful heir of Mucklewhame 
Thus thng himself on danger. 

GuL. Danger ! what danger ? — Know'st thou not, 

old Oswald 
This day attends the muster of the shire. 
Where the crown-vassals meet to show their arms. 
And their best horse of service? — 'Twas good 

sport 
(And if a man had dared but laugh at it) 
To see old Oswald with his rusty morion. 
And huge two-handed sword, that might have 

seen 
Tlie iield of Bannockburn or Chevy-Cliasu, 
Without a squire or vassal, page or groom. 
Or e'en a single pikeman at his heels. 
Mix with the proudest nobles of the county, 
And claim precedence for his tatter'd person 
O'er armors double gilt and ostrich plumage. 
Dun. Ay ! 'twas the jest at which fools laugh 

the loudest, 
The downfall of our old nobility — 
Wliich may forermi tlie ruin of a kingdom. 
I've seen an idiot clap his hands, and sliout 
To see a tower like yon {points to a part }/ the 

Castle) stoop to its base 
In headlong ruin ; while tlie wise look'd round. 
And fearful sought a ilistant stance to watch 
What fragment of the fabric next should follow ; 
For when the turrets fall, the walls are tottering 
GuL. {after pondering.) If that means aught, it 

means thou saw'st old Oswald 
Expell'd from the assembly. 

DiR. Thy sharp wit 

Hath glanced unwittingly right nigh the truth. 
Expell'd he was not, but, his claim deuied 
At some ctmtested point of ceremony. 
He left the weapoiishaw ui liigh displeasure, 
And liither comes — his wonted bitter temper 
Scarce sweeten'd by the chances of the day. 



758 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'Tw'er^ much like rashness should you wait his 
Anil tliither tends my counsel. [coming, 

Gi'L. And I'll t.-ike it ; 
3ood Bauldie Durward. I will tate thy counsel, 
Vnd will requite it with this minted farthing, 
Tliat bears our sovereign's head in purest copper. 

DuR. Tlianks to thy bounty — Haste thee, good 
young master ; 
' )swald, besides the old two-handed sword, 
3oars in his liand a staff of potency. 
To charm intruders from his ca.stle purlieus. 

GuL. I do abhor all charms, nor will abide 
To hear or see, far less to feel their use. 
Buliold, I have departed. 

{^Exit hasti/i/. 
Manent Dt'KWAED. 

Dun. Thus do I play the idle part of one 
fflio seeks to save the moth from scorching him 
In the bright taper's flame — And Flora's beauty' 
Must, not unlike that taper, waste away. 
Gilding the rugged walls that saw it kindled. 
Tliis was a shard-born beetle, Iieavy, drossy,' 
Though boasting his dull drone and gilded wing. 
Here comes a flatterer of another stamp, 
S^Tiom the same ray is charming to liie ruin. 

Enter Leonard, dressed as a huntsman; fn; pauses 
before the Tower, and whistles a note or two at 
intervals — drawing back, as if fearful of obser- 
vation — yet waiting, as if expecting some reply. 
DiJRWARP, whom he had not observed, moves 
round, so as to front Leosabd unexpectedly. 

Leon. I am too late — it was no easy task 
To rid myself from yonder noisy revellers. 
Flora ! — I fear she's angry — Flora — Flora !° 

SONG. 

Admire not that I gain'd the prize 

From all the village crew ; 
How could I fail with h-ond or eyes, 

Wlien heart and faith were true ? 

And when in floods of rosy wine 
My comrades drown'd their cares, 

I tliought but that thy heart was mine, 
My own leapt hght as theirs. 

> iVl e5. ' ' And Flora's years of beauty. ' * 

■J MS. — " This was an earth-born beetle, iloll, and drossy." 
3 From the MS., the following song appears to have been a 
recent interpolation. 
» The MS. here adds :— 

" I^eonard. But mine is not misplaced — If 1 sought 
beauty, 
Resides it not with Flora Devorgoil 1 
If piety, if sweetness, if discretion. 
Patience beneatli ill-suited tasks of labor. 
And filial tenderness, that can beguile 
de*' moo \y sire's d ^rk thoughts, as the sot\ moonshine 



My brief delay then do not blame, 
Nor deem your swain untrue ; 

My form but linger'd at tlie game, 
My soiJ was still with you. 

She hears not ! 

DuR. But a friend hath heard — Leonard, I pity 
thee. 

Leon, (starts, but recovers himsclf^j Pity, good 
father, is for those in want. 
In age, in sorrow, in distress of mind, 
Oi agony of body. I'm in health — 
Can match my limbs against the stag in chase, 
Have means enough to meet my simple wants, 
And am so free of soul that I can carol 
To woodland and to wild in notes as lively 
As are my jolly bugle's. 

DuR. Even therefore dost thou need my pity, 
Leonard, 
And therefore I bestow it, paying thee. 
Before thou feel'st the need, my mite of pity. 
Leonard, thou lovest ; and in tliat little word 
There lies enough to claim the sympathy 
Of men who wear such hoary locks as mine. 
And know what mi.splaced love is sure to end in.* 

Leon. Good fatlier, thou art old, and even thy 
youth. 
As thou hast told me, spent in cloister'd cella. 
Fits thee but ill to judge the passions. 
Which are the joy and charm of social life. 
Press me no farther, then, nor waste those moments 
Whose worth thou canst not estimate. 

[..-Is turning from him. 

Dl'R. {detains him) Stay, young man ! 
'Tis seldom that a beggar claims a debt; 
Yet I bethink me of a gay young stripling, 
Tliat owes to these white locks and lioary beard 
Something of reverence and of gratitude 
More than he wills to pay. 

Leon. Forgive me, father. Often hast ti.ou told 
me. 
That in tlie ruin of my father's house 
Yon saved the orphan Leonard in liis cradle; 
And weU I know, that to thy care alone — 
Care seconded by means beyond thy seeming. • 
I owe whatc'er of nurture I can boast. 

DuR. Then for thy life preserved, 

Illumes the clood of night — if I seek these. 
Are they not all with Flora 1 Number me 
The list of female virtues one by one, 
And I will answer all with Flora Devor<roiI. 

" Dur. This is the wonted pitdi of youthful passion , 
And every woman who hath had a lover. 
However now deem'd crabbed, cross, and canker'd, 
And crooked both in temper and in shape. 
Has in her day been thought the purest, wisest. 
Gentlest, and best condition'd — and o'er all 
Fairest and liveliest of Eve's numerous daughters. 

'* Leonard. Good father, thou art old," &c. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



759 



Ajd for the means of knowledge I have furniah'd 

(Which Uickmg, man is levuU'd with the brutes), 
Grant me this boon : — Avoid these fatal walls ! 
A cui'se is on them, bitter, deep, and heavy, 
Of power to split the massiest tower they boast 
From pinnacle to dungeon vault. It rose 
Upon tlie gay horizon of proud Devorgoil, 
As unregarded as the fleecy cloud. 
The firj.t forerunner of the hurricane, 
Scarce seen amid the welkin's shadeless blue. 
D:irk grew it, and more dark, and still the fortunes 
Of this doom'd family have darken'd with it. 
It hid their sovereign's favor, and obscured 
Tlie lustre of then- service, gender'd hate 
Betwixt them and the mighty of the land ; 
Till by degrees the waxing tempest rose. 
And stripp'd tlie goodly tree of frait and flowers, 
And buds, and boughs, and branches. There r\i- 

mains 
A rugged trunk, dismember'd and unsightly, 
Waiting the bursting of the final bolt 
To splinter it to shivers. Now, go pluck 
Its single tendril to enwreath thy brow, 
And rest beneath its shade — to share the ruin! 

Leon. This anathema, 
Whence should it come ? — How merited I — and 
when! 

Dub. 'Twas in the days 
Of Oswald's grandshe, — 'mid Galwegian chiefs 
The fellest foe, the fiercest champion. 
His blood-red pennons scared the Cumbrian coasts. 
And wasted towns and miinors mark'd his progress. 
His galleys stored with treasure, and their decks 
Crowded with Englisli captives, who beheld. 
With weeping eyes, their native shores retire. 
He bore liim homeward ; but a tempest rose 

Leon. So far I've heard the tale, 
And spare thee the recital. — The griin chief, 
Markuig his vessels labor on the sea. 
And loth to lose his treasure, gave command 
To plunge Iiis captives in the raging deep. 

Dm. Tliere sunk the lineage of a noble name. 
And the w"ild waves boom'd over sire and son. 
Mother and nursling, of the House of Aglionby,* 
Leaving but one frail tendril. — Hence the fate 
Tliat hovers o'er tJiese turrets. — hence the peasant, 
Belated, hving homewards, dreads to cast 
A glance upfin that portal, lest he see 
l1ie unshrouiled spectres of the murder'd dead ' 
Or the avenging Aiigel, with his sword, 
Waving destruction ; or the grisly phantom 
Of that fell Chief, the doer of the deed, 
Wliich still, they saj , roams through his empty 

halls. 
And momns their wasteness and their lonelihood. 

1 MS. " House of EhrenwaW." 

' MS. — *' spectres of the murder'd caj tves." 
Mis. " their painted limbs." 



Leon. Such is the dotage 
Of superstition, father, ay, and tlie cant 
Of lioodwink'd prejudice. — Not for atonement 
Of some foul deed done in the ancient warfare, 
Wlien war was butchery, and men were wolve.% 
Doth Heaven consign the innocent to suffering 
I teU thee. Flora's virtues might atone 
For all the massacres her sires have done. 
Since first the Pictish race their stained limbs' 
Array 'il in wolf's skin. 

DiR. Leonard, ere j'et this beggar's scrip and 
cloak 
SuppUed the place of mitre and of crosier,* 
Which in tliese alter'd lands mn.st not be worn, 
I was superior of a brotherhood 
Of holy men, — the Prior of Lanercost. 
Nobles then sought my footstool many a league. 
There to unload their sins — questions of conscience 
Of deepest import were not deem'd too nice 
For my decision, youth. — But not even then, 
With mitre on my brow, and all the voice 
Which Rome gives to a father of her church. 
Dared I pronounce so boldly on the ways 
Of liidden Providence, as thou, young man, 
Wliose chiefest knowledge is to track a stag. 
Or wind a bugle, ha.st presumed to do. 

Leon. Nay, I pray forgive me. 
Father ; thou know'st I meant not to presume ■ 

Diia. Can I refuse thee pardon ?— Thou art all 
That war and change have left to the poor Dor- 
ward. 
Tliy father, too, who lost his life and fortine 
Defending Lanercost, when its fair aisles 
Were spoil'd by sacrilege — I bless'd his banner. 
And yet it prosper'd not. But — all I could — 
Thee from the wreck I saved, and for thy sake 
Have still dragg'd on my life of pilgrimage 
And penitence upon the hated shores 
I else had left for ever. Come with me. 
And I will teach thee there is healing in 
The wounds wliich friendship gives. [Ezeunt. 



SCENE II. 

The ScfTte changes to the interior of the Castle. An 
apartment is discovered, in which there is much 
appearance of present poverty, mixed with tome 
relics of former graruleur. On the wall ha7igs, 
amongst other things, a suit of ancient armor ; 
by the table is a covered ba-fket ; behind, and con- 
cealed bij it, tfi^ carcass of a roe-deer. There is 
a small latticed window, which, appearing to per- 
forate a wall of great thickne.fs, is .'Supposed to 

* MS. — " Supplied the ? t of palmer's cowl andstaflf* 

i want i '^ 



760 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tool out towards the drawbridge. It is in the 
ajutpc of a loop-hole for musketrif ; und, as is not 
nnusiiat in old buildings, is placed so high up in 
the wall, that it is only approached bi/Jivc or six 
narrow stone steps. 
Eleanor, the wife of Oswald of Devoegoil, Floea 
a?td Katleev, her Daughter and Niece, are dis- 
covered at work. The former spins, the latter are 
embroidering Eleanoe quits hrr own labor to 
examine the manner in which Floea is exe- 
cuting her task, and shakes her Itead as if dis- 
satisjied. 

Ele. F\' on it, Flora ; this botch'd work of thine 
Shows that thy mind is distant from thy t:>sk. 
The tinost tracery of our old cathedral 
Had not a richer, freer, bolder pattern, 
Than Flora once could trace. Thy thoughts are 
wandering. 
Flo. They're with my father. Broad upon the 
lake 
The evening sun sunk down ; huge piles of clouds, 
Crimson and sable, rose upon his disk, 
And quench'd him ere his setting, like some cham- 
pion 
In his last conflict, losing all his glory. 
Sure signals those of storm. And if my father 

Be on his homeward road- 

Ele. But that he will not. 
Baron of Devorgoil, this day at least 
He banquets with the nobles, who the next 
Would scarce Touchsafe an alms to save his house- 
hold 
From want or famine. Thanks to a kind friend, 
For one brief space we shall not need their aid. 

Flo. (y'lw/MHi/.) What ! knew you then his gift ? 
How silly I that would, yet durst not tell it! 
I fear my father will condemn us both. 
That easily accepted such a present. 

Kat. Now, here's the game a bystander sees 
better 
Than those who play it. — My good aunt is pon- 
dering 
On the good cheer which GuUcrammer has sent us, 
And Flora thinks upon the forest venison. [Aside. 
Ele. {to Flo.) Thy father need not know on't — • 
'tis a boon 
Comes timely, when frugality, nay, abstinence. 
Might scarce avail us longer. I had hoped 
Ere now a visit from the youthful donor. 
That we might thank his bounty ; and perhaps 
My Flora thought the same, when Sunday's ker- 
chief 
And the best kirtlc were sought out, and donn'd 
To grace a work-day evening. 

Flo. Nay, mother, that is judging all too close 1 
My work-day gown was torn — my kerchief sulUed ; 
And thus — But, think you, will the gallant come ? 



Ele. He will, for with these dainties came a 
message 
From gentle Master Gullcrammer, to intimate 

Flo. {greatly disappointed.) Gullcrammer ? 

Kat. There burst the bubble — down fell house 
of cards. 
And cousin's Uke to cry for't I [Aside. 

Ele. GuUcrammer ? ay, Gullcrammer — thou 
scorn'st not at him ? 
'Twere something short of wisdom in a maiden, 
Who, like the poor bat in the Grecian fable. 
Hovers betwixt two classes in the world. 
And is disclaim'd by both the mouse and bird. 

Kat. I am the poor mouse. 

And may go creep into what hole I hst. 
And no one heed me — Yet I'll waste a word 
Of counsel on my betters. — Kind my aunt. 
And you, my gentle cousin, were't not better 
We thought of dressing this same gear for supper, 
Than quarrelling about the wortldess donor ! 

Ele. Peace, minx ! 

Flo. Thou hast no feeling, cousin Katleen. 

Kat. Soli! I have brought them both on my 
poor shoulders 
So meddling peace-makers are still rewarded : 
E'en let them to't again, and fight it out. 

Flo. Mother, were I disclaim'd of every class, 
I would not therefore so disclaim myself, 
As even a passing thought of scorn to waste 
On cloddish Gullcrammer. 

Ele. List to me, love, and let adversity 
Incline thine ear to wisdom. Look around thee — 
Of the gay youths who boast a noble name, 
Which will incliue to wed a dowerless damsel ? 
And of the yeomanry, who think'st thou. Flora, 
Would ask to share the labors of his farm 
A high-born beggar ? — Tliis young man is mod- 
est 

Flo. Silly, good mother ; sheepish, if you will it. 

Ele. E'en call it what you list — the softer tem- 
per. 
The fitter to endure the bitter sallies 
Of one whose wit is all too sharp for mine. 

Flo. Mother, you cannot mean it as you say ; 
You cannot bid me prize conceited folly ? 

Ele. Content thee, child — each lot has its own 
blessing.s. 
Tliis youth, with his plain-dealing, honest suit, 
Proffers thee quiet, peiice, and competence. 
Redemption from a home, o'er wliich fell Fate 
Stoops like a falccm. — 0, if thou couldst choose 
(As no such choice is given) 'twixt such a mate 
And some proud noble ! — Who, in sober judgment, 
Would Uke to navigate the heady river, 
Dasliing in fury from its parent mount:un. 
More than the waters of the quiet lake '( 

Kat. Now can I hold no longer — Lake, good 
aunt ? 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



vol 



Nay, in the name of truth, say mill-pond, horse- 
pi mil; 
Or if there be a pond more miry, 
Mcire slu^gisli, mean-derived, and base than either, 
Be such Gullcramraer's emblem — and his portion ! 

Fi-o. I would tliat he or I were in our grave, 
Rather than thus his suit should goad me ! — Mother, 
Flora of Dcvorgoil, though low in fortunes, 
Is still too high iu mind to join her name 
With such a base-bom churl as GuUcrammer. 

Ele. You are trim maidens both ! 
[To Flora.) Have you forgotten. 

Or did you mean to call to my remembrance 
Thy father chose a wife of peasant blood ? 

Flo. Will you speak thus to me, or think the 
stream 
Can mock the fountain it derives its source from ! 
My venerated mother, in that name 
Lies all on earth a child should chiefest honor ; 
And witli that name to mix reproach or taunt, 
Were only sliort of blaspliemy to Heaven. 

Ele. Tlien listen. Flora, to that mother's counsel. 
Or rather profit by that mother's fate. 
Your father's fortimes were but bent, not broken. 
Until he listen'd to his rash affection. 
Means were afforded to redeem his house. 
Ample aud large — tlie baud of a rich lieiress 
Awaited, almost courted, his acceptance ; 
He saw mv beauty — such it then was call'd. 
Or such at least he thought it — the wither'd bush, 
Whate'er it now may seem, had blossoms then, — 
And he i'or.*ook the proud and wealthy heiress, 
To wed with me and ruin 

Kat. (aside.) The more fool, 

Say I, apart, the peasant maiden then, 
Who might have chose a mate from her own 
hamlet. 

Ele. Friends fell off. 
And to liis own resources, his own counsels, 
Abandon'd, as they said, the thoughtless prodigal. 
Who had o.xclianged rank, riches, pomp, and honor. 
For the mean beauties of a cottage maid. 

Flo. It was done like my father, 
VTiio scorn'd to sell what wealth can never buy — 
True love and free affections. And he loves you ! 
If you have suffer'd in a weary world, 
Y'our sorrows have been jointly borne, and love 
Has maile the load sit hghter. 

Ele. Ay, but a misplaced match hath that deep 
curse in't. 
That can embitter e'en the purest streams 
Of true affection. Thou hast seen me seek. 
With the strict caution early habits taught me, 
To match our wants and means — hast seen thy 

father, 
With aristocracy's high brow of scorn. 
Spurn at economy, tlie cottage virtue. 
As best befitting lier whose sires were peasants; 
K 



Nor can I, when I see my lineage scorn'd. 
Always conceal in what contempt I hold 
Tlie fancied claims of rank he chugs to fondly, 
Flo. Wliy will you do so ? — well you know it 

cliafes him. 
Ele. Flora, thy motlier is but mortal woman, 
Nor can at all times check an eager tongue. 
Kat. (aside.) That's no new tiduigs to her niece 

and daughter. 
Ele. mayst thou never know the spited feel- 
ings 
That gender discord in adversity 
Betwixt tlie dearest friends and truest lovers I 
In the chill damping gale of poverty. 
If Love's lamp go not out, it gleams but palely. 
And twinkles in the socket. 

Flo. But tenderness can screen it with her veil,' 
Till it revive again. By gentleness, good mother. 
How oft I've seen you soothe my fatlier's mood ! 
Kat. Now there speak youthful hope and fan- 
tasy ! [Aside. 
Ele. That is an easier task m youth than age ; 
Our temper hardens, and our charms decay. 
And both are needed in that art of sootliing. 
Kat. And there speaks sad experience. [Aside. 
Ele. Besides, since that our state wa.s utter 
desperate. 
Darker his brow, more dangerous grow his words , 
Fain would I snatch thee from the woe and wrath 
Which darkeu'd long my life, aud soon must end it. 
[A knocking without ; Eleanor shows alarm. 
It was thy father's knock, haste to the gate. 

[Sxcunt Flora and Katleen. 
What can have happ'd ? — he thouglit to stay the 

night. 
This gear must not be seen. 

[As she is about to rnnove the basket, she 
sees the bodi/ of the roe-deer. 
Wliat have we here ? a roe-deer ! — as I fear it, 
Tliis was the gift of which poor Flora thought. 
The young and handsome hunter; — but time 
presses. 

[She removes the basket and the roe into 
a closet. As she has done — 

Enter Oswald of Dkvorgoil, Flora, and Katleen. 
[He is dressed in a scarlet cloak, ivhich sfiould 
sectn worn and old — a headpiece, and old- 
fashioned sword — the rest of \ 's dress that 
of a peasant. His countenance and man- 
ner should express the moody and irritable 
haughtiness of a proud man involved in ca- 
lamity, and v)]w has been exjic ied to recent 
insult. 
Osw. (addressing his wife.) The sun liath set- 
why is the drawbridge lower'd ! 

1 MS. — " Ay, bat the veil of tenderness can screen it,*' 



702 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ele. The counterpoise has fail'd, and Flora's 
strength, 
Katleen's, and mine united, could not raise it. 

Osw. Flora and thou ! A goodly garrison 
To hold a castle, Tvliich, if fame say true. 
Once foil'd the King of Norse and all his rovers. 

Ele. It might be so in ancient times, but now — 

Osw. A herd of deer might storm proud De- 
vorgoil. 

Iv.\T. {aside to Flo.) You, Flora, know full well 
one deer already 
Has enter'd at the breach ; and, what is worse, 
The escort is not yet march'd off, for Blackthorn 
Is still witliin the castle. 

Flo. In Heaven's name, rid liim out on't, ere 
my father 
Discovers he is here ! Why went he not 
Before « 

Kat. Because I staid him on some little business ; 
I liad a plan to scare poor paltry GuUcrammer 
Out of his paltry wits. 

Flo. Well, haste ye now, 

And try to get him oft'. 

K.\T. I will not promise that. 

I would not turn an honest hunter's dog. 
So well I love the woodcraft, out of shelter 
In such a night as tliis — far less his master : 
But I'll do this, I'll try to hitle him for you. 

Osw. (whom his wife has assisted to take off' his 
cloak and feathered cap.) Ay, take them off, 
and bring my peasant's bonnet 
And peasant's plaid — I'll noble it no farther. 
Let them erase my nami! fi'om honor's lists. 
And drag my scutcherai at their horses' heels ; 
I have deserved it all, for I am poor, 
And poverty hath neither right of birth. 
Nor rank, relation, claim, nor privilege. 
To match a uew-coin'd viscount, whose good grand- 
sire, 
Tlie Lord be with him, was a careful skipper, 
jViid steer'd liis paltry skiff 'twixt Leith and 

Campvere — 
Marry, sh, he could buy Oeneva cheap. 
And knew the coast by moonlight. 

P'lo. Mean you the Viscount Ellondale, my 
father '< 
What strife has been between you ? 

Osw. O, a trifle ! 

Not worth a wise man's flunking twice about — 
Precedence is a toy — a superstition 
About a table's end, joint-stool, and trencher. 
Somethmg was once thought due to long descent, 
And sometliing to Galwegia's oldest baron, — 
But let that pass — a dream of the old tune. 

Ele. It is indeed a dream. 

1 Ms. '' Yet, I know, for minds 

Of nobler stamp earth has no dearer motive," 



Osw. (turning upon her rather quick/i/.) Ha 1 
said ye ! let me hear these words more plaia 
Ele. Alas ! they are but echoes of your own. 
Match'd with the real woes that hover o'er us, 
What are the idle visions of precedence. 
But, as you term them, dreams, and toys, and trifle*. 
Not worth a wise man's thinking twice upon ? 
Osw. Ay, 'twas for you I framed that conso- 
lation, 
The true philosophy of clouted shoe 
And linsey-woolsey kirtle. I know, that minds 
Of nobler stamp receive no dearer motive' 
Tlian what is ludc'd with honor. Ribands, tassele. 
Which are but shreds of silk and spangled tinsel — ' 
Tlie right of place, which in itself is momentary — 
A word, which is but air — may in themselves, 
And to the nobler file, be steep'd so richly 
In that elixir, honor, that the lack 
Of things so very trivial in themselves 
Shall be misfortune. One shall seek for them' 
O'er the wild waves — one in the deadly breach 
And battle's headlong front — one iu the paths 
Of midnight study ; and, in gaining these 
Emblems of honor, each will hold himself 
Repaid for aU liis labors, deeds, and dangers. 
What then should he think, knowing them liis own, 
Wlio sees what warriors and what sages toil for, 
The formal and establish'd marks of honor, 
Usurp'd from hun by upstart uisolence ? 

Ele. (who has listened to thi last speech with some 
impatience.) This is but empty declamation, 
Oswald. 
The fragments left at yonder full-spread banquet, 
Nay, even the pixirest crust swept from the table. 
Ought to be far more precious to a father, 
Wliose family lacks food, than the vain boast, 
He sate at the board-head. 

Osw. Thou'lt drive me frantic ! — I will teU thee, 
woman — 
Yet why to thee ? There is another ear 
Which that tale better suit-s and he shall hear it. 
[Looks at his SiCi rd, which he has imbnekled, 
and addresses the rest of the speech to it. 
Yes, tru.sty friend, my father knew thy worth, 
And often proved it — olten toUl me of it — ■ 
Though thou and I be now held lightly of. 
And want the gilded hati.hnients of the time, 
1 think we both may prove true metal stiU. 
'Tis thou shalt tell this story, right this wrong: 
Rest thou till time is iittuig. [Ilungs up the sword, 
[llie women look at eac'i other with anxiety 
during this speech, whidi theg partly over- 
hear. Thcji both approach Oswald. 
Ele. Oswald — my dearest husband ! 
Flo. My dear father I 



3 MS- 



-. " tinseU'd spangle." 

" One ghall seek tliesf emb'.ym*. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



169 



Oaw. Peace, both 1 — we speak no more of this. 
I go 
To heave the drawbridge up. lExit. 

Katleen mounts tlie steps towards the loop-fiole, 
look's ojttj and speafis. 
The storm is gathering fix.st ; broad, heavy drops 
Fall plashing on the bosom of the lake. 
And dash its inky surface hito circles ; 
lilt distant liills are hid in wreaths of darkness. 
'TwUl be a feaiful night. 

Oswald re-enters, and throws himself into a seat. 

Ele. More dark and dreadful 

Than is our destiny, it cannot be. 

Osw. [to Flo.) Such is Heaven's will — it is our 
part to bear it. 
We're warranted, my child, from ancient story 
And blessed writ, to say, that song assuages 
The gloomy cares tliat prey upon our reason, 
And wake a strife betwixt our better feelings 
And the fierce dictates of the headlong passions. 
Smg, then, my love ; for if a voice have influence 
To mediate peace betwixt me and my destiny, 
Flora, it must be tliine. 

Flo. My best to please you ! 

SONG. 

When the tempest's at the loudest, 

On its gale the eagle rides ; 
When the ocean rolls the proudest, 

Through the foam the sea-bird glides — 
All the rage of wind and sea 
Is subdued by constancy. 

Gnawing want and sickness pining. 

All the ills that men endure ; 
Each their various pangs combining, 

Constancy can find a cure — 
Pain, and Fear, and Poverty, 
Are subdued by constancy. 

Bar me from each wonted pleasure. 
Make me abject, mean, and poor ; 

Heap on insults without measure, 
Cham me to a dmigeon floor— 

I'll be happy, rich, and free. 

If endow'd with constancy. 



ACT II.— SCENE L 

A Chamber in a distant part of the Castle. A 
hxrfje Window in the fat scene, supposed to look 
on the Lake, which is occasionally illuminated by 
lightning. There is a Conch-bed in the JioOTH, 
and an a7Uique Cabinet. 



Enter Katleen, introducing Blackthorn.* 

Kat. This was the destii\ed scene of action, 
Blackthorn, 
And here our properties. But all in vain, 
For of GuUcrammer we'll see naught to-night. 
Except the dainties that I told you of 

Bla. 0, if he's left that same hog's face and sat 
sages. 
He will try back upon them, never fear it. 
The cur will open on the trail of bacon. 
Like my old brach-hound. 

Kat. And should that hap, we'll play our come- 
dy,- 
Shall we not. Blackthorn ? Thou shalt be Owls- 
piegle 

Bla. And who may that hard-named person 
be! 

Kat. I've told you nine times over. 

Bla. Yes, pretty Katleen, but my eyes were 
busy 
In looking at you all the time you were talking ; 
And so I lost the tale. 

Kat. Tlien shut your eyes, and let your goodly 
ears 
Do their good office. 

Bla. That were too hard penance. 

Tell but thy tale once more, and I will hearken 
As if I were tlirown out, and listening for 
My bloodhound's distant bay. 

Kat. a civil simile ! 

Tlien, for the tenth time, and the last — be told, 
Owlspicgle was of old the wicked barber 
To Erick, wicked Lord of Devorgoil. 

Bla. Tile chief who drown'd his captives in the 
Solway — 
We all have heard of him. 

Kat. a hermit hoar, a venerable msm — 
So goes the legend — came to wake repentance 
In the fierce lord, and tax'd him with liis guilt; 
But he, heart-harden'd, turn'd into derision 
Tlie man of heaven, and, as liis dignity 
Consisted much in a long reverend beard. 
Which reach'd his girdle, Erick caused his barber, 
This same -Owlspiegle, violate its honors 
With sacrilegious razor, and clip his hair 
After the fashion of a roguish fool. 

Bla. This was reversing of our ancient proverli 
And shaving for the devil's, not Jir God's sake. 

Kat. True, most grave Blackthorn ; and in punish 
ment 
Of this foul act of scorn, the barber's ghost 
Is said to have no resting after death. 
But haunts these halls, ;md chiefly this same cliani 

ber. 
Where the profanity was acted, trimming 
And clipping all such guests as sleep within it. 

I The MS. tliroogbont the Eirit Act reaib Buckthmm. 



764 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Such is at least the tale our elders tell. 
With many others, of this haunted castle. 

Ela. And you would have me take thia shape 
of Owlspiegle, 
And trim the wise Melchisedek 1 — I woonot. 
K AT. You will not ! 

Bl.\. No — unless you bear a part. 

K.\T. What ! can you not alone play such a 

farce ? 
Bla. Not I — I'm dull Besides, we foresters 
Still hunt our game in couples. Look you, Kat- 

leen. 
We danced at Shrovetide —then you were my part- 
ner ; 
We sung at Christmas — you kept time with me ; 
And if we go a mumming in this business. 
By heaven, you must hu o le, or Master Gullcram- 
mer 

Is like to rest unshaven 

Kat. Wliy, you fool. 

What end can this serve ? 

Bla. Nay, I know not, I. 

But if we keep this wont of being partners. 
Why, use makes perfect — who knows what may 
happen ? 
Kat. Thou art a foolish patch — But sing our 
carol, 
As I have alter'd it, with some few words 

To suit the characters, and I will bear 

[Gives a paper. 
Bla. Pai't in the gambol. I'll go study quickly. 
Is there no other ghost, then, haunts the castle. 
But this same barber shave-a-penny goblin ? 
I thought they glanced in every beam of moon- 
shine, 
As frequent as the bat. 

Kat. I've heard my aunt's high husband tell of 
prophecies. 
And fates impending o'er the house of Devorgoil ; 
Legends first coin'd by ancient superstition. 
And render'.d current by credulity 
And pride of lineage. Five years have I dwelt. 
And ne'er saw any thing more mischievous 
Than what I am myself. 

Bla. Aud that is quite enough I warrant you. 
But, stay, where shall I find a dresa 
To play this — what d'ye call him — Owlspiegle ? 
Kat. (takes dresses out of the cabinet.) Why, 
there are his own clothes. 
Preserved with other trumpery of the sort. 
For we have kept naught but what is good for 
naught. 
\She drops a cap as she draws out the clothes. 
BlacktJtorn lifts it^ avd gives it to her. 
Nay, keep it for thy pains — it is a coxcomb ; 
So caird iu ancient limes, in ours a fw)rs cap ; 
For you must know they kept a Foul at Devor- 
goil 



In former days ; but now are well contented 
To play the fool themselves, to save expenses ; 
Yet give it me, I'll find a worthy use fort. 
I'll take this page's dress, to play the page 
Cockledemoy, who waits on ghostly Owlspiegle ; 
And yet 'tis needless, too, for Gullcrammer 
Will scarce be here to-night. 

Bla. I tell you that he will — I wiU uphold 
His plighted faith and true allegiance 
Unto a sous'd sow's face and sausages. 
And such the dainties that you say he sent you. 
Against all other likings whatsoever, 
Except a certain sneaking of affection, 
Which makes some folks I Imow of play the fool. 
To please some otlier folks. 

Kat. Well, I do hope he'll come — there's first a 
chance 
He will be cudgell'd by my noble uncle — 
I cry his mercy — by my good aunt's husband, 
Who did vow vengeance, knowing naught of him 
But by report, and by a limping sonnet 
Which he had fasliion'd to my cousin's glory. 
And forwarded by blind Tom Long the carrier ; 
So there's the chance, first of a liearty beating, 
Which failing, we've this after-plot of vengeance. 

Bla. Kind damsel, how considerate and merci- 
ful 1 
But how shall we get off, our parts being play'd ? 

Kat. Yvr that we are well fitted ; here's a trap- 
door 
Sinks with a counterpoise — you shall go that 

way. 
I'll make my exit youder — 'neath the window, 
A balconv communicates with the tower 
That overhangs the lake. 

Bla. 'Twere a rare place, this house of Devor- 
goil. 
To play at hide-and-seek in — shall we '..ry. 
One day, my pretty Katleen? 

Kat. Hands off, rude ranger ! I'm no managed 
hawk 
To stoop to lure of yours. — But bear }'ou gal- 
lantly ; 
Tliis Gullcrammer hath vex'd my cousin much, 
I flun would have some vengeance. 

Bla. I'll bear my part with glee ; — he spoke 
irreverently 
Of practice at a mark ! 

K.AT. Thjit cries for vengeance. 

But I must go ; I hear my aunt's shrill voice I 
My cousin and her fiither will scream next. 

Ele. (at a distance.) Katleen ! Katleen ! 

Bla. Hark to old Sweetlips I 

Away with you before the full cry open — 
But stay, what have you there ? 

Kat. (with a bundle she has taken from the ward- 
robe.) My dress, my page's dress — let it 
alone. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



705 



Bla. Your tiring-room is not, I hope, far dis- 
tant ; 
You're inexperienced in these new habiliments — 
I am most ready to assist jour toilet. 
KAr. Out, you great ass 1 was ever such a fool 1 

[Rims off. 

Bla. (sinffs.) 
0, Robin Hood was a bowman good, 

And a bowman good was he, 
And he met with a maiden in merry Sherwood, 

All under the greenwood tree. 

Now give me a kiss, quoth bold Robin Hood, 

Now give me a kiss, said he. 
For there never came maid into merry Sher- 
wood, 

But she paid the forester's fee. 

I've coursed this twelvemonth this sly puss, young 

Katleen, 
And she has dodged me, turn'd beneath my nose, 
And flung me out a score of yards at once ; 
If this same gear fadge right, I'll cote and mouth 

her, 
And then I whoop 1 dead ! dead ! dead ! — She is 

the metal 

To make a woodsman's wife of ! 

[Pauses a moment. 
Well — I can find a hare upon her form 
With any man in Nithsdale— stalk a deer. 
Run Reynard to the earth for all his doubles. 
Reclaim a haggard hawk that's wild and wayward. 
Can b;ut a wild-cat, — sure the devil's in't 
But I can match a woman — I'll to study. 

[SUs down on the couch to excwiitie the paper. 



SCENE IL 

Scene changes to the inhabited apartment of the 
Castle, as in the last Sce7ie of the preceding Act. 
A fire is kindled, bi/ which Oswald sits in an 
attitude of deep and melancholy thoughty without 
payijig attention to what passes around him. 
Eleanor is busy iji covering a table ; Flora goes 
out and re-enters, as if busied in the kitchen. 
There should be sotne by-play — the women whis- 
pering together, and watching the state of Os- 
wald ; tlieii, separating, and seeking to aJJohl his 
observation, wJien he casually raises his head, and 
drops it again. This must be left to taste and 
vionagnnent. The wotncn, in the first part of 
the scene, talk apart, and as if fearful of being 
ouerfttard ; the by'play of stopping occasionally, 
and attending to Oswald's movements, will give 
liveliness to the Scene, 



Ele. Is all prepared ? 

Flo. Ay ; but I doubt the issue 

Will give my sire less pleasiu-e than you liope for. 

Ele. Tush, maid — I know thy father's liumor 
better. 
He was high-bred in gentle luxuries ; 
And when our griefs began, I've wept apart. 
While lordly cheer and high-fiU'd cups of wine 
Were blinding him against the woe to come. 
He has turn'd Ms back upon a pHI'icely bainiuot : 
We will not spread his board — tins niglit at least 
Since cliance hath better fm-nish'd — with dry bread. 
And water from the weU. 

Enter Katleen, and hears the last speech. 
Kat. {aside.) Considerate aunt ! she deems that 
a good supper 
Were not a thing indifferent even to him 
Who is to hang to-morrow. Since she tliinks so. 
We must take care the venison has due honor — 
So much I owe the sturdy knave. Lance Black- 
thorn. 
Flo. Mother, alas ! when Grief turns reveller. 
Despair is cup-bearer. What shall hap to-morrow ? 
Ele. I have learn'd carelessness from fruitless 
care. 
Too long Tve watch'd to-morrow ; let it come 
And cater for itself — Thou hear'st the thunder. 

[Lois and distant thunder. 
This is a gloomy night — within, alas ! 

[Looking at her husbana. 
Still gloomier and more threatening — Let us use 
Whatever means we have to drive it o'er. 
And leave to Heaven to-morrow. Trust me, 

Flora, 
'Tis the philosophy of desperate want 
To match itself but with the present evil. 
And face one grief at once. 
Away, I wish thine aid and not thy counsel. 

[As Flora is about to go off, Gullceam- 
mer's voice is heard behind the flat scene, 
as if from the drawbridge. 
Gcl. {behind.) Hillo — hillo — hiUoa — hoa — hoa ! 
[Oswald raises himself and listens ; El- 
eanor goes up the steps, and opens the 
window at the loop-hole ; Gulloeam- 
mer's voice is then heard more distinctly. 
GuL. Kind Lady Devorgoil — sweet Mistress 
Flora !— 
The night grows fearful, I have lost my way. 
And wander'd till the road turn'd round with me. 
And brouglit me back — For Heaven's sake, giva 
me shelter ! 
Kat. (aside.) Now, as I live, the voice of Gull- 
crammer ! 
Now shall our gambol be play'd off with spirit ; 
I'll swear I am the only one to whom 
That screech-owl whoop was e'er acceptable 



V66 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Osw. "Wliat bawling knave is tliis that takes our 
dwelling 
For some hedge-inn, the haunt of lated drunkards ? 
Ele. What shall I say ? — Go, Katleen, speak to 

him. 
Kxv. (aside.) The game is in my hands — I will 
say something 
Will fret the Baron's pride — and then he enters. 
[She speaks from the window.) Good sir, be patient ! 
We are poor folks — it is but six Scotch miles 
To the next borough town, where your Reverence 
May be accommodated to your wants ; 
We are poor folks, an't please your Reverence, 
And keep a narrow household — there's no track 

To lead your steps astray [lady, 

GuL. Nor none to lead them right. — You kill me. 
If you deny me harbor. To budge from hence. 
And in my weary plight, were sudden death. 
Interment, funeral-sermon, tombstone, epitaph. 

Osw. Who's he that is thus clamorous without ? 
(To Ele.) lliou know'st him ? 

Ele. (confused) I know him ? — no — yes — 'tis a 
worthy clergyman, 
Benighted on his way ; — but think not of him. 
Kat. The morn will rise when that the temjjest's 
past, 
And if he miss the marsh, and can avoid 
The crags upon the left, the road is plain. 

Osw. Then this is all your piety ! — to leave 
One whom the holy duties of liis ofBce 
Have summon'd over moor and wilderness, ' 
To pray beside some dying wretch's bed, 
Wlio (erring mortal) still would cleave to life, 
Or wake some stubborn sinner to repentance, — 
To leave him, after offices like these. 
To choose liis way in darkness 'twixt the marsh 
And dizzy precipice ?' 

Ele. What can I do ? 

Osw. Do what thou canst — the wealthiest do no 
more — 
And if so much, 'tis well. Tliese crumbling walls. 
While yet they bear a roof, shall now, as ever, 
(Jive shelter to the wanderer^ — Have we food ? 
He shall partake it — Have we none ? the fast 
■ Shall be accounted with the good man's merits 

And our misfortunes 

\^He goes to the loop-hole while he speaks, 
and places himself there in romn of his 
Wife, who comes down with reluctance, 
Gl'L. (without.) Hillo — hoa — hoa ! 
3y my good faith, I cannot plod it farther ; 
The attempt were death. 

Osw. (speaks from the window.) Patience, my 
friend, I come to lower the drawbridge. 

[Descends, and exit. 

1 MS. — " And headlong dizzy precipice.' 

3 MS. ■ " shall give, as ever, 



I 



Ele. 0, that the screaming bittern had his couch 
Wliere he deserves it,^ in the deepest mar\li ! 

Kat. I would not give this sport for all tl!e rent 
Of Devorgoil, when Devorgoil was richest ! 
(To Ele.) But now you eluded me, my dearest 

aunt. 
For wishing him a horse-pond for his portion? 

Ele. Yes, saucy girl ; but, an it please you, then 
He was not fretting me ; if he had sense enough, 
And skill to bear him as some casual stranger, — 
But he is dull as earth, and every hint 
Is lost on liim, as hail-.shot on the cormorant, 
Whose hide is proof except to musket-bullets ? 

Flo. (apart.) And yet to such a one would my 
kind mother. 
Whose chiefest fault is loving me too fondly. 
Wed her poor daughter ! 

Enter Glt,lcrammer, his dress damaged by the 
storm ; Eleanor r^ms to meet him, in order to 
explain to him that she toished him to behave as 
a stranger. Gullcrammer, mistaking her ap- 
proach for an invitation to familiarity, advances 
with tlie air of pedantic conceit belonging to his 
character, when Oswald enters, — Ele.^nor recov- 
ers herself, and aftsu7nes an air of distance — 
Gullcrammer is confounded, and docs not know 
what to make of it. 

Osw. The counterpoise has clean given way ; the 
bridge 
Must e'en remain unraised, and leave us open. 
For this night's course at least, to passing visit- 
ants. — 
What have we here ? — is tliis the reverend m.an • 
[He takes up the candle, and surveys 
Gullcrammer, who strives to sustain 
the inspection with confidence, while fear 
obviously contends with conceit and de- 
sire to show liimself to the best advan- 
tage. 
Gul. Kind sir — or, good my lord — my band is 
ruffled. 
But yet 'twas fresh this morning. This fell shower 
Hath somewhat smirch'd my cloak, but you may 

note 
It rates five marks per yard ; my doublet 
Hath fairly 'scaped — 'tis three-piled taffeta. 

[Opens his cloak, and displays his doublet. 
Osw. A goodly inventory — Art thou a preacher ! 
Gul. Yea — I laud Heaven and good Samt Mun 

go for it. 
Osw. 'Tis the time's plague, when these that 
should weed follies 
Out of the common iield, have their own minds 

Their shelter (olhe ) """'f , ' 
' wanderer. ' > 

a MS.—" Where it is fittest," &o. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



761 



O'errun with foppery — Envoys 'twiit heaven and 

earth, 
Example should with precept join, to show us 
How we may scorn the world with all its vanities. 

Gui.. Nay, tlie liigh heavens forefend that I were 
vain ! 
When GUI' learn'd Principal such sounding laud 
Gave to mine Essay on the liidden quaUties 
Of the sulphuric mmeral, I disclaim'd 
All self-exaltment. And {iurninfj to the women) 

when at the dance, 
The lovely Saccharissa Kirkencroft, 
Daughter to Ku-kencroft of Kirkencroft, 
Graced me with her soft hand, credit me, ladies, 
Tliat still I felt myself a mortal man. 
Though beauty smiled on me. 

Osw. Come, sir, enough of this. [heavens, 

That you're om- guest to-night, thank the rough 
And all our worser fortunes ; be conformable 
Unto my rules ; these are no Saccharissas 
To gild with compliments. There's in your pro- 
fession, 
As the best grain will have its piles of chaCF, 
A certain whitHer who hath dared to bait 
A noble maiden with love tales and sonnets ; 
And if I meet him, his Geneva cap 
May scarce be proof to save liis ass's ears. 

Kat. {aside.) Umph — I am strongly tempted ; 
And yet I think I will be generous. 
And give his brains a chance to save his bones. 
Then there's more humor in our gobUn plot, 
Than m a sunple drubbing. 

Ele. {apart to Flo.) What shall we do 2 If he 
discover him, 
He'll fling hun out at window. 

Flo. My father's hint to keep himself unknown 
Is all too broad, I think, to be neglected. 

Ele. But yet the fool, if we produce his bounty. 
May claim the merit of presentmg it ; 
And tlien we're but lost women for accepting 
A. gift our needs made timely. 

Kat. Do not produce them. 

E'en let the fop go supperless to bed. 
And keep his bones wliole. 

Osw. (to his Wife.) Hast thou aught 

To place before liim ere he seek repose ? 

Ele. Alas ! too well you know our needful fare 
Is of the narrowest now, and knows no surplus. 

Osw. Shame us not with thy niggard housekeep- 
ing; 
He is a stranger — were it our last crust. 
And he the veriest coxcomb ere wore taffeta, 
A pitch he's Uttle short of — lie must share it, 
Though all should want to-morrow. 

GuL. (parti;/ overhearing what pas.ws between 
them.) Nay, I am no lover of your sauced 
dainties : 
Plain food and plenty is my motto stiU. 



Your mountain air is bleak, and brings an appetite : 
A soused sow's face, now, to my modest thinking. 
Has ne'er a fellow. Wliat think these fair ladies 
Of a sow's face and sausages ? 

l^Makes signs to Ele^vnoo. 
Flo. Plague on the vulgar' Imid, and on his cour- 
tesies. 
The whole truth will come out ! 

Osw. WTiat should tliey tliink, but that you're 
lilce to lack 
Your favorite dishes, sir, unless perchance 
You bring such dainties with you. 

Gul. No, not with me ; not, indeed, 
Directly with me ; but — Aha ! fair ladies ! 

[3fales signs again. 
K-w. He'll draw the beating down — Were that 
the worst. 
Heaven's will be done ! lAsidr. 

Osw. (apart.) What can he mean ?— tliis is tlie 
veriest dog-whelp — 
Still he's a stranger, and the latest act 
Of hospitahty in this old mansion 
Shall not be sullied. 

Gul. Troth, sir, I think, under the ladies' favor, 
Without pretending skUl in second sight, 

Those of my cloth being seldom conjurers 

Osw. I'll take my Bible-oath that thou art none, 

[Aside. 
GcL. I do opine, still with the ladies' favor. 
That I could guess the nature of our supper ; 
I do not say in such and such precedence 
The dishes will be placed ; housewives, as you know, 
On such forms have their fancies ; but, I say still. 

That a sow's face and sausages 

Osw. Peace, sir ! 

O'er-driven jests (if this be one) are insolent. 
Flo. (apart, seeing her mother uneasy.) The old 
saw still holds true — a churl's benefit.s. 
Sauced with his lack of feeling, sense, and courtesy, 
Savor hke injuries. 

\_A horn is winded without ; then a loitd 
knocking at the gate. 
Leo. (without.) Ope, for the sake of love and 
charity ! 

[Oswald goes to the loop-ho/r. 
Gvu Heaven's mercy ! should there come an- 
other stranger. 
And he half starved with wandering on the wolds. 
The sow's face boasts no substance, nor the sausages, 
To stand our reinforced attack 1 I judge, too, 
By tliis starved Baron's language, there's no hope 
Of a reserve of victuals. 

Flo. Go to the casement, cousin. 
Kat. Go yourself. 

And bid the gallant who that bugle A^ded 
Sleep in the storm-swept waste ; as meet for him 
As for Lance Blackthorn. — Come, I'll not distress 
you. 



V68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I'll get admittance for this second suitor, 

And we'll play out tliis gambol at cross purposes. 

But see, your father has prevented me. 

Osw. {seems to have spoken with those withouty 
and answers.) Well, I will ope the door; 
one guest already, 
Driven by the storm, has claim'd my hospitality, 
And you, if you were fiends, were scai'ce less wel- 
come 
To this my mouldering roof, than empty ignorance 
And rank conceit — I hasten to admit you. \^Exit. 
Ele. {to Flo.) The tempest thickens. By that 
winded bugle, 
I guess the guest that next will honor us.' — — 
Little deceiver, that didst mock my troubles, 
'Tis now thy turn to fear ! 

Flo. Mother, if I knew less or more of this 
Unthought-of and most perilous visitation, 
I would your wishes were fulfilled on me. 
And I were wedded to a thing Uke yon. 

GuL. {approaching.) Come, ladies, now you see 
the jest is threadbare. 
And you must own that same sow's face and sau- 
sages 

Re-enter Oswald with Leonaed, supporting Baul- 
DLE DirRWARD. OswALD takes a view of tliein, as 
formerly of Gollcrammee, then speaks. 
Osw. {to Leo.) By thy green cassock, hunting- 
spear and bugle, 
I guess tliou art a huntsman ? 

Leo. {bowing with respect.) A ranger of the neigh- 
boring royal fore.'^t. 
Under the good Lord Nithsdale ; huntsman, there- 
fore, 
In time of peace, and when the land has war. 
To my best powers a soldier. 

Osw. Welcome, as either. I have loved the 
chase. 
And was a soldier once. — This aged man. 
What may lie be ? 

DvR. {recovering his breath.) Is but a beggar, sir, 
an humble mendicant, 
Wlio feels it passing strange, that from this roof. 
Above all others, he should now crave shelter. 
Osw. Why so ? You're welcome both — only the 
word 
WaiTants more courtesy than our present means 
Permit us to bestow. A huntsman and a soldier 
May be a prince's comrade, much more mine ; 
And for a beggar — friend, there little lacks. 
Save that blue gown and badge, and clouted 

pouches. 
To make us comrades too ; then welcome both. 
And to a beggar's feast. I fear brown bread. 
And water from the spring, wiU be the best on't ; 
For we had cast to wend abroad this evening. 
And left our larder empty. 



GuL. Yet, if some kindly fairy, 

In our behalf, would search its hid recesses, — 
(Apart.) We'll not go supperless now — we're threa 

to one. — 
Still do I say, that a soused face and sausage s 
Osw. {looks sternly at him, then at his wife^ 
There's something under this, but that the 
present 
Is not a time to question. (7b Ele.) Wife, my mood 
Is at such height of tide, that a turn'd feather 
Would make me frantic now, with mirth or fury 1 
Tempt me no more — but if thou hast the things 
This carrion crow so croaks for, bring them forth ; 
For, by my father's beard, if I stand caterer, 
'Twill be a fearful banquet ! 

Ele. Your pleasure be obey'd — Come, aid me. 
Flora. [Exeunt 

(During tlie following speeches the Women 
place dishes on the table.) 
Osw. {to Due.) How did you lose your path ? 
Due. E'en when we thought to find it, a wild 
meteor 
Danced in the moss, and led our feet astray. — 
I give small credence to the tales of old. 
Of Friar's-lantern told, and Will-o'-Wisp, 
Else would I say, that some maUcious demon 
Guided us in a round ; for to the moat. 
Which we had pass'd two hours since, were we 

led, 
And there the gleam flicker'd and disappear'd, 
Even on your drawbridge. I was so worn down, 
So broke with laboring through marsl, and moor. 
That, wold I nold I, here my young conductor 
Would needs implore for entrance ; elsv, believe 

me, 
I had not troubled you. 

Osw. And why not, father ? — have you e'er 
heard aught. 
Or of my house or me, that wanderers, 
Whom or their roving tradi. or sudden circumstance 
Oblige to seek a shelter, should avoid 
The house of DevorgoU ? 

Due. Sir, I am English born — 

Native of Cumberland. Enough is said 
Why I should shun those bowers, whose lords were 

hostile 
To English blood, and unto Cumberland 
Most hostile and most fataL 

Osw. Ay, father. Once my grandsire plough'd, 
and harrow'd. 
And sow'd with salt the streets of your fair towns; 
But what of that ?— you have the 'vantage now. 

Dim. True, Lord of Devorgoil, and well believe I, 
That not m vain we sought these towers to-night. 
So strangely guided, to behold then- state. 

Osw. Ay, thou wouldst say, 'twas fit a Cumbria* 
beggar 
Should sit an equal guest in his proud halls, 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



701J 



Whose fathers beggar'd Cumberland — Graybeard, 

let it be so, 
I'll not dispute it with thee. 

{2o Leo., icho was speaking to Flora, but 
oil bring surprised, occupied himself 
uith the suit of armor.) 
What make.st thou there, young man ! 
Leo. T niarvellM at this harnes.-* ; it isi hirger 
Than arms of modern days. How riclily c:u"ved 
Willi gold inlaid un steel — how close the rivets — 
How justly fit the joints ! I think the gauntlet 
Would swallow twice my hand. 

[//<■ is about to take down some part of the 
Armor; Oswald interferes. 
Osw. Do not displace it. 

My grandsire, Erick, doubled human strength. 
And almost human size — and human knowledge, 
And human vice, and human virtue also, 
As storm or sunshine chanced to occupy 
His mental liemisphere. After a fatal deed. 
He hung his armor on the wall, forbidding 
It e'er should be ta'en down. There is a prophecy, 
That of itself 'twill fall, upon the night 
When, in the fiftieth year from his decease, 
Devorgoil's feast is full. This is the era ; 
But, as too well you see, no meet occasion 
Will do the downf;dl of the armor justice. 
Or grace it with a feast. There let it bide, 
Trying its strength with the old walls it hangs on, 
Wliich shall fall soonest. 
DuR. (looking at the trophy with a mixture of 

feeling.) Then there stern Erick's harness 

hangs untoueh'd, 
Smce his last fiitid raid on Cumberland 1 

Osw. Ay, waste and want, and recklessness — a 

comrade 
Still yoked with waste and want — have stripp'd 

these walls 
Of every otiier trophy. Antler'd skulls, 
Whose branches vouch'd the tales old vassals told 
Of desperate chases — partisans and spears — 
Knights' barred helms and shields — the shafts and 

bows. 
Axes and breastplates of the hardy yeomanry — 
The banners of the vanquish' d — signs these arms 
Were not assumed in vain, have disappear'd. 
Yes, one by one they all have di-sappear'd ; 
And now Lord Erick's harness hangs alone, 
'Midst implements of vulgar husbandry 
And mean economy ; as some old warrior, 
Whom want hath made an inmate of an alms-house. 
Shows, mid the beggar'd spendthrifts, baae me- 
chanics. 
And bankrupt pedlars, with whom fate has mix'd 

him. [house, 

Dua. Or rather like a pirate, whom the prison- 



M3.- 



'Minglw] with peaceful men, l>roken in fortones." 
97 



Prime leveller next the grave, hath for the first time 
Mingled with peaceful captives, low in fortunes,' 
But fair in hmocence. 

Osw. (looking at DuR. with surprise.) Friend, 

thou ait bitter ! 
DuR. Plain truth, sir, like the vulgar copper 
coinage, 
Despised amongst the gentry, still finds value 
And currency with beggars. 

Osw. Be it so. 

I will not trench on the immunities 
I soon may claim to share. Thy features, too. 
Though weather-beaten, and thy strain of language, 
Relish of better days.' Come hither, friend, 

[Theg speak apart 
And let me a-sk thee of tliine occupation. 

[Leonard looks round, and, seeing Oswald 
engaged with Duuward, and ftuLLCR.ui- 
MER with Eleanor, approaches towards 
Flora, vjho must give him a i opportunity 
of doing so, with obvious attention on. her 
part to give it the air of chance. The by- 
play here will rest with the Lady, who 
must engage the attention of the audience 
by playing off a little female hypocrisy 
and simple coquetry, 

Leo. Flora 

Flo. Ay, gallant huntsman, may she deign to 
question 
Why Leonard came not at the appointed hour ; 
Or why he came at midnight ! 

Leo. Love has no certain loadstar, gentle Flora, 
And oft gives up the helm to wayward pilotage. 
To say the sooth — A beggar forced me hence. 
And Will-o'-wisp did guide us back again. 

Flo. Ay, ay, your beggar was the faded spectre 
Of Poverty, that sits upon the threshold 
Of these our ruiii'd walls. I've been unwise, 
Leonard, to let you speak so oft with me ; 
And you a fool to say what you have said. 
E'en let us here break short ; and, wise at length. 
Hold each our separate way through life's wide 
ocean. 
Leo. Nay, let us rather join our course together, 
And share the breeze or tempest, doubling joys, 
Relievuig sorrows, warding evils off 
With mutual effort, or enduring them 
With mutual patience. 

Flo. This is but flattering counsel — sweet and 
baneful ; 
But mine had wholesome bitter in't. 

Kat. Ay, ay ; but like the sly apothecary, 
You'U be the last to take the bitter drug 
That you prescribe to others. 

\They whisper. Eleanor advances to in- 
terrupt them, followed by Gullcrami<£& 

3 MS. — " Both smack of better days," &c. 



110 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ele. What, maid, no household cares ? Leave 
to your elders 
The task of fiUiiig passing strangers' ears 
With the due notes of welcome. 

GuL. Be it thine, 

0, Mistress Flora, the more useful talent 
Of iilling strangers' stomachs with substantials ; 
That is to say — for learn'd commentators 
Do so expound substantials ui some places, — 
With a sous'd bacon-face and sausages. 

Flo. (apart.) Would thou wert aoua'd, intoler- 
able pedant, 
Base, greedy, perverse, interrupting coxcomb ! 

Kat. Hush, coz, for we'll be well avenged on him. 
And ere this night goes o'er, else woman's wit 
Cannot o'ertake her wishes. 

\_She proceeds to arrange seats. Oswald a7id 
DuEWAKD come forward in connersation. 
Osw. I lilce thine hiunor well. — So all men 

beg 

Dub. Yes — I can make it good by proof. Your 
soldier 
Bogs for a leaf of laurel, and a line 
In the Gazette. He brandishes his sword 
To back his suit, and is a sturdy beggar — 
The courtier begs a ribimd or a star. 
And, like our gentler mumpers, is provided 
With false certificates of health and fortune 
Lost in the pubUc service. For your lover, 
Who begs a sigh, a smile, a lock of hair, 
A buskin-point, he maunds upon the pad, 
With the true cant of pure mendicity, 
" The smallest trifle to relieve a Christian, 

And if it like your Ladyship 1" 

[In a hcggin(j tone. 
Kat. (apart.) This is a cunning knave, and feeds 
the humor 
Of my aunt's husband, for I must not say 
Mine honor'd uncle. I will try a question. — 
Your man of merit though, who serves the com- 
monwealth. 
Nor asks for a requital ? 

[To DlTKWAED. 

DuR. Is a dumb beggar, 

And lets his actions speak like signs for him, 
Cliallenging double guerdon. — Now, I'U show 
How your true beggar has the fair advantage 
O'er all the tribes of cloak'd mendicity 
I have told over to you.^The soldier's laurel. 
The statesman's riband, and the lady's favor. 
Once won and gaiu'd, are not held worth a farthing 
By such as longest, loudest, canted for them ; 
Whereas your charitable halfpenny,' 
Which is the scope of a true beggar's suit, 
Is worth two farthings, and, in times of plenty, 
WUl buy a crust of bread. 

^ MS. — " Whereas your genuine copper halfpenny.** 



Flo. (interrupting him, and addreising Iter fa- 
ther.) Sir, let me be a beggar with the time, 
And pray you come to supper. 

Ele. (to Oswald, apart.) Must he sit with us ? 

[Looking at Durwakk 
Osw. Ay, ay, what else — since we are beggars 
aU? 
When cloaks are ragged, sure their worth is equal 
Whether at first they were of silk or woollen, 

Ele. Thou art scarce consistent. 
This day thou didst refuse a princely banquet, 
Because a new-made lord was placed above thee ; 

And now 

Osw. Wife, I have seen, at public executions, 
A wretch, that could not brook the hand of violence 
Should push him from the scaffold, pluck up cour- 
age, 
And, with a desperate sort of cheerfulness. 
Take the fell plunge himself — 
Welcome then, beggars, to a beggar's feast ! 

GuL. (^vho has in the mean while seated himself.) 
But this is more. — A better countenance, — 
Fair fall the hands that sous'd it ! — than this hog's, 
Or prettier provender than these same sausages, 
(By what good friend sent hither, shall be name- 
less, [fuse,) 
Doubtless some youth whom love hatli made pro- 
[Smiliyig significantly at Eleanor aitd Flora 
No prince need wish to peck at. Long, I ween. 
Since that the nostrils of this bouse (by metaphor 
I mean the cliimneys) smeU'd a steam so gi-atcful — 
By your good leave I cannot dally longer. 

[Helps himself 
Osw. (places Durwaed above Gullcrammek..! 
Meanwhile, sir, 
Please it your faithful learning to give place 
To gray hairs and to wisdom ; and, moreover. 

If you had tarried for the benediction 

GuL. (sometehat abashed.) I said grace to myself. 
Osw. (not minding him.) — And waited for the 
company of others. 
It had been better fashion. Time has been, 
I sliould have told a guest at Devorgoil, 
Bearing hunself thus forward, he was saucy. 

[He scats himself and helps the coynpany 
and hiynself in dumb-show. There should 
be a contrast betwixt the precision of his 
aristocratic civility, and the rude under- 
breeding of GULLCRAMMEK. 

Osw. (having tasted the dish next him.) Why, 

this is venison, Eleanor ! 
GoL. Eh ! What ! Let's see— 

[Pushes across Oswald and helps himself. 
It may be venison — 
I'm Bure 'tis not beef, veal, mutton, lamb, or pork 
Eke am I sure, that be it what it will, 
It is not half so good as sausages, 
Or as a sow's face sous'd. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



Ill 



Osw. Eleanor, whence all thia ? 

Ele. Wait till to-morrow, 

Tou shall know all. It was a happy chance. 
That furnish'd us to meet so many guests. 

[Fills wine. 
Try if your cup be not as richly garnish'd 
As is your trencher.' 

ILvr. (apart.) My aunt adheres to the good cau- 
tious maxim 
Of, — " Eat your pudding, friend, and hold your 
tongue." 
Osw. {tastes the wine.) It is the grape of Bor- 
deaujf. 
Such dainties, once fjmiUiar to my board, 
Have been estranged from't long. 

[He again Jills his r/lass, and continues to 
speak as he holds it -up. 
fill round, my friends — here is a treacherous friend 

now 
Smiles in your face, yet seeks to steal the jewel. 
Which is distinction between man and brute — 
I mean our rea.son — this he does, and smiles. 
But are not all friends treacherous ? — one shall 

cross you 
Even in your dearest interests — one shall slander 

you — 
Tliis steal your daughter, that defraud your 

purse ; 
But this gay flask of Bordeaux will but borrow 
Your sense of mortal sorrows for a season. 
And leave, instead, a gay delii-ium. 
Methinks my brain, unused to such gay visitants. 
The influence feels already I — we will revel ! — 
Our banquet shall be loud ! — it is our last. 
Katleen, thy song. 

Kat. Not now, ray lord — I mean to sing to- 
night 
For this same moderate, grave, and reverend cler- 
gyman ; 
I'll keep my voice till then. 

Ele. Your round refusal shows but cottage 
breeding. 



1 Wooden trencliers should be naed, and the quaigh, a Scot- 
tish drinking-cap. 

s *' Dundee, enraged at his enemies, and still more at his 
friends, resolved to retire to the Highlands, and to make prepa- 
rations for civil war, but with secrecy ; for he had been order- 
ed by James to make no public insurrection until assistance 
should be sent him from Ireland. 

*' Whilst Dundee was in this temper, information was 
brought him, whether true or false is uncertain, that some of 
the Covenanters had as--^ociated themselves to assassinate him, 
in revenge for his former severities against their party. He 
flew to the Convention and demanded justice. The Duke of 
Hamilton, who wished to get rid of a troublesome adversary, 
treated his complaint with neglect ; and in order to sting him 
in the tenderest part, reflected upon that courage which could 
be alarmed by imaginary dangers. Dundee left tile house in 
a rage, mounted his horse, and with a troop of fifty horsemen 
ivho had deserted to him from his regiment in England, gal- 



Kat. Ay, my good aunt, for I was cottage nur- 
tured. 
And taught, I think, to prize my own wild will 
Above ail sacritice to compliment. 
Here is a huntsman — in liis eyes I road it. 
He sings the martial song my uucle loves. 
What time fierce Cltiver'se witlt his CavaUers, 
Abjuring the new change of government. 
Forcing his fearless way through timor(m.s friends, 
And enemies as timorous, left the capital 
To rouse in James's cause the distant Highlands. 
Have you ne'er hoard the song, my noble undo ? 
Osw. Have I not heard, wench i — It was I rode 
next him, 
'Tis thirty summers since — rode by his rein ; 
We marched on through the alarm'd city. 
As sweeps the osprey through a flock of gulls. 
Who scream and flutter, but dare no resisttmce 
Against the bold sea-empress — They did murmur, 
The crowds before us, in their suUen wrath. 
And those whom we had pass'd, gathering fresh 

courage. 
Cried havoc in the rear — ^we minded them 
E'en aa the brave bark minds the bursting bil- 
lows. 
Which, yielding to her bows, burst on her sides. 
And ripple in her wake. — Sing me that strain, 

[7'o Leonabd. 
And thou shalt have a meed I seldom tender. 
Because they're all I have to give — my thanks. 
Leo. Nay, if you'll bear with what I cannot 
help, 
A voice that's rough with hollowing to tlie hoimda, 
I'll sing the song even as old Rowland taught me. 



Air — *' The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee." 

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'ae who 

spoke, 
" Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns 

to be broke ; 

loped through the city. Being asked by one of his friends, who 
stopped him, ' Where he was going V he waved his hat, and is 
reported to have answered, * Wherever the spirit of Montrose 
shall direct me.' In passing under the walls of the Castle, he 
stopped, scrambled up the precipice at a place difficult and dan- 
gerous, and held a conference with the Duke of Gordon at a 
postern-gate, the marks of which are still to be seen, though 
the gate itself is built up. Hoping, in vain, to infuse the vigo. 
of his own spirit into the Duke, he pressed him to retire with 
him into the Highlands, raise his vassals there, who were nu- 
merous, brave, and faithful, and leave the command of the 
Castle to Winram, the lieutenant-governor, an otficeron whom 
Dundee could rely. The Duke concealed his timidity under 
the excuse of a soldier. ' A soldier,' said he, ' cannot in hon- 
or quit the post that is assigned him.' The novelty of the sight 
drew numbecs to the foot of the rock upon which the confer- 
ence was held. These numbers every minute increased, and, 
in the end, were mistaken for Dundee's adherents. The Con- 



V72 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



So let each Cavalier who loves honor and me, 
Come follow the bomiet of Bomiy Dmidee. 

" Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can. 
Come saddle yom- horses, and call up your men ; 
Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, 
And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dun- 
dee !" 

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. 

The beUs are rung backward, the drums they are 
beat ; 

But the Provoat, douce man, said, " Just e'en let 
him be. 

The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dun- 
dee." 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, 
nk cailine was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
But the young plants of grace they look'd couthie 

and slee, 
Tliinkiug, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee 1 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was 

cramm'd 
As if half the West had set tryst to be hang'd :' 
There was spite in each look, there was fear in 

each e'e. 
As they watch'd for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, <tc. 

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, 

And lang-hafted guUies to kill Cavahers ; 

But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway 

was free. 
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, <Src. 

He spuiT'd to the foot of the proud Castle rock. 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke ; 

vention was then sitting: news were carried tliilherlhat Dun- 
dee was at the gates with an army, and liad prevailed upon 
the governor of the Castle to fire upon tlie town. The Duke 
of Hamilton, whose intelligence was better, had the presence of 
mind, by improving the moment of agitation, to overwlielra 
lite one party and provoke the other, by their fears. He or- 
dered the doors of the house to be shut, and the keys to be 
laid on the table before him. He cried out, ' That there was 
danger within as well as without doors ; that traitors must be 
held in confinement until the present danger was over : but 
that the friends of liberty had nothing to fear, for that thou- 
sands were ready to start op in tlieir defence, at the stamp of 
his foot.' He ordered the drums to be beat and the trum|)ets 
to sound through the city, tn an instant vast swarms of those 
who had been brought info town by him and Sir John Dal- 
rymple from the western counties, and who had been hitherto 
bid in garrets and cellars, showed themselves in the streets ; not, 
indeed, in the proper habiliments of war, but in arms, and with 



"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak iwa 

words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, <fec. 

The Gordon demands of him wliich w.ay he goes—* 
" Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose ! 
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of 

me, 
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, Ac. 

" There are hiUs beyond Pentland, and lands be- 
yond Forth, 

If there's lords in the lowlands, there's chiefe in 
the North ; 

There are wild Dimiewassals three thousand times 
three. 

Will cry hoigh ! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

"There's brass on the target of barken'd bull- 
hide ; 

There's steel in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side ; 

The brass shall be btu-nish'd, the steel sliall flash 
free. 

At a toss of the bonnet of Bomiy Dundee. 
Come fidl up my cup, Ac. 

" Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks — 
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch witli the fox ; 
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your 

glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 
me !" 
Come fiU up my cup, <tc. 

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were 

blown. 
The kettle-drtmis clash'd, and the horsemen rode 

on, 

looks fierce and sollen, as if they felt disdain at their former 
concealment. This unexpected sight increased the noise and 
tumult of the town, which grew loudest in the stjuare adjoin- 
ing to the house where the members were confined, and ap- 
peared still louder to those who were within, because they 
were ignorant of the cause from which the tumuli arose, and 
caught contagion from the anxious looks of each other. Attei 
some hours, the doors were thrown open, and the Whig mem- 
bers, as they went out, were received with acclamations, and 
those of the opposite party with the threats and curries of a 
prepared populace. Terrified by the prospect of future alarms, 
many of the adherents of James Quitted the Convention, and 
retired to the country ; most of them changed side*) ; only a 
very few of the most resolute continued their attendance." — 
Dalrvmple's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 305. 

1 Previous to 1784, the Grassmarket was the common plaos 
of execution at Edinburgh. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



773 



7ill ou RaveUton's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee, 
T)iei.l away the Tvild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
Come saildle the horses, and o^ill up the men ; 
Come opcu your gates, and let me gae free. 
For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! 

Ele. Katleen, do thou sing now. Thy uncle's 
cheerful ; 
We nmst not let his humor ebb again. 

ILiT. But I'U do better, aunt, than if I sung. 
For Flora can sing bhtlie ; so can tliis huntsman, 
As he has shown e'en now ; let them duet it. 

Osw. Well, huntsman, we must give to freakish 
maiden 
The freedom of her fancy. — Raise the carol, 
And Flora, if she can, will join the measure. 



When friends are met o'er merry cheer, 
And lovely eyes are laughhig near. 
And in the goblet's bosom clear 

The cares of day are drown'd ; 
When puns are made, and bumpers quafTd, 
And wild Wit shoots his roving shaft, 
And Mirth his jovial laugh has laugh'd, 

Then is our banquet crown'd, 
Ah gay, 

Tlien is our banquet cro^vn'd. 

When glees are sung, and catches troll'd. 
And bashfuhiess grows bright and bold, 
And beauty is no longer cold, 

And age no longer dull ; 
Wlien chimes are brief, and cocks do crow, 
To tell us it is time to go, 
Yet how to part we do not know. 

Then is om- feast at full. 
Ah gay. 

Then is our feast at full. 

Osw. (risen with the cup in his hand.) Devorgoil's 
feast is full- 
Drink to the pledge ! 

[.^1 tremendoiis burst of thunder follows 
these words of the Song ; and the Light- 
ning should seem to strike the suit of black 
AmnoYy which falls with a crash} All 
rise in s-urprise and fear except Gullcram- 
MEB, who tumbles over backwards and lies 
still. [roof 

Osw. That sounded like the judgment-peal — the 
Still trembles with the volley. 



I I -ahoolil think thi'i may be contrived, by having a transpa- 
renl rig-zag in tlie flat-scene, immediately above the armor, 
(uddeoly and very strongly illuminated. 



Due. Happy those 

Who are prepared to meet sucli fearful sum 

mons. — 
Leonard, what dost thou there ? 

Leo. (supporting Flo.) The duty of a man — 
Supporting innocence. Were it the final call, 
I were not misemploy'd. 

Osw. The armor of my grandsire hath falln 
down, 
And old saws have spoke truth, — (Musing.) The 

fiftieth year — 
Devorgoil's feast at fullest I What to tliink of it — 
Leo. (lifting a scroll ivhich had fallen with the 
armor.) Tliis may inform us. 
[Attempts to read the manuscript, shakes 
his head, and gives it to Oswald. 
But not to eyes unlearu'd it tells its tidings. 
Osw. Hawks, hounds, and revelling consumed 
the hours 
I should have given to study. 

[Looks at the manuscript. 
These characters I spell not more than thou. 
They are not of our day, and, as I think, 
Not of our language. — Where's our scholar now. 
So forwiu-d at the banquet ? Is he laggard 
Upon a point of learning ! 

Leo. Here is the man of letter'd dignity. 
E'en in a piteous case. 

[Drags 6in.L0EAMMEE forward. 
Osw. Art wakingi craven ? canst thou read this 
scroll ? 
Or art thou only leam'd in sousing swine's flesh, 
And prompt in eating it ? 
GuL. Eh — ah! — oh — ho! — Have you no better 
time 
To tax a man with riddles, than the moment 
When he scarce knows whether he's dead or liv- 
ing? 
Osw. Confound the pedant ! — Can you read the 
scroll, 
Or can you not, sir ? If you can, pronounce 
Its meaning speedily. 

GoL. Can I read it, quotha ! 

When at our learned Univers>ity, 
I gain'd first premium for Hebrew learning, — 
Which was a poimd of high-dried Scottish snuff, 
And half a peck of onions, with a bushel 
Of curious oatmeal, — our learn'd Principal 
Did say, " Meldiisedek, thou canst do any thing 1" 
Now comes he with his paltry scroll of parchment, 
And, " Can you read it !" — After such af&ont, 
The point is, if I will. 

Osw. A point soon solved, 

Unless you choose to sleep among the frogs ; 
For look you, sir, there is the chamber window, 
Beneath it lies the lake. 

Ele. Kind master Gullcranimer, beware my 
husband, 



774 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He brooks no contradiction — "tis his fault, 
And in liis wrath he's dangerous. 

GuL. (/oo/-s at the scroll, andmutters as if reading.) 
Hashr/abol/t hntch-poti.h — 
A .simple njatter this to make a rout of — 
Ten rnslicrsnt. bacon, mish-mash vejuson, 
Sansagian soused-face — 'Tis a simple catalogue 
Of our small supper — made by the grave sage 
^\Tiose prescience knew this night that we should 

feast 
On venison, hash'd .sow's face, and sausages, 
And hung his steel-coat for a supper-bell — 
E'en let us to our provender again, 
For it is written we shall finish it, 
And bless our stars the lightning left it us. 

Osw. Tliis must be impudence or ignorance ! — 
The spirit of rough Erick stirs within me. 
And I will knock thy brains out if thou palterest ! 
Expound the scroll to me ! 

GuL. You're over hasty ; 

And yet you may be right too — 'Tis Samaritan, 
Now I look closer ou't, and I did take it 
For sim])le Hebrew. 

Dcii. 'Tis Hebrew to a simpleton, 
Tliat we see plainly, friend — Give me the scroll. 
GxJL. Alas, good friend I what would you do 

with it? 
Due. {lakes it from him.) My best to read it, su- 
— The character is Sa-xon, 
ITsed at no distant date within tliis district ; 
And thus the tenor runs — nor in Samaritan, 
Nor simple Hebrew, but in wholesome EngUsh : — 
Devorgoil, thy bright moon waneth, 
And tile rust thy harness staineth ; 
Servile guests the banquet soil 
Of tile once proud Devorgoil. 
But should Black Brick's armor fall. 
Look for guests shall scare you all ! 
Tliey shall come ere peep of day, — 
Wake and watch, and hope .and pray. 
K.\T. (/« Flo.) Here is fine foolery — an old wall 
shakes 
At a loud thunder-clap — down comes a suit 
Of ancient armor, when its wasted braces 
Were all too rotten to sustain its weight — 
A beggar cries out. Miracle ! and your father, 
Weighing the importance of his name and lineage. 
Must needs believe the dotard !' 

Flo. Mock not, I pray you ; tliis may be too 

serious. 
Kat. And if I live till morning, I will have 
The power to tell a better tale of wonder 
Wrought on wise GuUcrammer. I'll go prepare me. 

[Exit. 
Flo. I have not Katleen's spirit, yet I hate 

' MS.— " A l)r'f:{.nng knave cries ont, a Miracle ! 

.'\ I I yonrgoo.'l sire, doting on the importance 



Tliis GuUcrammer too heartily, to stop 
Any disgrace that's hasting towards him 

Osw. [to whom the beggar has been again read- 
ing the scroll.) 
'Tis a strange prophecy ! — The silver raiion. 
Now waning sorely, is our ancient bearing — 
Strange and unfitting guests — 

GuL. (interrupting hbti.) Ay, .ay, the matter 
Is, as you say, all moonsliine in tlie water. 
Osw. How mean you, sir ? ^threatening.) 
GuL. To show that I can rhyme 

With yonder bluegown. Give me breath and time, 
I will maintain, in spite of his pretence. 
Mine exposition had the better sense — • 
It spoke good victuals and increase of cheer ; 
And his, more guests to eat what we have here — 
An increment right needless. 

Osw. Get thee gone ; 

To kennel, hound I 

GuL. Tlie hound will have his bone. 

[Takes up the platter of meat, and a fask. 
Osw. Flora, show him his chamber— take him 
hence. 
Or, by the name I bear, I'll see his brains. 

GuL. Ladies, good night ! — I spare you, sir, the 
pains. 

[Exit, lighted by Floea with a lamp. 
Osw. The owl is fled. — I'll not to bed to-night ; 
There is some change impending o'er this house, 
For good or ilL I would some holy man 
Were here, to counsel us what we should do I 
Ton witless thm-faced gull is but a cassock 
Stuti"d out with chaff and straw. 

Due. (assuming an air of dignity.) I have been 
wont, 
In other days, to point to erring mortals 
The rock wliich they should anchor on. 

[He holds up a Cross — the rest take a pos- 
ture of devotion^ and the Scene closes. 



ACT III.— SCENE L 

A ruinous Anteroom in the Castu Enter Kat- 
i.EEii, fantastically dressed to play the Character 
of Cockledemoy, with the visor in her hand. 

K.4T. I've scarce had time to glance at my sweet 
person. 
Yet this much could I see, with half a glance, 
My elfish dress becomes me — I'U not ma.'-k me 
Till I have seen Lance Blackthorn. Lance ! I say- - 

[Calli. 
Blackthorn, make haste 1 

Of liis higli birth and house, must needs believe 
hini.'* 



THE DOOM OF DEVOKGOIL. 



ns 



Enter Blackthorn, haXf dressed as Oiolspiegle. 
Bla. Here am I — Blackthorn in the upper half, 
Much at your service ; but my nether piirta 
Are goblinized and Owlspiegled. I had much ado 
To get these trankuma on. I judge Lord Erick 
Kept no good house, and staiTed his quondam bar- 
ber, [coming ; 
Kat. Peace, ass, and hide you — GuUcrammer is 
He left the hall before, but then took fright, 
And e'en sueak'd back. The Lady p'lora lights 

him — 
Trim occupation for her ladyship ! 
Had you seen Leonard, when she left the hall 
On such tine errand 1 
Bla. This GuUcrammer shall have a bob extra- 
ordinary 
For my good comrade's sake. — But tell rae, Kat- 

leen. 
What dress is this of yours ? 
Kat. a page's, fool ! 

Bla. Tm accounted no great scholar. 

But 'tis a page that I would iiiin peruse 
A httle closer. [Approaches her. 

Kat. Put on your spectacles. 

And try if you can read it at tliis distance. 
For you shall come no nearer. 

Bla. But is there nothing, then, save rank im- 
postuj'e. 
In all these tales of goblinry at Devorgoil ? 
Kat. Hy aunt's grave lord thmks otherwise, sup- 
posing 
That his great name so interests the Heavens, 
That miracles must needs bespeak its fall — 
I would that I were in a lowly cottage 
Beneath the gi-eenwood, on its walls no armor 

To court the levin-bolt 

Bla. And a kind husband, Katleen, 

To ward such dangers as must needs come nigiL — 
My father's cottage stands so Ioav and lone, 
That you would tliink it soUtude itself; 
The greenwood sliields it from the northern blast. 
And. in the woodbine round its latticed casement, 
Tlie linnet's sure to build the earUest nest 
In all the forest. 
Kat. Peace, you fool, they come. 

Flora Ughts Gullcrammer across the. Stage. 

Kat. {wIicH they haiie passed.) Away with you! 
On with your cloak — be ready at the signal 

Bla. And shall we talk of that same cottage, 
Katleen, 
At better leisure ? I have much to say 
In favor of my cottage. 

Kat. If you will be talking, 

Tou know I can't prevent you. 

Bla. That's enough. 

(Asidf.) I shall have leave, I see, to spell the page 
\ little closer, when the due time comes. 



SCENE IL 

Scene changes to Guliceammer's Steeping Apart 
menl. He enters, usfiered in by Flora, who sits 
on the table a flask, with the lamp. 

Flo. A flask, in case your Reverence be athirsty , 
A light, in case your Revoreuce be afear'd ;— 
And so sweet slumber to your Reverence. 

GuL. Kind Mistress Flora, will you! — eh! ell I 

eh! 
Flo. 'Willi what? 
GuL. Tarry a little ? 

Flo. (smiling.) Kind Master GuUcrammer, 
How can you ask me aujiht so unbecoming ? 
GuL. Oh, fie, fie, fie ! — Believe me. Mistress 
Flora, 
'Tis not for that — but being guided through 
Such dreary gaUeries, stairs, and suites of rooms, 
To tills same cubicle, I'm somewhat loth 
To bid adieu to pleasant company. 

Flo. A flattering compliment I — In plain truth, 

you are frighten'd. 
GuL. What ! frighten'd ! — I — I — am not tim- 
orous. 
Flo. Perhaps you've heard this is our haunted 
chamber ? 
But then it is our best — Tour Reverence knows, 
That in aU tales which turn upon a ghost, 
Your traveller belated has the luck 
To enjoy the haunted room — it is a rule : — 
To some it were a hardship, but to you. 

Who are a scholar, and not timorous 

GuL. I did not say I was not timorous, 
I said I was not temerarious. — 
I'll to the hall again. 

Flo. Tou'U do your pleasure. 

But you have somehow moved my father's anger, 
And you had better meet our playful Owlspio 

gle— 
So is our goblin call'd — than face Lord Oswald. 

GuL. Owlspiegle ? — 
It is an uncouth and outlandish name. 
And in muie ear sounds fiendish. 

Flo. Hush, hush, hush ! 
Perhaps he hears us now — (in an under tone) — A 

merry spirit ; 
None of your elves that pinch folks black and blue, 
For lack of cleanliness. 

GuL. As for that. Mistress Flora, 
My taffeta doublet hath been duly brush'd. 
My shirt hebdomadal put on this morning. 

Flo. 'Why, you need fear no goblins. But this 
Owlspiegle 
Is of another class ; — yet has his frolics ; 
Cuts hair, trims beards, and plays amid his anttui 
The office of a sinful mortal barber. 
Such is at least the rumor 



776 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



GuL. He will not cut mj clothes, or scar my face, 
Or draw my blood ? 

Flo. Enormities like these 

Were never charged against him. 

GuL. And, Mistress Flora, would you smile on 

me, 
If, prick'd by the fond hope of your approval, 
I should endure this venture ? 

Flo. I do hope 

I shall have cause to smile. 

GuL. "Well ! in that hope 

I will embrace the achievement for thy sake. 

[_She is goinr/. 
Yet, stay, staj, stay ! — on second thoughts I will 

not — 
Fve thought on it, and will the mortal cudgel 
Rather endure than face the ghostly razor I 
Your crab-tree's tough but blunt, — ^your razor's 

polish'd, 
But, as the proverb goes, 'tis cruel sharp, 
ril to thy father, and unto his pleasure 
Submit these destined shoulders. 

Flo. But you shall not. 

Believe me, sir, you .shall not ; he is desperate. 
And better far be trimm'd by ghost or goblin, 
Than by ray sire in anger ; there are stores 
Of hidden treasure, too, and Heaven knows what, 
Buried among these ruins — you shall stay. 
{Apart.) And if indeed there bo such sprite as 

Owlspiegle, 
And lacking him, that thy fear plague thee not 
Worse than a goblin, I have miss'd my purpose. 
Which else stands good in either case. — Good- 
night, sir. \_]^xU, and double-locks th^ door. 
GuL. Nay, hold ye, hold ! — Nay, gentle Mistress 

Flora, 
Wherefore this ceremony? — She has lock'd me in. 
And left me to the goblin ! — (Listening.) — So, 

so, so 1 
I hear her light foot trip to such a distance, 
Th.at I believe the castle's breadth divides me 
From human company. I'm ill at ease — 
But if this citadel {laying his hand on his stomach) 

were better victual'd, 
It would be better mann'd. [Sits down and drinks. 
She has a footstep light, and taper ankle. 

[Chuckles. 
Aha 1 that .inkle ! yet, confound it too. 
But for those charms Melchisedek had been 
iSnug in his bed at Mucklewhame — I say, 
Confoimd her footstep, and her instep too. 
To use a cobbler's phrase. — There I was quamt. 
Now, what to do in this vile circumstance, 
To watch or go to bed, I can't determine ; 
Were I abed, the gl'.ost might catch me napping, 
And if I watch, ray teiTors will increase 
As ghostly hours approach. I'll to my bed 
E'en in my taffeta doublet, shrink my head 



Beneath the clothes — leave the lamp biu'ning there, 
[Sets it on the table. 
And trust to fate the issue. 

[He lays aside his cloak, and bncsh.es if, 
as from habit, starting at every mmnent ; 
ties a 7iapkin ooer his head ; then 
shrinks beneath the bed-clothes. He 
starts once or twice, and at length seems 
to go to sleep. A bell tolls one. He 
leaps up in his bed. 
GuL. I had just coax'd myself to sweet forget- 
fulness. 
And that confoimded bell — I hate all bells, 
Except a diiuier bell — and yet I lie, too, — 
I love the bell that soon shaU tell the p.irish 
Of Gabblegoose, Melchisedek's incumbent — 
And shall the future minister of Gabblegoose, 
Whom his parishioners will soon require 
To exorcise their ghosts, detect their witches. 
Lie shivering m his bed for a pert gobUn, 
Whom, be he switch'd or cocktail'd, horn'd or 

poU'd, 
A few tight Hebrew words will soon send packing ! 
Tush ! I will rouse the parson up within me. 

And bid defiance (A distant noise.) In the 

name of Heaven, 
What sounds are these ! — Lord ! this comes of 
ra.shness ! 
[Draws his Jiead down under the bed-clothes. 

Duel wit/u>ut, between Owlspiegle and Cocklede- 

MOY. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cocklederaoy ! 

My boy, my boy 

COCKLEDEMpT. 

Here, father, here. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Now the pole-star's red and burning, 
And the witch's spindle turnuig. 
Appear, appear ! 

GuL. (wlio has again raised himself, and listened 
with great terror to the Duet.) I have heard 
of the devil's dam before. 
But never of his cliild. Now, Heaven deliver me 1 
The Papists have the better of us there, — 
They have their Latin prayers, cut and dried. 
And pat for such occasion. I can think 
On naught but the vernacular. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy I 
My boy, my boy. 

We'll sport us here — 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



771 



COCKLEDEMOT. 

Our gambols play, 
Like elve and fay; 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

And domineer, 



Lausli. frolic, and frisk, till the morning appear. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Lift latch — open clasp — 
Shoot bolt — and burst hasp I 
[^The door opens with violence. Snter 
Blackthoen as Owispiegle, fantaati- 
caUy dressed as a Spanish Barber, tall, 
thin, emaciated, and ghostly ; Katleen, 
as Coceledemoy, attends as his Page. 
All their manners, tones, and motions, 
are fan tastic, as those of Goblins. They 
make two or three times the circuit of 
the JHootn, without seeming to see Gull- 
crammer. They then resitme tluir 
Chant, or Recitative. 

OTTLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy 1 

My boy, my boy. 
What wilt thou do that will give thee joy ? 
WUt thou ride on the midnight owl ? 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

No : for the weather is stormy and foul 

owlspiegle. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My boy, my boy, 
What wilt thou do that can give thee joy ? 
With a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat, 
Wilt thou fight a traverse with the castle cat ? 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

Oh, no ! she has claws, and I like not that 

GtTL. I see the devil is a doting father. 
And spoils his children — 'tis the surest way 
To make cursed imps of them. They see me not — 
What will they think on next ? It must be own'd, 
They have a dainty choice of occupations. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My boy, my boy, 
Wliat shall we do that can give thee joy I 
Shall we go seek for a cuckoo's nest ? 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

That's best, that's best I 
96 



BOTH. 

About, about. 
Like an elvish scout. 
The cuckoo's a gull, and we'll soon find him out 

[They search the room with mops ana 
mows. At length Cockledemoy j'jony* 
ore the bed. Gullcrammee raises hmi- 
self half lip, supporting himself by hii 
hands. Cockledemoy does the same, 
grins at him, then skips from the b'd, 
and runs to Owlspiegle. 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

I've found the nest. 

And in it a guest, 
With a sable cloak and a taffeta vest ; 
He must be wash'd, and trimm'd, and dreas'd, 
To please the eyes he loves the best. 

owlspiegle. 
That's best, that's best. 



He must be shaved, and trimm'd, and dress'd, 
To please the eyes he loves the best. 

l^They arrange shaving things on tlie ta- 
ble, and sing as they prepare them. 

BOTH. 

Know that all of the humbug, the bite, and the 

buz. 
Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit to us. 

Owlspiegle [sharpening his razor.) 
The sword this is made of was lost in a fray 
By a fop, who first bullied and then ran away ; 
And the strap, from the hide of a lame racer, 

sold 
By Lord Match, to his fiiend, for some hundreds 

in gold. 



For all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz. 
Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit to us. 

Cockledemot (placing the napkin.) 
And this cambric napkin, so white and so fair, 
At an usurer's funeral I stole from the heir 

[^Drops something from a vial, as going 
to make suds. 
This dew-drop I caught from one eye of his mother. 
Which wept while she ogled the parson with 
t'other. 



For all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz, 
Of the make-beUeve world, becomes forfeit to u& 



•778 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


nwLSPiEOLE (arranging the lather and the basin.) 


COCKLKDEMOT {sings as before.) 


My soap-ball is of the mild alkali made, 


Hair-breadth 'scapes, and hair-breadth snares, 


Which the soft dedicator employs in his trade ; 


Hair-brain'd follies, ventures, cares, 


And it froths with the pith of a promise, that's 


Part when father clips your bail's. 


sworn 


If there is a hero frantic. 


By a lover at night, and forgot on the morn. 


Or a lover too romantic ; — 




If threescore seeks second spouse, 


BOTH. 


Or fourteen Usts lover's vows. 


For all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz. 


Bring them here— for a Scotch boddle, 


Of the makebelieve world, becomes forfeit to us. 


Owlspiegle shall trim their noddle. 


Halloo, halloo. 


{They take the napkin from about GuL- 


The blackcock crew. 


lcrammee's neck. He makes bows of 


Thi-ice shriek'd hath the owl, thrice ci-o.ak'd hath 


acknowledgment, which they return fan- 


the raven. 


tastically, and sing — 


Here, ho ! Master Gullcrammer, rise and be shaven ! 


Thrice crow'd hath the blackcock, thrice croak'd 




hath the raven, 


Da capo. 


And Master Melchisedek Gullcrammer's shaven! 




GuL. My friends, you are too musical for me ; 


GcL. {v^ho has been observing tlwn) I'll pluck a 


But though I cannot cope with you in song. 


spirit up ; they're merry goblins. 


I would, in humble prose, inquire of you. 


And will deal mildly ; I will soothe their humor ; 


If that you will permit me to acquit 


Besides, my beard lacks trimramg. 


Even with the barber's pence the barber's ser- 


[//(■ rises from his bed, and advances with 


vice ? 


great symptoms of trepidation, but af- 


[l^hey shake their heads. 


fecting an air of composure. The Gob- 


Or if there is aught else that I can do for 


lins receive h iin with fantastic ccrcmonij. 


you. 


Gentlemen, 'tis your will I should be trimm'd — 


Sweet Master Owlspiegle, or your loving child, 


E'en do your pleasure. 


The hopeful Cockle'moy ? 


{Thetf point to a seat — he sits.) 




Think, howsoe'er. 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


Of me as one who hates to see his blood; 


Sir, you have been trimm'd of late. 


Thereft)re I do beseedi you, signior, 


Smooth's your chin, and bald your pate ; 


Be gentle in your craft. I know those barbers. 


Lest cold rheimrs should work you harm. 


One would iiave harrows driven across his visnomy, 


Here's a cap to keep you warm. 


Rather than they should touch it with a razor. 






Gui.. Welcome, as Fortunatus' wishing cap, 


OwLSPrEGLE shaves Gcllcrammer, while Cockiede- 


For't was a cap that I was wishing for. 


MOY sings. 


(Tliere I was quaint in spite of mortal terror.) 


Father never started hah-, 


[As he puts on the cap, a pair of ass's ears 


Shaved too close, or left too bare — 


disengage themselves. 


Father's razor slips as glib 


Upon my faith, it is a dainty head-dress. 


As from courtly tongue a fib. 


An<l might become an alderman ! — lliiuiks, sweet 


Whi.-ikers, mustaclie, he can trim in 


Monsieur, 


Fashion meet to please the women ; 


Thou'rt a considerate youth. 


Sharp's his blade, perfumed his lather ! 


[Both Goblins bow loith prremony to Gull- 


Happy those are trinun'd by father 1 


CRAMMEE, who returns their salutation. 




Owlspiegle descends by the trap-door 


Gui. Tliat's a good boy. I love to hear a child 


CoCKLEDEMOY springs out at a window 


Stand for liis father, if he were the devil. 




[Jle motions to rise. 


SONG {without.) 


Craving your pardou, sir. — What ! sit again ? 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


My hair lacks not your scissors. 


Cockledemoy, my hope, my care. 


[OwLSriEGLE insists on his sitting. 


Where art thou now, tell me where ? 


Nay, if you're peremptory, I'll ne'er dispute it. 




Nor eat the cow and choke upon the tail — 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


E'en trim me to your fashion. 


Up in the sky. 


[OwLsriEGLE cuts Ms hair, and shaves his 


On the bonny dragonfly, 


head, ridiculously. 


Come, father, come you too— 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



119 



She has four wiiigs and strengtli enow, 
Aiid lier long body has room for two. 

GuL. Cockledcnioy now is a naughty brat — 
Would have the poor old stiff-rurap'd devil, his 

father, 
Peril his fiendish neck. AH boys ai-e thoughtless. 

SONG. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 

Wliich way didst thou take ? 

COCKLEDEMOT. 

I have fall'n in the lake — 

Help, father, for Beelzebub's sake. 

GoL. The imp is drown' d — a strange death for 
a devil, — 
0, may all boys take warning, and be civil ; 
Respect their loving sires, endure a chiding. 
Nor roam by night on dragonflies a-riding ! 

COCKLEDEMOT (uhl^S.) 

Now merrUy, merrily, row I to shore, 

My bark is a bean-shell, a straw for an oar. 

owisPLEGLE {sings.) 
My life, my joy, 
My Cockledemoy 1 

Gi'L. I can beai' this no longer — thus cliildren 
are spoil'd. 

[Striken into^ the tune. 
Master Owlspiegle, hoy ! 

He deserves to be whipp'd little Cockledemoy ! 

[Their voices are heard, as ifdijing away. 

Gdx. They're gone ! — Now, am I scared, or am 

I not? 

I think the very desperate ecstasy 

Of fear has given me courage.' This is strange, 

now, 
'Wlien they were here, I was not half so frighten'd 
As now they're gone — they were a sort of com- 
pany. 
What a strange thin'^ is use ! — A horn, a claw, 
Tlie tip of a fiend's tail, was wont to .scare me. 
Now am I with the devil hand and glove ; 
His snap lias latlier'd, and his razor shaved me ; 
I've joined him in a catch, kept time and tune, 
Could dine with him, nor ask for a long spoon; 
And if I keep not better company, 
What will become of me when I shall die ? 

[Exit. 

' " Cowards, upon necessity, assame 

A fearful bravery ; thinking by this face 

To fasten in men's minds that they have courage." 

SHAX9PEARE. 



SCENE III. 

A Gothic Hall, waste attd ruinous. The mooyilight 
is at times seen through the shafted windows.^ 
Enter Katleen and Blackthoux — They have 
throion off the more ludicrous parts of tlwir 
disguise. 

Kat. Tliis way — this way ; was ever fool so 

guU'd ! 
Bla. I play'd the barber better than I thought 
for. 
Well, I've an occupation in reserve, 
Wlien the long-bow and merry musket fail me. — 
But, hark ye, pretty Katleen. 

Kat. What should I hearken to ! 

Bla. Art thou not afraid. 
In these wild halls while playing teigned goblins, 
Tliat we may meet with real ones ? 

Kat. Not a jot. 

My spirit is too hght, my heart too bold, 
To fear a visit from the other world. 

Bla. But is not this the place, the very hall 
In which men say that Oswald's grandfather. 
The black Lord Erick, walks his penance round ? 
Credit me, Katleen, these half-moulder'd col- 
umns 
Have in then: ruin something very fiendish, 
And, if you'll take an honest fiiend's advice, 
The sooner that you change theu- shatter'd splen- 
dor 
For the snug cottage that I told you of. 
Believe me, it will prove the bUther dwelling. 
Kat. If I e'er see that cottage, honest Black- 
thorn, 
Believe me, it shall be from other motive 
Than fear of Brick's spectre. 

[A rustling sound is heard. 
Bla. I heard a rustling sound — 

Upon my life, there's something m the hall, 
Katleen, besides us two I 

Kat. a yeoman thou, 

A forester, and frighten'd ! I am sorry 
I gave the fool's-cap to poor Gullcrammer, 
And let thy head go bare. 

[The same rushing soicnd is repeated. 
Bla. Why, are you mad, or hear you not the 

sound ? 
IvAT. And if I do, I take small heed of it. 
Will you allow a maiden to be bolder 
Than you, with beard on chin and sword at 
gu-dle? 
Bla. Nay, if 1 had my sword, I would not 
care ; 

3 I have a notion that this can be managed bo as to repre- 
eent imperfect, or flitting moonlight, upon the plan of the 
Eiilophusil^on. 



780 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Though I ne'er heard of master of defence, 

So active at his weapon as to brave 

The devil, or a ghost — See ! see ! see yonder ! 

l^A figure is imperfectly seen between two of 
the pillars. 
Kat. Tliure's something movea, that's certain, 
and the maoulight, 
Chased by the ilitting gale, is too imperfect 
To sIjjw its form ; but, in the name of God, 
I'll venture on it boldly. 

Bla. Wilt thou so? 

Were I alone, now, I were strongly tempted 
To trust Diy heels for safety ; but with thee, 
Be it flvnd or fairy, I'll take risk to meet it. 
IvAT It stands full in our path, and we must 
pass it, 
(Ir tarry here all night. 

Bla. In its vile company ? 

[As they advance towards the Figure^ it is 
more plainly distinguished^ which mighty I 
ihi7ik, be contrived by raising successive 
screens of crape. The Figure is wrapped 
in a long robe, like the mantle of a Her- 
mit, or Palmer. 
Pal. Ho ! ye who thread by night these wilder- 
ing scenes. 
In garb of those who long have slept in death. 
Fear ye the company of those you imitate ? 
Bla. This is the devil, Katleen, let us fly ! 

[Ihms off. 
K.iT. I wiU not fly — why should I ? My nerves 
shake 
To look on this strange vision, but my lieart 
Partakes not the alarm. — If thou dost come in 

Heaven's name, 
In Heaven's name art thou welcome ! 

Pal. I come, by Heaven permitted. Quit this 
castle : 
There is a fate on't — if for good or evil. 
Brief space shall soon determine. In tliat fate. 
If good, by lineage thou canst nothing claim ; 
If evil, much mayst suS'er. — Leave these pre- 
cincts. 
Kat. Whate'er thou art, be answer'd — Know, 
I wiU not 
Dcsei t the kinswoman who train'd my youth ; 
Know, that I will not quit my friend, my Flora ; 
Know, that I will not leave the aged man 
Wliose roof has shelter'd me. This is my re- 
solve — 
If evil come, I aid my friends to bear it ; 
If good, my pai"t shall be to see them prosper, 
A portion in their happiness from which 
N^o fiend can bar me. 

Pal. Maid, before thy courage. 

Firm built on innocence, even beings of nature 
Mnre powerful far than thine, give place and 
way; 



Take then this key, and wait the event with cour- 
iige. 
[He drops the key. — He disappears gradu- 
ally — the moonlight failing at the same 
time. 
Kat. (after a pause.) Whate'er it was, 'tis gone 
My head turns round — 
The blood that lately fortified my heart 
Now eddies in full torrent to my braiu. 
And makes wild work with reason. I will haste. 
If that my steps can bear me so far safe, 
To living company. What if I meet it 
Again in the long aisle, or vaulted passage ? 
And if I do, the strong support that bore me 
Through this appalling interview, again 
Shall strengthen and uphold me. 

[As she steps forward she stumbles over 
the key. 
What's this ? The key ? — there may be mystery 

in't. 
ni to my kinswoman, when this dizzy fit 
Will give me leave to choose my way aright. 

[Sh^ sits down exhausted. 

Re-enter BLACKTHOfiN,TOTVA a drawn sword and torch. 
Bla. Katleen ! What, Katleen ! — What a wretch 
was I 
To leave her ! — Katleen, — I am weapon'd now. 
And fear nor dog nor devil. She repUes not 1 
Beast that I was — nay, worse than beast ; the 

stag, 
As timorous as he is, fights for his hind. 
What's to be done ? — I'll search this cursed castle 
From dungeon to the battlements ; if I find her 
not, 

I'll fling me from the highest pinnacle 

K.\TLEEN [who has sovieichat gathered her spirits, 
inconsequence (f his entrance, comes behind 
and touches him ; he starts.) Brave sir I 
I'll spare you that rash leap — You're a bold woods- 
man ! 
Surely I hope that from this night henceforward 
You'll never loll a hare, since you're akin to 
them ; 

I could laugh — but that my head's so dizzy. 
Bla. Lean on me, Katleen — By my honest 

word, 

1 thought you close behind — I was surprised. 
Not a jot frighten'd. 

Kat. Thou art a fool to ask me to thy cottage. 
And then to show me at what slight expense 
Of manhood I might master thee and it. 

Bla. Ill take the risk of that— This goblin busi- 
ness 
Came rather unexpected ; the best horse 
Will start at sudden sights. Try me again. 
And if I prove not true to bonny Katleen, 
Hang me in mine own bowstring. [Exeunt 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



781 



SCENE IV. 

The Scene returns to the Apartment at the beijinning 
of Act Second. Oswald ayid Dhrwaed are dis- 
covered with Eleanor, Flora, (rml Leonard — 
DiTRWARD shuts a Prayer-book, which he seems 
to have been reading. 

Dim. 'Tis true — the difference betwixt the 
churches, 
Which zealots love to dwell on, to the wise 
Of either flock are of far less importance 
Tlian those great truths to which all Christiat men 
Subscribe with equal reverence. 

Osw. We thank thee, father, for the holy office, 
Still best performed when the pastor's tongue 
Is echo to his breast ; of jarring creeds 
It ill beseems a layman's tongue to .speak. — 
Wliere have you stow'd yon prater ? \To Flora. 

Flo. Safe in the goblin-chamber. 

Ele. The goblin-chamber ! 

Maiden, wert thou frantic ? — if his Reverence 
Have suffered harm by waspish Owlspiegle, 
Be sure thou shalt abye it. 

Flo. Here he comes, 

Can answer for Iiimself ! 

Enter Gullcrammer, in tlie fashion in which Owls- 
piegle had put him : having the fooVs-cap on his 
head, and towel about his Tieck, &c. His manner 
through the scene is wild arid extravagant, as if 
the fright had a little aff'ected his brain. 

Dtrn. A goodly spectacle ! — Is there such a goblin, 
{To Osw.) Or has sheer terror made him such a 
figure ? 

Osw. There is a sort of wavering tradition 
Of a mahcious imp who teazed all strangers ; 
My father wont to call him Owlspiegle. 

GuL. Who talks of Owlspiegle ? 
He is an honest fellow for a devil, 
So is his son, the hopeful Cockle'moy. 

(Sings.) 
" My hope, my joy. 
My Cockledemoy !" 

Leo. The fool's bewitch'd — the goblin hath fur- 
ni^h'd hira 
A c^p which well befits his reverend wisdom. 

Flo. If I could think he had lost his slender wits, 
I should be sorry for the trick they play'd him. 

Leo. O fear him not ; it were a foul reflection 
On any fiend of sense and reputation. 
To filch such petty wares as his poor brains, 

DuR. What saw'at thou, sir ? What heard'st 
thou* 

GiTL. What was't I saw and heard f 
Tli.it which old gravbeards. 



Who conjure Hebrew into Anglo-Saxon, 

To cheat starved barons with, can little guess at. 

Flo. If ho begin so roundly with my father, 
His madness is not hke to save his bones. 

GuL. Sirs, midnight came, and with it came the 
goblin. 
I had reposed me after some brief study ; 
But as the soldier, sleeping in the trench, 
Keeps sword and musket by him, so I had 
My httle Hebrew manual prompt for service. 

Flo. Sausagian sousdface ; that much of you' 
Hebrew 
Even I can bear in memory. 

GuL. We counter'd. 

The goblin and myself, even in mid-ch.amber. 
And each stepp'd back a pace, as 'twere to study 
Tlie foe he had to deal with ! — I bethought me. 
Ghosts ne'er have the first word, and so I took it, 
And fired a volley of round Greek at him. 
He stood his ground, and answer'd in the Syriac ; 
I flanVd my Greek with Hebrew, and coinpell'd 
him — . — 

\^A noise heard. 

Osw. Peace, idle prater! — Hark — what sounds 
are these ! 
Amid the growling of the storm without, 
I hear strange notes of music, and the clash 
Of coursers' trampling feet. 

Voices {without.) 
We come, dark riders of the night. 
And flit before the dawning light ; 
Hill and valley, far aloof. 
Shake to hear our chargers' hoof; 
But not a foot-stamp on the green 
At morn shall show where we have been. 

Osw. These must be revellers belated — 
Let them pass on ; the ruin'd halls of Devongoil 
Open to no such guests. — 

[Elmtrish of trumpets at a distance, then nearrr. 
They sound a summons ; 
What can they lack at this dead hour of night ? 
Look out, and see their number, and their bearing. 

Leo. {goes vp to the windoir.) 'Tis strange — one 
single shadowy form alone 
Is hovering on the drawbridge — far apart 
Fht through the tempest banners, horse, and riders, 
In darkness lost, or dimly seen by lightning. — 
Hither the figure moves — the bolts revolve — 
The gate uncloses to Iiim. 

Ele. Heaven protect us ! 

The Palmer otters — Gullcrammer runs off. 

Osw. Wlience and what art thou I for what end 

come hither ? 
Pal. I come from a far land, where the storm 

howls not, 



782 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And the sun sets not, to pronounce to thee, 
Oswald of DevorgoU, thy house's fate. 

DuK. I charge thee, in the name we late liave 

kneel'd to 

Pal. Abbot of Lanercost, I bid thee peace ! 
Uninterrupted let me do mine errand : 
Baron of DevorgoU, son of the bold, the proud, 
The WMlike and the mighty, wherefore wear'st 

thou 
The nabit of a peasant ? Tell me, wherefore 
Aro thy fair halls thus waste — thy chambers bare — 
Where are the tapestries, where the conquer'd 

banners, 
Tropliies, and gilded arms, that deck'd the walls 
Of once proud Derorgoil ? 

\_IIe advances, and places himself where the 
Armor hung, so as to be nearly in the 
centre of the Scene. 
DuR. Whoe'er thou art — if thou dost know so 
much, 

Needs must thou know 

Osw. Peace ! I will answer here ; to me he 
spoke. — 
Mysterious stranger, briefly I reply : 
A peasant's dress befits a peasant's fortune ; 
And 'twere vain mockery to array these walls 
In trophies, of whose memory naught remains, 
Save that the cruelty outvied the valor 
Of those who wore them. 

P.\L. Degenerate as thou art, 

Kuowst thou to whom thou say'st tliis ? 

\_He drops his mantle, and is discovered 

armed as nearly as may be to the suit 

which huny on the wall; all express 

terror, 

Osw. It is himself — the spirit of mine ancestor ! 

Eki. Tremble not, son, but hear me I 

\^He strikes the wall; it opens, and dis- 
covers the Treasure-Chamber. 

There lies piled 
Tlie wetJth I brought from wasted Cumberland, 
Enough to reinstate thy ruin'd fortunes. — 
Cast from thine high-born brows that peasant bon- 
net, 
Tlu-ow from thy noble grasp the peasant's staff. 
O'er aU, withdraw thine hand from that mean mate. 
Whom iii an hour of reckless desperation 
Thy fortunes cast thee on. This do, 
And be as great as ere was Devorgoil, 
When DevorgoU was richest !' 

DuR. Lord Oswald, thou art tempted by a fiend, 
Who doth assail thee on thy weakest side, — - 
Thy piide of Uneage, and thy love of grandeur. 
Stand fast — resist — contemn his fatal offers ! 
Ele. Urge him not, father ; if the sacrifice 

' MS. — " And be as rich aa ere was Devorgoil, 
When Devorgoil was proudest." 



Of such a wasted, woe-worn wretch as I am, 
Can save him from the abyss of misery. 
Upon whose verge he's tottering, let me wander 
An unacknowledged outcast from his castle, 
Even to the humble cottage I was born in. 

Osw. No, Ellen, no — it is not thus they part. 
Whose hearts and souls, disasters borne in common 
Have knit together, close as summer saplings 
Are twined in union by the eddyiug tempest. — 
Spirit of Erick, while thou bear'st his shape, 
rU answer with no ruder conjuration 
Tliy impious counsel, other than with these words, 
Depart, and tempt me not ! 

Eei. Then fate will have her course. — Fall, mas- 
sive grate, [sures, 
Yield them the tempting view of these rich trea- 
But bar them from possession ! 

\A portcullis falls before the door of the 
Treasure- Chamber. 

Mortals, hear ! 
No hand may ope that grate, except the Heir 
Of plunder'd AgUonby, whose mighty wealth, 
Ravish'd in evil hour, lies yonder piled ; 
And not his hand prevails without the key 
Of Black Lord Erick ; brief space is given 
To save proud Devorgoil. — So wills high Heaven. 
[Thunder; he disappears. 

DuK. Gaze not so wildly ; you have stood the 
trial 
Tliat his commission bore, and Heaven designs, 
If I may spell his will, to rescue Devorgoil 
Even by the Heir of Aglionbj- — Behold him 
In that young forester, unto whose hand 
Those bars shall yield the treasures of his house, 
Destined to ransom yours. — Advance, young Leon- 
ard, 
And prove the adventm'e. 

Leo. (advances a7id attempts tlie grate.) It is fast 
As is the tower, rock-seated. 

Osw. We will fetch other means, and prove its 
strength. 
Nor starve in poverty with wealth before us. 

Dub. Think what the vision spoke ; 
The key — the fated key • 

Enter Gullcrammee. 
GuL. A key ? — I say a quay is what we want, 
Tims by the learn'd orthograpliized — Q, u, a, y. 
The lake is overflow'd ! — a quay, a boat. 
Oars, punt, or sculler, is all one to me ! — 
We shall be drown'd, good people ! ! ! 

Enter Katleen and Blackthorn. 
Kat. Deliver us I 

Haste, save yourselves — the lake is rising fast.^ 

a If it could be managed to render the rising of tlie lake vis- 
ible, it would answer well for a coup-de-tliidtre. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



78S 



Bla. 'T has risen my bow's height in the last five 
minutes, 
And still IS swelling strangely. 

GuL. (who has stood astonished upon seeing theni.) 
We shall be drowu'd •without your kind assistance. 
Sweet Master Owlspiegle, your dragonfly — 
Youi' straw, your bean-stalk, gentle Cockle'raoy ! 
Leo. (looking from the shot-hole.) 'Tis true, by 
all that's fearful ! The proud lake 
Peers, like ambitious tyrant, o'er his bounds. 
And soon will whelm the castle — even the draw- 
bridge 
Is under water now. 
Kat. Let us escape ! Why stand you gazing 

there ? 
Due. Upon the opening of th.it fatal grate 
Depends the fearful spell that now entraps us. 
The key of Black Lord Erick — ere we find it, 
The castle wUl be whelm'd beneath the waves, 
And we shall perish in it ! 

Kat. (giving the key.) Here, prove this ; 
A chance most strange and fearful gave it me. 

[Oswald puts it into the lock, and attempts 
to turn it — a loud clap of thunder. 
Flo. The lake still rises faster. — Leonard, Leon- 
ard, 
Canst thou not save us ? 

[Leon.\ed tries tlie lock — it opens with a 
violent noise, and the Portcullis rises. 
A loud strain of wild music. — There 
may be a chorus here. 
[Oswald enters the apartment, and brings 
out a scroll. 
Leo. The lake is ebbing with as wondrous haste 
As late it rose — the drawbridge is left dry ! 
Osw. This may explain the cause. — 

1 MS. — '■ The storms of angry Fate are past- 
Constancy abides their blast. 
Of Devorgoil the daagbter (tia 



(GuLLCEAMMER offers to take it.) But soft you, sir, 
We'll not disturb your learning for the matter ; 
Yet, since you've borne a part in tliis strange 

drama. 
You shall not go unguerdon'd. Wise or learn'd. 
Modest or gentle, Heaven alone can make thee. 
Being so much otlierwise ; but from this abundance 
Thou shalt have that shall gild thine ignorance, 
Exalt thy base descent, make thy presumption 
Seem modest confidence, and find thee hundreds 
Ready to swear that same fool's-cap of thine 
Is reverend as a mitre. 

GuL. Thanks, mighty baron, now no more a bare 

one ! — 
I will be quaint with him, for all his quips. [Aside. 

Osw. Nor sh.all kind Katleen lack 
Her portion in our happiness. 

Kat. Thanks, my good lord, but Katleen'a fate 

is fix'd — 
There is a certain valiant forester. 
Too much afear'd of ghosts to sleep anights 
In his lone cottage, without one to guard him. — 

Leo. If I forget my comrade's faithful friendship, 
May I be lost to fortune, hope, and love 1 

Due. Peace, all ! and hear the blessing which 

this scroll 
Speaks unto faith, and constancy, and virtue 

No more this castle's troubled guest. 
Dark Erick's spirit hath found rest. 
The storms of angry Fate are past — 
For Constancy defies then' blast. 
Of Devorgoil the daughter free 
Shall wed the Heir of Aglionby ; 
Nor ever more dishonor soil 
The rescued house of Devorgoil !' 

Shall wed with Dacre's injured hei/ ; 
The si)vei moon of Devorgoil ' 



784 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'!^ It cl) t n 5 r a n e ; 



OK, 



THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



Car aliquid vidi? car noxia lamina feci 
Cor improdenti cognita cnlpa mihi est ? 

OviDii TTistium, Liber Secundus. 



PREFACE. 

Theke is not, perhaps, upon record, a tale of 
horror which gives us a more perfect picture than 
is afforded by the present, of the violence of our 
ancestors, or the complicated crimes into which 
they were hurried, by what their wise, but ill- 
enforced, laws termed the heathenish and accursed 
practice of Deadly Feud. The author has tried 
to extract some dramatic scenes out of it ; but he 
is conscious no exertions of his can increase the 
horror of that which is in itself so iniquitous. Yet, 
if we look at modern events, we mu.st not too has- 
tily venture to conclude that our own times have 
80 much the superiority over former days as we 
might at first be tempted to infer. One great ob- 
ject has indeed been obtained. The power of the 
laws extends over the country universally, and if 
criminals at present sometimes escape punishment, 
this can only be by eluding justice, — not, as of old, 
by defying it. 

But the motives which influence modern ruiBans 
to commit actions at which we pause with wonder 
xnd horror, arise, in a gi'eat measure, from the 
thirst of gain. For the hope of lucre, we have 
seen a wretch seduced to his fate, under the pre- 
text that he was to share in amusement and con- 
viviality ; and, for gold, we have seen the meanest 
of wretches deprived of life, and their miserable 
remains cheated of the grave. 

The loftier, if equally cruel, feelings of pride, 
ambition, and love of vengeance, were the idols of 
our forefathers, while the caitiffs of our day bend 
to Mammon, the meanest of the spirits who felL' 
The criminals, therefore, of former times, drew 
their hellish inspiration from a loftier som-ce than 
is known to modern villains. The fever of unsated 



' Mammon led them on : 

Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 
From Fieaven ' — Milton. 



ambition, the phrensy of ungratified revenge, the 
perfervidum ingenium Scotonmi, stigmatized by 
om- jurists and our legislators, held life but as 
passing breath ; and such enormities as now soimd 
like the acts of a madman, were then the familiar 
deeds of every offended noble. "With these ob- 
servations we proceed to our story. 

John Muir, or Mure, of Auchindrane, the con- 
triver and executor of the following cruelties, was a 
gentleman of an ancient family and good estate in 
the west of Scotland ; bold, ambitious, treacheroufl 
to the last degree, and utterly unconscientious, — a 
Richard the Tliird in private hfe. inaccessible alikt 
to pity and to remorse. His view was to raise 
the power, and extend the grandeiu-, of his own 
family. This gentleman had married the daugh- 
ter of Sir Tliomas Kennedy of Barganie, who was, 
excepting the Earl of Ca.ssilis, the most important 
person in all Carrick, the district of Ayrsliiie 
which he inliabited, and where the name of Ken- 
nedy held so great a sway as to give rise to the 
popular rhyme, — 

*' 'Twixt Wigton and the town of Air, 
Portpatrick and the Cruivea of Cree, 
No man need think for to bide there. 
Unless he court Saint Kennedie." 

Now, Mure of Auchindrane, who hau promised 
himself high advancement by means of his father- 
in-law Barganie, saw, with envy and resentment, 
that his influence remained second and inferior to 
the House of Cassilis, chief of all the Kennedys. 
The Earl was indeed a minor, but his authority 
was maintained, and liis affairs well managed, by 
his uncle, Sii' Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne, the 
brother of the deceased Earl, and tutor and guard- 
ian to the present. This worthy gentleman sup- 
ported his nephew's dignity and the credit of the 
house so effectually, that Barganie's consequence 
was much thrown into the shade, and the ambi- 
tious Aucliindrane, his son-in law. saw no better 



AUCIIINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



785 



reciedy tliau to remove so formidable a rival as 
Cullaynu by violent means. 

For tliis purpose, iu the year of God 1597, he 
came with a party of followers to the town of May- 
bole (where Sir Thomas Kennedy of CuUayne then 
resided), and lay in ambush in an orchard, through 
whidi he knew his destined victim was to pass, in 
returning liomewards from a house where he was 
engaged to sup. Sir Thomas Kennedy came alone, 
and unattended, when he was suddenly fired upon 
by Authinilrane and his accompUces, who, having 
missed their aim, drew their swords, and rushed 
upon him to slay him. But the party thus as- 
sailed at disadvantiige, had the good fortune to 
hide himself for that time in a ruinous house, 
where he lay concealed till the inhabitants of the 
place came to his assistance. 

Su- Tliomas Kennedy prosecuted Mure for this 
assault, who, finding himself in danger from the 
law, made a sort of apology and agreement with 
the Lord of Cullayne, to whose daughter he united 
his eldest son, in testimony of the closest friendship 
in future. This agreement was sincere on the part 
of Kennedy, who, after it had been entered mto, 
showeil liimself Auchindrane's friend and assistant 
on aU occasions. But it was most false and treach- 
erous on that of Mure, who continued *o nourish 
the purpose of murdering his new friend and ally 
on the first opportunity. 

Aucliindrane's fij'st attempt to effect this was by 
means of the young Gilbert Kenntdy of Barganie 
(for old Barganie, Auchindrane's father-in-law, was 
dead), whom he persuaded to brave the Earl of 
Cassilis, as one who usurped an undue influence 
over the rest of the name. Acconhngly, this hot- 
headed youth, at the instigation of Auchindrano, 
rode past the gate of the Earl of Cassilis, without 
waiting on his chief or sending him any message 
of civility. Tliis led to mutual defiance, being 
regarded by the Earl, according to the ideas of the 
time, as a personal insult. Both parties took the 
field with their followers, at the head of about 250 
men on each side. The action which ensued was 
shorter and less bloody than might have been 
expected. Young Barganie, with the rashness of 
headlong courage, and Aucliindrane, fired by dead- 
ly enmity to the House of CassilLs, made a precipi- 
tate attack on the Earl, whose men were strongly 
posted and imder cover. They were receivad by 
a heavy fire. Barganie was slain. Mure of Au- 
chindrane, severely wounded in the thigh, became 
unable to sit his horse, and, the leaders thus slain 
or disabled, their party drew off without contmu- 
ing the action. It must be particularly observed, 
that Sir Thomas Kennedy remained neuter in this 

1 " No jiapers wliich have hitherto been discovered appear 
to afford so striking a picture of the savage state of barbarism 



quarrel, considering his connection with Aucliin- 
drane as too intimate to be broken even by hia 
desire to assist his nephew. 

For this temperate and honorable conduct ho 
met a vile reward ; for Aucliindrane, in resentment 
of the loss of his relative Barganie, and the tlown- 
fall of his ambitious hopes, continued his practices 
agamst the Ul'e of Sir Thomas of Cullayne, though 
totally innocent of contributing to either. Chance 
favored his wicked purpose. 

The Knight of Cullayne, finding himself obliged 
to go to Edinburgh on a particular day, sent a 
message by a servant to Mure, iu which he told 
him, in the most unsu.specting confidence, the pur- 
pose of his journey, and named the road wliioh he 
proposed to take, inviting Mure to meet him at 
Duppill, to the west of the town of Ayr, a place 
appointed, for the purpose of giving him any com- 
missions which he might have for Edinburgh, and 
assuring his treacherous ally he would attend to 
any business which he might have in the Scottish 
metropolis as anxiously as to his own. Sir Thomas 
Kennedy's message was carried to the town of 
Maybole, where liis messenger, for some trivial 
reason, had the import committed to writing by 
a schoolmaster in that town, and dispatched it to 
its destination by means of a poor student, named 
Dalrymple, instead of carrying it to the house of 
Anchindrane in person. 

This suggested to Mm-e a diabolical plot. Hav- 
ing thus received tidings of Sir Thomas Kennedy's 
motions, he conceived the infernal purpose of hav- 
ing the confiding friend who sent the information, 
waylaid and murdered at the place appointed +0 
meet with lum, not only in friendship, but for the 
purpose of rendering him service. He dismissed 
the messenger Dalrymple, cautioning the lad to 
carry back the letter to Maybole, and to say that 
he had not found him, Aucliindrane, in his house. 
Having taken this precaution, he proceeded to 
instigate the brother of the slain Gdbert of Barga- 
nie, Thomas Kennedy of Drumurgliie by name, and 
Walter Mure of Clonciird, a kinsman of his own, 
to take this opportunity of revenging Barganie'a 
death. The fiery young men were easily induced 
to undertake the crmie. They waylaid the unsus- 
pecting Sir Tliomas of Cullayne at the place ap- 
pointed to meet the traitor Anchindrane, and the 
murderers having in company five or six servants, 
well mounted and armed, assaulted and cruelly 
murdered him with many wounds. They then 
plundered the dead corpse of liis purse, containing 
a thousand merks in gold, cut off the gold buttons 
which he wore on his coat, and despoiled the body 
of some valuable rings and jewels.' 



into which that country mnst have sank, aa the following 
Bond by the Earl of Cassilis, to his brolhei and heir-apparent. 



786 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The revenge due for his uncle's murder was 
keenly pursued by the Earl of Cassilis. As the 
murderers fled from trial, they were declared 
outlaws ; which doom, being pronounced by three 
blasts of a horn, was called " being put to the horn, 
and declared the king's rebel." Mure of Auchin- 
drane was strongly suspected of having been the 
uistigator of the crime. But he conceived there 
could be no evidence to prove his guilt if he could 
keep the boy Dalrymple out of the way, who de- 
livered the letter which made him acquauited with 
CuUayue's journey, and the place at which he 
meant to halt. On the contrary, he saw, thai if 
the lad could be produced at the trial, it would 
afford ground of fatal presumption, since it could 
then be proved that persons so nearly connected 
with him as Kennedy and Cloncaird had left his 
house, and committed the murder at the very spot 
which CuUayne had fixed for their meeting. 

To avoid this imminent danger. Mure brought 
Dalrymple to his house, and detained liim there 
for several weeks. But the youth tiring of this 
confinement, Mure sent him to reside with a friend, 
Montgomery of Skellmorly, who maintained him 
under a borrowed name, amid the desert regions 
of the then almost savage island of Arran. Being 
confident in the absence of this material witness, 
Aucliindrane, instead of flying, like his agents 
Drumm"ghie and Cloncaii"d, presented himself 
boldly at the bar, demanded a fjiir trial, and 
ofi'ered his person in combat to the death against 
any of" Lord Cassilis's friends who might impugn 
his innocence. This audacity was successful, and 
he was dismissed without trial. 

Still, however, Mm-e did not consider himself 

Hew, Master of Cassilis. The nncle of these young men. Sir 
Thomas Kennedy of Calzean, totor of Cassilis, as the reader 
will recoliect, was murdered, May 11th, 1602, by Auchin- 
drane*s accomplices. 

"The Master of Cassilis. for many years previoaa to that 
event, was in open hostility to his brother. During all that 
period, however, the Master maintained habits of the closest 
intimacy with Auchindrane and his dissolute associates, and 
actually joined him in various hostile enterprises against his 
brother the Earl. The occurrence of the Laird of Culzean'a 
murder was embraced by their mutual friends, as a fitting 
opportunity to effect a permanent reconciliation between the 
brothers; ' bot' (as 'the Historie of tlie Kennedies,' p. 59, 
quaintly informs us), 'the cuntry thocht that he wald not be 
eirnest in that cause, for theauld luitTbetuix him and Auchin- 
drayne.' The unprincipled Earl (whose sobriquet, and that 
of some of his ancestors, was King- of Carrick, to denote the 
boundless sway which he exercised over his own vassals and 
the inhabitants of that district), relying on his h-other's neces- 
sities, held out the infamous bribe contained in the following 
bond, to induce his brotlier, the Master of Casiilis, to murder 
his former friend, the old Laird of Auchindrane. Tliough 
there be honor among thieves, it would seem that there is none 
among assassins ; for the younger brother insisted upon having 
the price of blood assured to him by a written document, 
ilrawn up in the form of a regular bond ! 

" Judging by the Earl's former and subsequent history, he 



safe, so long as Dalrymple was within the realm 
of Scotland ; and the danger grew more pressing 
when he learned that the lad had become impa- 
tient of the restraint which he sustained in the 
island of Arran, and returned to some of liis friends 
in Ayrshire. Mure no sooner heard of this than 
he again obtained possession of the buy's person, 
and a second time concealed him at Auchindrane,' 
until he found an opportunity to transport him to 
the Low Countries, where he contrived to have 
iiim eidisted in Buccleuch's regiment ; trusting, 
doubtless, that some one of the numerous chances 
of war might destroy the poor yoimg man whose 
life was so dangerous to him. 

But after five or six years' uncertain safety, 
bought at the expense of so much violence and 
cunning, Auchindrane's fears were exasperated 
into phrensy, when he found tliis dangerous wit- 
ness, having escaped from all the perils of climate 
and battle, had left, or been discharged from, the 
Legion of Borderers, and had again accomplis^hed 
his return to Ayrshire. There is ground to suspect 
that Dalrymple knew the nature of the hold which 
he possessed over Auchindrane, and was desirous 
of extorting from his fears some better provision 
than he had found either in Arran or the Nether- 
lands. But if so, it was a fatal experiment to tam- 
per with the fears of such a man as Auchindrane. 
who determined to rid him self effectually of thi3 
imhappy young man. 

Mure now lodged him in a house of his own, 
called Chapeldonan, tenanted by a vassal and con- 
nection of his called James Bannatyne. This man 
he commissioned to meet him at ten o'clock at 
night on the sea-sands near Girvan, and bring with 

probably thought that, in either event, his purposes would be 
attained, by ' killing two birds with one slone.' On the other 
hand, however, it is but doing justice to the Master's acute- 
ness, and the experience acquired under his quondam precep- 
tor, Auchindrane, that we should likewise conjecture thai, on 
his part, he would hold firm possession of the bond, to be used 
as a checkmate against his brother, should he think tit after- 
wards to turn his heel upon him, or attempt to betray him into 
the hands of justice. 

" The following is a correct copy of the bond granted by the 
Earl : — ' We, Johne, Earle of Cassillis, Lord Kennedy, etc., 
bindis and oblissis ws, that howsovne our bro'ler. Hew Ken- 
nedy of Brounstoun, with his complices, taikis the Laird of 
Auchindraneis lyf, that we sail mak guid and thankfull pay- 
ment to him and thame, of the sowme of tueltf hundreth 
merkis, yeirlie, togidder with come to sex horsis, ay and quhilU 
we ressaw^ thame in houshald with our self : Beginning the 
first payment immediatlie efter thair committing of tlie said 
deid. Attour,3 howsovne we ressaw Uiame in houshald, we 
sail pay to the twa serwing gentillmen the feis, yeiriie, as our 
awin houshald serwandis. And heirto we obliss ws, vpoan 
our honour. Snbscryvit with our hand, at Maybole, the ferd 
day of September, 1602. 

* JoHNB Erle off Cassillis.' " 

Pitcairn's Criminal Trials of Scotland, vol. iii. p. 622. 

1 Aye anii nntil. ' Receive. 9 Moreover. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



18T 



liim the unfortunate Dalrymple, the object of his 
fear and dread. The victim seems to have come 
with Bannatyne without the least suspicion, though 
such miglit have been raised by tlie time and place 
ai>pointe(i for the meeting. When Bannatyne and 
Dalrymple came to the appointed spot, Auchin- 
drane met tl»em, accompanied by his eldest son, 
James. Old Aucliindi'ane, having taken Bannatyne 
aside, imparted his bloody pui'pose of ridding him- 
self of Dalrymple for ever, by murdering him on 
the spot. His own Ufe and lionor were, he said, 
endangered by the manner in which tliis inconve- 
nient witness repeatedly tlu'ust liimseif bacli into 
Ayrshire, and nothing could secm'e his safety but 
taking the lad's Ufe, in which action he requested 
Jarai's Bannatyne's assistance. Bannatyne felt 
some compunction, and remonstrated against the 
cruel •'xpedient, saying, it would be better to 
transport Dalrymple to Ireland, and take precau- 
tions against his return. While old Auchindrane 
seemed disposed to listen to this proposal, his son 
concluded that the time was come for accompUsh- 
ing the purpose of their meeting, and, without 
waiting the termination of his father's conference 
with Bannatjne, he rushed suddenly on Dalrym- 
ple, beat him to the ground, and, kneeUng down 
on him, with his father's assistance accomplished 
the crime, by strangling the unhajjpy object of 
their fear and jealousy. Bannatyne, the witness, 
and partly the accompUce, of the murder, assisted 
tlicm in their attempt to make a hole in the sand, 
with a spade wliich they had brought on purpose, 
in order to conceal the dead body. But as the 
tide was coming in, the holes which they made 
filled with water before they could get the body 
buried, and the ground seemed, to their terrified 
consciences, to refuse to be accessory to concealing 
their crime. Despauing of hiding the corpse in 
the manner they proposed, the murderers carried 
it out into the sea as deep as they dared wade, 
and there abandoned it to the billows, trusting 
that a wind, which was blowing off the shore, 
would drive these remains of their crime out to 
sea, where they would never more be heard of 
But the sea, as well as the land, seemed unwilling 
to conceal their cruelty. After floating for some 
hours, or days, the dead body was, by the wind 
and tide, again driven on shore, near the very spot 
where tlie murder had been committed. 

Tliis attracted general attention, and when the 
corpse was known to be that of the same WUliam 
Dalrymple whom Aucliindrane had so often spir- 
ited out of the country, or concealed when he was 
in it, a strong and general suspicion arose, that this 
young person had met with foul play from the 
bold bad man who had shown himself so much in- 
terested in his absence. It was always said or 
supposed, that the dead body had bled at the ap- 



proach of a grandchild of Mure of Auchindrane, a 
girl who, from curiosity, had come to look at a 
sight which others crowded to see. The bleeding 
of a murdered corpse at the touch of the murderer, 
was a tiling at that time so much believed, that it 
was admitted as a proof of guilt ; but I know no 
case, save that of Auchindrane, in whicli the phe- 
nomenon was supposed to be extended to the ap- 
proach of the innocent kindred ; nor do I tliink that 
the fact itself, though mentioned by lUicient law- 
yers, Wiis ever admitted to proof in the proceedings 
against Auchindrane. 

It is certain, however, that Auchindrane found 
himself so much the object of suspicion from tliis 
new crime, that he resolved to fly from justice, and 
suffer himself to be declared a rebel and outlaw 
rather than face a trial. But his conduct in pre- 
paring to cover his flight with another motive than 
tlie real one, is a curious picture of tlie men and 
manners of the times, He knew well that if he 
were to shun his trial for the murder of Dalrymple, 
the whole country would consider him as a man 
guilty of a mean and disgraceful crime in putting 
to death an obscure lad, against wliom he had no 
personal quarrel. He knew, besides, that lii.i pow- 
erful friends, who would have interceded for him 
had his offence been merely burning a house, or 
killing a neighbor, would not plead for or stand by 
him in so pitiful a concern as the slaughter of this 
wretched wanderer. 

Accordingly, Mure sought to provide himself 
with some ostensible cause for avoiding law, with 
which the feelings of his kindred and friends might 
sj'mpathize ; and none occurred to him so natural 
as an assault upon some fj"iend and adlierent of 
the Earl of Cassilis. Should he kiU such a one, it 
would be indeed an unlawful action, but so far 
from being infamous, would be accounted the nat- 
ural consequence of the avowed quarrel between 
the families. With this purpose. Mure, with the 
assistance of a relative, of whom he seems always 
to have had some ready to execute his worst pur- 
poses, beset Hugh Kennedy of Garriehorne, a fol- 
lower of the Earl's, against whom they had especial 
ill-will, tired their pistols at him, and used other 
means to put him to death. But Garriehorne, a 
stout-hearted man, and well armed, defended him 
self in a very different manner from the unfortL 
uate Knight of Cullayne, and beat off the assailants 
wounding young Auchindrane in the right hand, 
so that he weUnigh lost the use of it. 

But though Auchindrane's purpose did not en- 
tirely succeed, he availed himself of it to circulate 
a report, that if he could obtain a pardon for firing 
upon liis feudal enemy with pistols, weapons do 
clared unlawful by act of Parliament, he would 
wilUngly stand his trial for the death of Dalrymple, 
respecting which he protested his total innocence. 



788 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The King, however, was decidedly of opinion that 
the Mures, both father and son, were alike guilty 
of both crimes, and used intercession with the Earl 
of Abercorn, as a person of power in those western 
counties, as well as in Ireland, to arrest and trans- 
mit them prisoners to Edinburgh. In consequence 
of the Earl's exertions, old Aucliindrjuie was made 
prisoner, and lodged in the tolbooth of Edinburgh. 

Young Aucliindrane no sooner heard that his fa- 
ther was in custody, than he became as apprehen- 
sive of Bannatyne, the accomplice in Dahyraple's 
murder, telling tales, as ever his father had been 
of Dalrymple. He, therefore, hastened to liim, 
and prevailed on him to pass over for a while to 
the neighboring coast of Ireland, finding him money 
and means to accompUsh the voyage, and engaging 
in the mean time to take care of his affairs m Scot- 
land. Secure, as they thought, in this precaution, 
old Aucliindrane persisted in his mnocence, and his 
Bon found security to stand his trial. Both ap- 
peared with the same confidence at the day ap- 
pointed, and braved the public justice, hoping to 
be put to a formal trial, in which Auchindrime 
reckoned upon an acquittal for want of the evi- 
dence which he had removed. The trial was, 
however, postponed, and Mure the elder was dis- 
missed, under high security to return when called 
for. 

But King James, being convinced of the guilt of 
the accused, ordered young Auchindrane, instead 
of being sent to trial, to be examined under the 
ibrce of torture, in order to compel hun to tell 
whatever he knew of the things charged against 
him. He was accordingly severely tortured ; but 
the result only served to show that such examina- 
tions are as useless as they are cruel. A man of 
weak resolution, or of a nervous habit, would prob- 
ably have assented to any confession, however 
false, rather than have endured the extremity of 
fear and pain to wliich Mure was subjected. But 
young Auchhidrane, a strong and determined ruf- 
fian, endured the torture with the utmost firmness, 
and by the constant audacity with wliich, iu spite 
of the intolerable pain, he continued to assert his 
innocence, he spread so favorable an opinion of his 
case, that the detaining him in prison, instead of 
bringing him to open trial, was censured as severe 
and oppressive. James, however, remained firmly 
persuaded of his guilt, and by an exertion of au- 
thority quite inconsistent with om' present laws, 
commanded young Auchindrane to be stiU de- 
tained in close custody till further hght could be 
thiown on these dark proceedings. He was de- 
tained accordingly by the King's express per.son.al 
command, and against the opinion even of his privy 
counsellors. . This exertion of authority was much 
murmured against. 

Tn the mran while, old Auchindrane, being, as 



we have seen, at liberty on pledges, skulked about 
in the west, feeling how httle security he hatl 
gained by Dalrymple's murder, and that he had 
placed liimself by that crime in the power of Ban- 
natyne, whose evidence concerning tlie death of 
Dalrymple could not be less fatal th;m wliat Dal- 
rymple might have told concerning Auchimhane'? 
accession to the conspiracy against Sir Thomas 
Kennedy of CuUayne. But though the event had 
shown the error of his wicked poUcy, Auchindrane 
could think of no better mode in this case than 
that which had failed in relation to Dah-ymple. 
When any man's life became inconsistent with his 
own safety, no idea seems to have occurred to this 
inveterate ruffian, save to mmder the person by 
whom he might himself be in any way eiulan^jjered. 
He therefore attempted the life of James Banna- 
tyne by more agents than one. Nay, he had nearly 
ripened a plan, by wliich one Pennycuke was to be 
employed to slay Bannatyne, while, after the deed 
was done, it was devised that Mure of AuchnuU, a 
connection of Bannatyne, should be instigated to 
slay Peunycuke ; and thus close up this train of 
murders by one which, flowmg in the ordinary 
course of deadly feud, should have nothing iu it so 
particular as to attract much attention. 

But the justice of Heaven would bear this com- 
pUcated train of iniquity no longer. Bannatyne, 
knowing with what sort of men he had to deal, 
kept on his guard, and, by his caution, disconcerted 
more than one attempt to take his life, while an- 
other miscarried by the remorse of Pennycuke, the 
agent whom Mure employed. At length Banna- 
tyne, tiring of this state of insecurity, and in de- 
spair of escaping such repeated plots, ami also 
feeling remorse for the crime to which he had been 
accessory, resolved rather to submit himself to the 
severity of the law, than remain the object of the 
principal criminal's practices. He surrendered 
himself to the Earl of Abercoru, and was trans- 
ported to Edinburgh, where he confessed before 
the King and council all the particulars of the mur- 
der of DiUrymple, and the attempt to liide liis 
body by committing it to the sea. 

When Bannatyne was confronted with the two 
Mures before the Privy Council, they denied with 
vehemence every part of the evidence he had 
given, and affirmed that the witness had been 
bribed to destroy them by a false tale. Bauua- 
tyne's behavior seemed sincere and simple, that 
of Auchindrane more resolute and crafty. The 
wretched accomplice fell upon his knees, invoking 
God to witness that all the land in Scotland could 
not have bribed him to bring a false accusation 
against a master whom he had served, loved, and 
followed in so many dangers, and calling upon Au- 
chindrane to honor God by confessuig the crime 
he had committed. Mure the elder, on the othei 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



789 



hand, bolJh- replied, that he hoped God would not 
60 far ft»rt;aii.e him as to permit him to confess a 
crime of which he was innocent, and exliorted 
Bminiityne in his turn to confess the practices by 
which he had been induced to devise such false- 
hoods against liim. 

The two Mures, father and son, were therefore 
put upou tlu'ir solemn trial, along with Bannatyne, 
in 1011, and, after a great deal of evidence had 
been brought in support of Baunatyne's confession, 
all three were fomid guilty.^ The elder Auchin- 
draue was convicted of counselling and directing 
tlie mm-der of Sir Thomas Kennedy of CuUayne, 
and also of the actual mm'der of the lad Dalrymple. 
Bannatyne and the younger Mure were found 
guilty of the latter crime, and all three were sen- 
tenced to be beheaded. Bannatyne, however, the 
accumplioe, received the King's pardon, in conse- 
quence of Ids voluntary surrender and confession. 
The two Mures were both executed. The younger 
was affected by the remonstrances of the clergy 
who attended him, and he confessed the guilt of 
which he was accused. The fatlier, also, was at 
length brought to avow the fact, but in other re- 
spects died as unpenitent as lie had lived ; — and 
so ended this dark and extraordinary tragedy. 

The Lord Advocate of the day. Sir Thomas 
Hamilton, afterwards successively Earl of Melrose 
aud of Hadtlington, seems to have busied himself 
nmch in drawing up a statement of this foul trans- 
action, for the purpose of vindicating to the people 
of Scotlaud the severe course of justice observed 
by King James Yl. He assumes the task in a 
high tone of prerogative law, and, on the whole, 
seems at a loss whether to attribute to Providence, 
or to liis most sacred Majesty, the greatest share 
in bringing to light these mysterious villanies, but 
rather inclines to the latter opinion. There is, I 

1 " Efter pronnneeing and declairing of the quhilk determi- 
nation and delynerance of the saidis porsones of Assyse, ' The 
Justice, in respect tttairof, be the mouth of Alexander Ken- 
nydie, tu-nipsier of Court, decentit and adiudget llie saidis 
Johnne Mure of Aucliindrane elder, James Marr of Anchin- 
drane yotingrr, his eldest sone and appeirand cir, and James 
Bannatyne, called of Chapel-Donane, and ilk ane of ihame, 
to be taiii: to the mcrcat croce of the burcht of Edinburgh, 
and thnir. upon ane scalVold, their heidis to be strukin froine 
thair bodeyis: And all thair landis. heritages, takis, steidingis, 
rowmes, JtOsses^ione3, teyndi^, eoirnes, cattell, insicht plenis- 
hing, guidis, geir, tylillis, prolfeitiE, commodileis, and riehtis 
quhatfUnieuir, directUe or indireutlie pertening to thame, or 
ony of thame, at the committing of the baidis tressonabill Mur- 
tiiouris, or sen-yne ; or to the quilkis tliay, or ony of thame, 
had richt, claim, or actioun, to be forfalt, escheit, and iubrocht 
to our souerane lordis vse ; as culpable and convict of tlie saidis 
tressonabill crymes.' 

" Q,Dliilk was pronuncet for Dome." 

Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. iii. p. 156. 

s See an article in the Quarterly Review, February, 1831, 
on Mr. Pitcairn's valuable collection, where Pir Walter .Scott 
pai'ticularly dwells on the original documents conoected with 



believe, no printed copy of the intended tract, 
wluch seems never to have been pubU.^hed ; hut 
the curious will be enabled to judge of it, as it ap- 
pears in the next fasciculus of Mr. Robert Pitciiirn'a 
very interesting pubhcations from tlie Scottish 
Criminal Record.^ 

The family of Auchindrane did not become ex- 
tinct on the death of tiie two homicides. The 
last descendant existed in the eighteenth century, 
a poor and distressed man. The following anec- 
dote shows that he had a strong feehng of his sit- 
uation. 

ITiere was in front of the old castle a luigo a.sh- 
troe, called the Dule-tree iinouming-tree) of Auch- 
indrane, probably because it was the place where 
the Baron executed the criminals who fell under 
his jurisdiction. It is described as having been 
the finest tree of the neighborhood. This last rep- 
resentative of tlie family of Auchindrane had the 
misfortune to be arrested for payment of a small 
debt ; and, unable to discharge it, was prepared to 
accompany the messenger (bailiff) to the jail of 
Ayr. The servant of the law had compassion for 
his prisoner, and offered to accept of tliis remark- 
able tree as of value adequate to the discharge of 
the debt. " What 1" said the debtor, " sell the 
Dule-tree of Auchindrane ! I will sooner die in 
the worst dungeon of your prison." In this luck- 
less character the line of Aucliindrane ended. The 
family, blackened with the crimes of its predeces- 
sors, became extinct, and the estate passed into 
other hands. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

John Mure of Auchindrane, an Ayrshire Baron, 
He has been a folloivcr of the Regent^ Earl of 

the story of Auchindrane ; and where Mr. Pitcairn's important 
service:! to the liistory of his profession, and of Scotland, are 
justly characterized. (1833.) 

" Sir Walter's reviewal of the early parts of Mr. Pitcairn's 
Ancient Criminal Trials had, of courae, much gratified the 
editor, who sent him, on his amval in Edinhurgli, the proof- 
sheets of the Number then in hand, and directed his attentioc 
parlicnlarlv to its details on the e.\tr:iordinary case of Mure of 
Auchindrane, a. d. 1611. Scott wa« fo much interested with 
these documents, that he resolved to found a dramatic sketcn 
on their terrible story ; and the result was a composition far 
superior to any of his previous attempts of that naiurr. In- 
deed, there are several passages in his * Ayrshire Tragedy' — 
espeoially that where the murdered corpse floats oj)Hght in Iho 
wake of the assassin's bark — (an incident suggested by a la- 
mentable chapter in Lord Nelson's history) — which may bear 
comparison with any thing but Shakspeare. Yel I doubt 
whether the prose narrative of the preface be not, on the 
whole, more dramatic than the versified scenes. It contains, 
by the way, some very striking allu>dons to the recent atro- 
cities of Gill's Hill and the West Port."— Lockuart vo.. 
ix. p. 334 



(90 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Morton, during the Civil Wars, and hides an 
oppressive, ferocious, and unscrupulous disposi- 
tion, under some pretences to strictness of life and 
doctrine, which, however, never influence his con- 
duct. He is in danger from the law, owing to 
his havivg been formerly active in the assassina- 
tion of the Earl of Cassilis. 

Philip Mure, his Son, a wild, debauched Profiigaie, 
professing and practising a conte/npt for his 
J^hfher's hypocrisy, while he is as fierce and licen- 
tious as Auchindrane himself 

GiFFORD, their Jielation, a Courtier. 

QuENTiN Blane, a Youth, educated for a Clergy- 
man, but sent by Auchindrane to serve in a 
Band of Auxiliaries in the Wars of the Nether- 
lands, and lately employed as Clerk or Comptrol- 
ler to the Regiment — Disbanded, however, and on 
his return to his native Country. He is of a 
mild, gentle, and rather feeble character, liable to 
be infu^nced by any person of stronger mind who 
will take the trouble to direct him. He is sofne- 
what of a nervoiis temperament, varying from 
sadness to gayety, according to the impulse of the 
moment ; an amiable hypochondriac. 

HiLDEBRAND, a stout old Englishman, who, by feats 
of courage, has raised himself to the rank of Ser- 
gea7it-Major [th^n of greater consequence than at 
present). He, too, has been disbanded, but can- 
not bring himself to believe that Jte has lost his 
cojnmand over his Regiment. 

Privates dismissed from the same 
Regiment in which Quentin and 
}l!LDUBR\tiD had served. These are 
mutinous, and are much disposed 
to remember former quarrels with 
their late Officers. 

NiEL MacLellan, Keeper of Auchindrane Forest 
and Game. 

Earl of Duxbar, commanding an Army as Lieu- 
tenant of James I. for execution of Justice on 
Offenders. 

Chiards, Attendants, i&c. &c 

Marion, M'ife of Niel JIacLellan. 

Isabel, their JJanghter, a Girl of six years old. 

Other Children and Peasant Women. 



Abraham, 
Williams, 
Jenkin, 
And Others, 



^ncl)tniirane ; 



THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 

A rocky Bay on the Coast of Carrick, in Ayrshire, 
vol iar from the P'md of Turnberry. The Sea 



comes in upon a bold rocky Shore. The ranaini 
of a sfinall half -ruined Tower are seen on the right 
hand, overhanging the Sea. There is a ves.-iel at 
a distance in theoffng. A Boat at the bottom of 
the Stage lands eight or ten Persons, dressed like 
disbanded, and in one or two cases like disabled 
Soldiers. They come straggling forward with 
their knapsacks and bundles. Hildebkanp, the 
Sergeant, belonging to the Party, a stout elderly 
man, stands by the boat, as if supeririteitding the 
disembarcation. Quentin remains apart. 

Abraham. Farewell, the flats of Holland, and 
right welcome 
The cliifa of Scotland ! Fare thee well, black 

beer 
And Schiedam gm ! and welcome twopenny, 
Oatcakes, and usquebaugh ! 

Williams (who wants an arm.) Farewell, the 
gallant field, and " Forward, pikemen !" 
For the bridge-end, the suburb, and tlie lane ; 
And, " Bless your honor, noble gentleman, 
Remember a poor soldier !" 

Abr. My tongue sliall never need to smooth 
itself 
To such poor sounds, while it can boldly say, 
" Stand and deliver !" 

WiL. Hush, the sergeant hears you ! 
Abr. And let him hear ; he makes a bustle yon- 
der. 
And dreams of his authority, forgetting 
We are disbanded men, o'er whom his halberd 
Has not such mfluence as the beadle's baton. 
We are no soldiers now, but every one 
The lord of his own person, 

WiL. A -wretched lordship — and our freedom 
such 
As that of the old cart-horse, when the owner 
Turns him upon the common. I for one 
Will stiU continue to respect the sergeant. 
And the comptroller, too, — wliile the ca.sh lasts. 
Abr. I scorn them both. I am too stout a Scots- 
man 
To bear a Southron's rule an instant longer 
Than discipline obliges ; and for Quentin, 
Quentin tlie qnillman, Quentin the comptroller, 
We have no regiment now ; or, if we had, 
Quentin's no longer clerk to it. 

WiL. For shame ! for shame ! What, shall old 
comrades jar thus, 
And on the verge of parting, and lor ever ? — 
Nay, keep thy temper, Abraham, though a bad 

one. — ■ 
Good Master Quentin, let thy song last niglit 
Give us once more our welcome to old Scotland 
Aer. Ay, they sing light whose ta.sk b telliny 
money, 
Wlieu dollars clink for chorii?, 



AUCHINDRANE; OK, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



791 



Que. Fve done with counting silver,' honest 
Abraham, 
As thou, I fear, with pouching thy small shaxe on't. 
But lend your voices, lads, and I will sing 
As bhtliely yet as if a town were won; 
As if uiHin a field of battle giiin'd, 
Our banners waved victorious. 

\_H€ »i7iff!i, and the rest bear chorus. 

SONG. 

Hither we come, 

Once slaves to the drum, 
But no longer we list to its rattle • 

Adieu to the wars, 

With their slashes and scars, 
The march, and the storm, and tlie battle. 

Tliere are some of us raaim'd, 

And some tliat are lamed, 
And some of old aches are complainmg ; 

But we'll take up the tools, 

Which we flung by like fools. 
Gainst Don Spaniard to go a-campaiguing. 

Dick Hathorn doth vow 

To return to the plough, 
Jack Steele to his anvil and hammer ; 

Tile weaver shall find room 

At the wight-wappiug loom, 
And your clerk shall teach writing and grammar. 

Abr. And this is all that thou canst do, gay 
Quentin ? 
To svragger o'er a herd of parish brats. 
Cut chee'ie or dibble onions with thy poniard. 
And trj'u the sheath into a ferula * 

Q-JE. I am the prodigal in holy writ ; 
I cam^ot work, — to beg I am ashamed. 
Ticiides, goorl mates, I care not who may know it, 
I'm e'en as fairly tired of this same fighting, 
As the poor cur that's worried in the shambles 
By all the niastift' dogs of all the butchers; 
Wherefore, farewell sword, ponianl, petronel. 
And welcf'Uie poverty and peaceful labor. 

Abk. Clerk Quentin, if of fighting thou art tired, 
Bv my good word, thou'rt quickly satisfied, 
For thou'st seen but Uttle on't. 

WiL. Thou dost belie him — I have seen him 
fight 
Bravely enough for one in his condition. 

Abr. What, he ? that counter-casting, smock- 
faced boy ? 
Wliat was he but the colonel's scribbling drudge, 
With men of straw to stuff the regiment roll ; 
With cipherings unjust to cheat his comrades, 
And cloak false musters for our noble captain ? 

I M.S — " I've done with counting dollare," &c. 



ffe bid farewell to sword !.nd petronel ! 

He should have said, farewell my pen and sian 

dish. 
These, with the rosin used to hide erasures, 
Were the best friends he left in camp behind him. 
Que. The sword you scoff at is not far, but scorns 
The threats of an unmanner'd mutineer. 

Ser. (interposes.) We'll have no brawling — • 

Sh.all it e'er be said, 
That being comrades six long years together, 
Wliile gulping down the frowsy fogs of Holland, 
We tilted at each other's tlu'oats so soon 
As the first draught of native air refrcsh'd them ? 
No ! by Saint Dunstan, I forbid the combat. 
You aU, methinks, do know tliis trusty halVierd; 
For I opine, that every back amongst you 
Hath felt the weight of the tough ashen staff, 
Endlong or overthwart. Who is it v^ishes 
A remembrancer now ? 

[Haises his JtalberO, 
Abr. Comrades, have you ears 

To hear the old man bully ? Eyes to see 
His staff rear'd o'er your heads, as o'er the hounds 
Tlie huntsman cracks his whip ? 

WiL. Well said — stout Abraham has the right 

on't. — 
I tell thee, sergeant, we do reverence thee. 
And pardon the rash humors thou hast caught, 
Like wiser men, from thy authority. 
'Tis ended, howsoe'er, and we'll not suffer 
A word of sergeantry, or halberd-staff. 
Nor the most petty threat of discipline. 
If thou wilt lay aside thy pride of office. 
And drop thy wont of .swaggering and commanding. 
Thou art our comrade still for good or evil. 
Else take thy course apart, or with the clerk 

there — 
A sergeant thou, and he being all thy regiment. 
Ser. Is't come to this, false knaves ? And think 

you not, 
Tliat if you bear a name o'er other soldiers. 
It was because you foUow'd to the charge 
One that had zeal and skiU enough to lead you 
Where fame was won by danger ? 

WiL. We grant thy skUl in leading, noble sei 

geant ; 
Witness some empty boots and sleeves amongst u^ 
Which else had still been tenanted with Umbs 
In the full quantity ; and for the arguments 
With wliich you used to back our resolution. 
Cm- shoulders do record them. At a word. 
Will you conform, or must we part our company ? 
Ser. Conform to you ? Base dogs ! I would not 

lead you 
A bolt-flight farther to be made a general 
Mean mutineers ! when you swill'd olf the dregs 
Of my poor sea-stores, it was, " Noble Sergeants— 
Heaven bless old Hildebrand — we'll follow liim. 



792 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



At least, until we safely see him lodged 
Within the raeiry bounds of his own England !" 
WiL. Ay, truly, sir ; but, mark, tlie ale was 
mighty, 
And the Geneva potent. Such stout liquor 
Makes violent protestations. Skink it round, 
If you have any left, to the same tune, 
And we may find a chorus for it still. 

Abe. Wc lose our time. — Tell us at once, old 

man. 

If thou wilt march with us, or stay with Quentin ? 

See. Out, mutineers! Dishonor dog your heels ! 

Abe. Wilful will have his way. Adieu, stout 

Hildebrand ! 

\_Tke Soldiers go off laughing, and faking 

leave, with mocJcery, of the Sergeant 

and Quentin, who remain on the Stage. 

See. (after a patise.) Fly you not with the rest ? 

— fail v(^u to follow 

Yon goodly fellowsliip and fair example ? 

Come, take your wild-goose flight. I know you 

Scots, 
Like your own sea-fowl, seek your course to- 
gether. 
Que. Faith, a poor heron I, who wing ray flight 
In loneli]ie.s.s, or with a single partner ; 
And right it is that I should seek for solitude, 
Bringing but evil luck on them I herd with. 
See. Thou'rt thankless. Had we landed on the 
coast, 
Where our course bore us, thou wert far from 

home ; 
But the fierce wind that drove us round the isl- 
and, 
Barring each port and inlet that we aim'd at, 
Hath wafted thee to harbor ; for I judge 
This is thy native land we disembark on. 

Que. True, worthy friend. Each rock, each 
stream I look on, 
Each boslfy wood, and every frowning tower. 
Awakens some young dream of infancy. 
Yet such is my hard hap, I might more safely 
Have look'd on Indian cliffs, or Afric's desert. 
Than on my native shores. Fm like a babe, 
Doora'd to draw poison from my nurse's bosom. 
See. Thou dream'st, young man. Unreal terrors 
haunt. 
As I have noted, giddy brains like thine — 
Flighty, poetic, and imaginative — ■ 
To whom a minstrel whim gives idle rapture, 
And, when it fades, fantastic misery. 

Que. But mine is not fantastic. I can tell thee. 
Since I have known thee still my faithful friend. 
In part at least the dangerous plight I stand in. 

> MS. — " Quentin. My short tale 

Grows mystic now. Among the deadly fends 
Which curse our country, something once it 
chanced 



See. And I wiU hear thee willingly, the rather 
That I would let these vagabonds march on, 
Nor join their troop again. Besides, good sooth, 
I'm wearied with the toil of yesterday. 
And revel of last night. — And I may aid thee 
Yes, I may aid thee, comrade, and perchance 
Thou may'st advantage me. 

Que. May it prove well for both !- -But note, my 
friend, 
I can but intimate my mystic story. 
Some of it Ues so secret, — even the winds 
That whistle round us must not know the whole — 
An oath ! — an oath ! 

See. That must be kept, of course 

I ask but that which thou may'st freely tell. 

Que. I was an orphan boy, and first saw light 
Not far from wliere we stand — my lineage low. 
But honest in its poverty. A lord. 
The master of the soil for many a mile, 
Dreaded and powerful, took a kindly charge 
For my advance in letters, and the qualities 
Of the poor orphan lad drew some applause. ' 
Tlie knight was proud of me, and, in liis halls, 
I had such kind of welcome as the great 
Give to the humble, whom they love to point to 
As objects not unworthy their protection. 
Whose progress is some honor to their patron — 
A cure was spoken of, which I might serve. 
My manners, doctrine, and accjuirements fitting. 

See. Hitherto thy luck 
Was of the best, good friend. Few lords had cared 
If thou couldst read thy grammar or thy psalter. 
Thou hadst been valued couldst thou scour a har- 
ness. 
And dress a steed distinctly. 

Que. My old master 

Held different doctrine, at least it seem'd so — 
But he was mix'd in many a deadly feud — 
And here my tale grows mystic. I became, 
Unwitting and unwilling, the depositary 
Of a dread secret, and the knowledge on't 
Has wreck'd my peace for ever. It became 
My patron's will, that I, as one who Imew 
More than I should, must leave the realm of Scot- 
land, 
And live or die witliin a distant land.' 

See. Ah ! thou hast done a fault in some wild 
raid, 
As you wild Scotsmen call them. 

Que. Comrade, nay ; 

Mine was a peaceful part, and happ'd by chance. 
I must not tell you more. Enough, my presence 
Brought danger to my benefiictcr's house. 
Tower after tower conceal'd me, willing still 

That I unwilling and unwitting, witness'd : 

Ami it I)ecanie my henefactor's will, 

Tliat I should breathe the air of other climes. ■ 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



79a 



Ti hiile my ill-omen'd face with owls and ravens,' 

And let my patron's safety be the purchase 

Of my severe and desolate captivity. 

So thouijht I, when dark Arran, with its walls 

Of native rock, enclosed me. There I lurk'd, 

A peaceful sti'anger amid armed clans, 

Without a friend to love or to defend me, 

Where all beside were link'd by close aUiances. 

At length I made my option to take service 

In that same legion of au-'iiliaries 

In wliich we lately served the Belgian. 

Our leailer, stout Montgomery, hath been kind 

Through full six years of warfare, and assigad me 

More peaceful tasks than the rough front of war, 

For which my education little suited me. 

Ser. Ay, therein was Montgomery kind indeed ; 
Naj', kinder than you tliink, my simple Quentin. 
The letters which you brought to the Montgomery, 
Pointed to thrust thee on some desperate service. 
Which should most likely end thee. 

Qi-E. Bore I such letters ? — Surely, comrade, no. 
Full deeply was the writer bound to aid me. 
Perchance he only meant to prove my mettle ; 
And it was but a trick of my bad fortune 
That gave his letters ill interpretation. 

Sek. Ay, but thy better angled wrought for good. 
Whatever ill thy evil fate designed thee. 
Montgomery pitied thee, and changed thy service 
In the rough field for labor in the tent, 
More fit for thy green years and peaceful habits. 

Que. Even there his well-meant kindness injured 
me. 
My conu'ades hated, undervalued me. 
And whatsoe'er of service I could do them. 
They guerdon'd with ingratitude and envy — 
Such my strange doom, that if I serve a man 
At deepest risk, he is my foe for ever ! 

Ser. Hast thou worse fate than others if it were 
so ? 
Wor.^e even than me, thy friend, thine officer, 
Whom yon ungrateful slaves have pitch'd ashore, 
As wild waves heap the sea-weed on the beach. 
And left hini here, as if he had the pest 
Or lepro.sy, and death were in his company ? 

Que. They think at least you have the worst of 
plagues, 
The worst of leprosies, — they think you poor. 

Ser. Tliey think hke lying villains then, I'm rich. 
And they too might have felt it. I've a thought — 
But stay — what plans your wisdom for yourself? 

Qn:. My thoughts are wellnigh desperate. But 
I purpose 
Return to my stem patron — there to tell him 

> The MS. here adds : 

1 clefU 
" And then wild Arran, with its darksome J ^-n- 

Of naked rock received me ; till at last 
100 



That wars, and winds, and waves, have cross'd hi« 

pleasure. 
And cast me on the shore from whence he banish'd 

me. 
Then let him do his will, and destine for me 
A dungeon or a grave. 

Ser. Now, by the rood, thou art a simple fool I 
I can do better for thee. Mark me, Quentin. 
I took n^y hcense from the noble regiment, 
Partly that I was worn with age and warfare. 
Partly tliat an estate of yeomanry. 
Of no great purchase, but enough to Uve on. 
Has call'd rae owner since a kinsman's death. 
It lies in merry Yorkshire, where the wealth 
Of fold and furrow, proper to Old England, 
Stretches by streams which walk no sluggish pace, 
But dance as light as yours. Now, good friend 

Quentin, 
Tliis copyhold can keep two quiet inmates. 
And I am childless. Wilt thou be my son ? 

Que. Nay, you can only jest, my worthy friend ! 
What claim have I to be a burden to you ? 

Seb. The claim of him that wants, and is in dan- 
ger. 
On him that has, and can afford piotectiou : 
Tliou would'st not fear a foeman in my cottage. 
Where a stout mastiff slumber'd on the hearth, 
And tliis good halberd hung above the chimney ? 
But come — I have it — thou shalt earn thy bread 
Duly, and honorably, and usefully. 
Our village schoolmaster hath left the parish, 
Forsook the ancient sclioolhouse with its yew-trees, 
Tliat lurk'd beside a church two centuries older, — 
So long devotion took the lead of knowledge ; 
And since his little flock are shepherdless, 
'Tis thou shalt be promoted in his room ; 
And rather than thou wantest scholars, man, 
M3'self will enter pupil. Better late. 
Our proverb says, than never to do well. 
And look you, on the holydays I'd tell 
To all the wondering boors and gaping children. 
Strange tales of what the regiment did in Flauderi-, 
And thou shoiddst say Amen, and be my warrant, 
That I speak truth to them. 

Que. Would I might take thy offer! But, alas' 
Thou art the hermit who compell'd a pilgrim, 
In name of Heaven and heavenly charity. 
To share his roof and meal, but found too late 
Tliat he had drawn a curse on him and his, 
By sheltering a wretch foredoom'd of heaven ! 
Ser. Thou talk'st in riddles to me. 
Que. If I do, 

'Tis that I am a riddle to myselt 



1 yielded to take service in the legion 
Which lately has discharged us. 8tant Montgomery 
Our colonel, hath been kind through five years' war- 
fare." 



T94 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tliou know'st I am Ijy nature born a friend 
To glee and merriment ; can make wild verses; 
The jest or laugh has never stopp'd with me, 
When once 'twas set a-roUing. 

Ser. I have Icnown thee 

A blithe companion still, and wonder now 
'rhou shouldst become thus crest-fallen. 

Que. Does the \mk suig her descant when the 
falcon 
Scales the blue vault with bolder wing than hers, 
And meditates a stoop S The mirth thou'st noted 
Was all deception, fraud — Hated enough 
For other causes, I (hd veil my feelings 
Beneath the mask of mirth, — laugh"d, sung, and 

caroU'd, 
To gain some interest in my comrades' bosoms, 
Although mine own was bm'sting. 

Ser. Thou'rt a hypocrite 

Of a new order. 

Que. But harmle.ss as the innoxious snake, 
Wliich bears the adders fcirm, lurks in his haunts. 
Yet neither hath his fang-teeth nor his poison. 
Look you, kind Hildebrand, I would seem merry, 
Lest other men should, tiring of my sadness. 
Expel nie from them, as the hunted wether 
Is driven fi-om the flock. 

Ser. Faith, thou hast borne it bravely out. 
Had I been ask'd to name the merriest fellow 
Of all our muster-roll — that man wert thou. 

Que. See'st thou, my friend, yon brook dance 
down the valley. 
And sing blithe carols over broken rock 
And tiny waterfall, kissing each shrub 
And each gay flower it nurses in its passage, — 
Where, think'st thou, is its source, the bonny 

brook ? — 
It flows from forth a cavern, black and gloomy, 
Sullen and sunless, like this heart of mine, 
AMiich others see in a false glare of gayety. 
Which I have laid before you in its sadness. 

Ser. If such wild fancies dog thee, wherefore 
leave 
The trade where thou wert safe 'midst others' 

dangers. 
And venture to thy native land, where fate. 
Lies on the watch for thee ? Had old Montgomery 
Been with the regiment, thou hadst had no conge. 

Que. Xo, 'tis most likely — But I had a hope, 
A poor vain hope, that I might live obscurely 
In some far corner of my native Scotland, 
Wliich, of all others, splinter'd into districts. 
Differing in manners, families, even language, 
Seem'd a safe refuge for the humble wretch, 
Wliose liighest hope was to remain unheard of. 
But fiite has batHed me — the winds and waves. 
With force resistless, have impell'd me liither — 
Have driven me to the clime most dang'rous to me ; 
And I obey the call, like the hurt deer. 



Which seeks instinctively his native lair. 
Though his heart tells liim it is but to die there. 

Ser. 'Tis false, by Heaven, young wui ! This 
same despau', 
Tliough showmg resignation in its banner, 
Is but a kind of covert cowardice. 
Wise men have said, that though our stars incline, 
They cannot' force us — Wisdom is the pilot. 
And if he cannot cross, he may evade them. 
You lend an ear to idle auguries, 
The fruits of our last revels — still most sad 
Under the gloom that follows boisterous mirth. 
As earth looks blackest after brilliant sunshine. 

Que. No, by my honest word. I join'd the revel, 
And aided it with laugh, and song, and shout, 
But my heart revell'd not ; and, when the mirth 
Was at the louilest, on yon galliot's prow 
I stood unmark'd, and gazed upon the land. 
My native land — each cape and cliff I knew. 
" Behold me now," I said, "your destined victim !" 
So greets the sentenced criminal the headsman, 
Who slow approaches with his lifted axe. 
" Hither I come," I said, "ye kindred hills, 
Whose darksome outline in a distant land 
Haunted my slumbers ; here I stand, thou ocean. 
Whose hoarse voice, murmuring in my dreams, re- 
quired me ; 
See me now here, ye winds, whose plaintive waU, 
On yonder distant shores, appear'd to call me — 
Summon'd, behold me." And the winds and waves. 
And the deep echoes of the distant mountain, 
Made answer, — " Come, and die !" 

Ser. Fantastic all ! Poor boy, thou art distracted 
With the vain terrors of some feudal tyrant. 
Whose frown hath been from infancy thy bugbear. 
Why seek liis presence ? 

Que. Wherefore does the moth 

Fly to the scorching taper ! Why the bird. 
Dazzled by lights at midnight, seek the net ? 
Why does the prey, which feels the fascination 
Of the snake's gl.aring eye, drop in his jaws ? 

See. Sucli wild examples but refute themselves 
Let bii-d, let moth, let the coil'd adder's prey, 
Resist the fascination and be safe. 
Thou goest not near this Baron — if thou goest, 
I will go with thee. Kno^fn in many a field. 
Which he in a whole life of petty feud 
Has never dream'd of, I will teach the knight 
To rule liira in this matter — be thy warrant, 
That far from him, and from his petty lordship. 
You shall henceforth tread English land, and never 
Thy presence shall aharm Iiis conscie nee more. 

Que. 'Twere desperate risk for both. I will far 
rather 
Hastily guide thee through this dangerous provmce 
And seek thy school, thy yew-trees, and vhy churcu 

yard ;— 
The last, perchance, will be the first I find. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



795 



Ser. I would rather face him, 
Like a bold Englishman that kuows his right, 
And will stand bj' his friend. And yet 'tis folly — 
Fancies like these are not to be resisted ; 
'Tis better to escape them. Many a presage. 
Too ra.shly braved, becomes its own accomplish 

ment. 
Then let us go — ^but whither 3 My old head 
As little knows where it shall lie to-night. 
As yonder mutineers that left their officer. 
As reckless of his qnarters as these billows. 
That leave the withered sea-weed on the beach. 
And care not where they pile it. 

Que. Think not for that, good friend. We are 
in Scotland, 
And if it is not varied from its wont, 
Each cot, that seuds a curl of smoke to heaven, 
Will yield a stranger quarters for the night. 
Simply because he needs them. 

Ser. But are there none within an e.asy walk 
Give lodgings here for hu-e ? for I have left 
Some of the Don's J3ia.«tres (though I kept 
The secret from yon gulls), and I had rather 
Pay the fair reckoning I can well afford. 
And my host takes with pleasure, th,an I'd cum- 
ber 
Some poor man's roof with me and all my wants. 
And tax liis charity beyond discretion. 

Qi'E. Some six miles hence there is a town and 
hostelry — 
But you are wayworn, and it is most likely 
Our comrades must have fill'd it. 

■ Ser. Out upon them ! — 

Were there a friendly ma.sti6f who would lend me 
Half of his supper, half of his poor kennel, 
I would help Honesty to pick his bones, 
And share his straw, far r.ather than I'd sup 
On jolly fare with these base varlets ! 

QxXE. We'll m.aiiage better ; for our Scottish 
dogs. 
Though stout and trusty, are but iU-mstructed' 
In hospitable rights. — Here is a maiden, 
.V little maid, will tell us of the country. 
And sorely is it changed since I have left it. 
If we should fail to find a harborage. 

Enter Isabel MacLelias, a girl of about six years 
old, bearing a milk-pail on her head ; she stops 
on seeing the Sergeant and Quentin. 
Que. There's something in her look that doth 
remind me — 

But 'tis not wonder I find recollections 

In all that here I look on. — Pretty maid 

Ser. You're slow, and hesitate. I will be 
spokesman. — 

Good even, my pretty maiden — canst thou tell us, 

? MS " Gallant and grim, may be bat ill-instrDcted.** 



Is there a Christian house would render stranger? 
For love or guerdon, a night's meal and lodging ! 

IsA. Full surely, sir ; we dwell in yon old house 
Upon the cliff — they call it Chapeldonan. 

[Points to tlte building 
Our house is large enough, and if our supper 
Chance to be scimt, you shall have half of mine, 
For, as I tlunk, sir, you have been a soldier. 
Up yonder lies our house ; I'll trip before, 
And tell my mother she has guests a-coming ; 
The path is something steep, but you shall see 
I'll be there first. I must chain up the dogs, too ; 
Nimrod and Bloodylass are cross to strangers, 
But gentle when you know them. 

[Ejeit, and is seen partially ascending to 
the Castle. 

Ser. You have spoke 

Your country folk aright, both for the dogs 
And for the people. — We had luck to light 
On one too young for cunning and for selfish- 
ness. — 
He's in a revery — a deep one sure. 
Since the gibe on liis country wakes him not. — 
Bestir thee, Quentm ! 

Que. 'Twas a wondrous Ukenesa. 

See. Likeness ! of whom S I'll wan-ant thee ol 
one 
Whom thou hast loved aud lost. Such fantasies 
Live long in brains Uke thine, wliich fashion 

visions 
Of woe and death when they are cross'd in love, 
As most men are or have been. 

Que, Thy guess hath touch'd me, though it is but 
slightly, 
'Mougst other woes : I k-new, in former days, 
A m;iid that view'd me with some glance of favor ; 
But my fate carried me to other sliores, 
And she has since been wedded. I did think on't 
But as a bubble burst, a rainbow vanish'd ; 
It adds no deeper shade to the dark gloom 
Which chills the springs of hope and life within me 
Our guide hath got a trick of voice and feature 
Like to the maid I spoke of — that is all. 

Ser. She bounds before us like a gamesome doe, 
Or rather as the rock-bred eaglet soars 
Up to her nest, as if she rose by will 
Without an effort. Now a Netherlander, 
One of our Frogland friends, viewing the scene. 
Would take his oath that tower, and rock, and 

maiden, 
Were forms too light and lofty to be real. 
And only some delusion of the fancy. 
Such as men th'eam at sunset. I myself 
Have kept the level ground so many years, 
I have wellnigh forgot the art to climb, 
Unless assisted by thy younger arm. 

[They go off as if to ascend to the Toioer 
the Sergeant leaning upon Quentim 



196 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



SCENE II. 

Scene changes to the Front of the Old Tower. Isa- 
bel eotiiei forward with her Mother^ — Maeion 
sjjf'nkhif/ as they advance. 

Mar. I blame thee not, mj child, for bidding 
■wanderers 
Come sliare our food and slielter, if thy father 
Were here to welcome them ; but, Isabel, 
He waits upon his lord at Aucliindrane, 
And comes not home to-night. 

IsA. AV'liat then, my mother ? 

The travellers do not ask to see my fatlier ; 
Food, shelter, rest, is all the poor men want, 
And we eangire them tliose without my father. 

Mar. Thou canst not understand, nor I explain, 
Wliy a lone female asks not visitants 
Wliat time her husband's absent. — (^Apart.) My 

poor child, 
And if thcm'rt wedded to a jealous husband, 
Thou'lt know too soon the cause. 

IsA. {^partly overhearing what her mother says.) 
Ay, but I know already — Jealousy 
Is, when my father chides, and j-ou sit weeping. 

M.Ca.. Out, little spy ! tliy father never cliides ; 
Or, if he does, 'tis when liis wife deserves it. — 
But to our strangers ; they are old men, Isabel, 
That seek this shelter ? are they not ? 

IsA. One is old — 

Old as tliis tower of ours, and worn like that, 
Bearing deep marks of battles long since fought. 
Mae. Some remuant of the wars ; he's welcome, 
surely, ^ 

Bringing no quality along with liini 
Which can alarm suspicion. — Well, the other ? 
IsA. A young man, gentle-voiced and gentle- 
eyed, [frown'd on ; 
Who looks and speaks like one the world has 
But smiles when you smile, seeming that he feels 
Joy m your joy, though he himself is sad. 
Brown hair, and downcast looks. 

ilAR. (alarmed.) 'Tis but an idle thought— it can- 
not be ! [Listens. 
I hear his accents — It is all too true — 
My terrors were prophetic ! 

rU compose myself, 
And then accost him firmly. Thus it must be. 

[She retires hastilii into the Tower. 
[77k voices of iJte Sergeant and Qdentin 
are heard ascending behind the Scenes. 
Que. One effort more — we stand upon the level. 
I've seen thee work thee up glacis and cavalier 
Steeper than this ascent, wlien cannon, culverine. 
Musket, and hackbut, shower'd their shot upon thee. 
And form'd, with ceaseless blaze, a fiery garland 
Ituund the defences of the pttst you stormM. 

[They come on the Stage, mid at the same 
time Marion re-enters from the Tower. 



See. Truly thou speak'st. I am the tardier. 
That I, in climbing hither, miss the fire, [''ig.— 
Which wont to tell me there was death in loiter- 
Here stands, metliinks, our hostess. 

[//(' goes forward to address Marion. Ques- 
TIN, struck on seeing her, keeps hack. 
See. Kind dame, yon little lass hath brought 
you strangers. 
Willing to be a trouble, not a charge to you. 
We are disbanded soldiers, but have means 
Ample enough to pay our journey homeward. 
Mar. We keep no house of general entertain- 
ment, 
But know our duty, sir, to locks hke yours, 
WHiitenVl and thum'd by many a long campaign. 
Ill chances that my husband should be absent — 
(Apart.) — Courage alone can make me struggle 

through it — 
For in your comrade, though he hath forgot me, 
I spy a friend whom I have known in school-days, 
And whom I flunk MacLellan well remembers. 

[She goes up to Quentin. 
You see a woman's memory 
Is faithfuller than yom-s ; fur Quentin Blane 
Hath not a greeting left for Marion Harkness. 
Que. (mith effort.) I seek, mdeed, my native 
land, good Marion, 
But seek it like a stranger. — All is changed, 

And thou thyself 

M.vE. Tou left a giddy maiden. 

And find on your retm'n, a wife and mother. 
Thine old acquamtance, Quentin, is my mate — 
Stout Niel MacLellan, ranger to our lord. 
The Knight of Auchindrane. He's absent now, 
But will rejoice to see his former comi'ade, 
If, as I trust, you tarry his return. 
(Apart.) Heaven grant he unr'erstand my words 

by contraries ! 
He must remember Niel and he were rivals ; 
He must remember Niel and he were foes ; 
He must remember Niel is warn of temper, 
And think, instead of welcome, I would blithely 
Bid him, God speed you. But he is .js simple 
And void of guile as ever. 

Que. Marion, I gladly rest witlJn your cottage, 
And gladly wait return of Niel MacLellan, 
To clasp his hand, and wish him happiness. 
Some ri.sing feeUngs might ]ierhaps prevent this— 
But 'tis a peevish part to grudge our friends 
Their share of fortune because we have mise'd it 
I can wish others joy and happmess, 
Though I nnist ne'er partake them. 

Mar. But if it grieve you [of hop« 

Que. No ! do not fear. The brightest gleami 
Tliat shme on me are s.ich as are reflected 
F- jm those which sliine on others. 

[The Seegeaxt and Quextin etiter On 
Tower with the little Girl. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



797 



Mar. [com£S forward, and spral'fi in agitation.) 
Even so ! the simple youth hiis miss'd my meauing. 
I shame to make it plainer, or to say, 
In one brief word, Pass on— Heaven guide the bark. 
For we lU'e on the breakers I \_Exil into t/u Tower. 



ACT II.— SCENE L 

A withdrawing Apartment in the Castle of Aueh- 
indrarie. Servants place a Table, with a flask of 
Wine and Drinking-cups. 

Enter Mure of Acchixdrane, with Albert Gif- 
FORD, his Relation and Visitor. Ttiey place 
themselves by the Table after some compliment- 
ary ceremony. At some distance is heard the 
noise of revelling. 

AuoH. We're better placed for confidential talk. 
Than in the hall fill'd with disbanded soldiers, 
And fools and fiddlers gather'd on the liighway, — 
The worthy guests whom PhiUp crowds my hall 

with, 
And with them spends his evening. 

GiF. But think you not, my fi'iend, that your son 
Philip 
Should be participant of these our councils. 
Being so deeply mingled in the danger — 
Your house's only heir — your only son ? 

AucH. Kind cousin Gilford, if thou lack'st good 
counsel 
At race, at cockpit, or at gambling-table, 
Or any freak by which men cheat themselves 
As well of life, as of the means to hve. 
Call for assistance upon Pliilip Mure ; 
But in aU serious parley spare invoking him. 

GiF. You speak too hghtly of my cousin Philip ; 
All name him brave in arms. 

AucH. A second Bevis ; 

But I, my youth bred up in graver fashions. 
Mourn o'er the mode of life iu which he spends. 
Or rather dissipates, his time and substance. 
No vagabond escapes his search — The soldier 
Spurn'd from the service, henceforth to be ruffian 
Upon his own account, is Philip's comrade ; 
The fiddler, whose crack'd crowd has still three 

strings on't ; 
The balladeer, whose voice has still two notes left ; 
AVhate'er is roguish and whate'er is vile. 
Are welcome to the board of Aucliindrane, 
And Philip will return them shout for shout, 
And pledge for jovial pledge, and song for song. 
Until the shamefaced sun peep at our windows, 
\nd ask, " What have we here i" 



GiF. You take such revel deeply — we are Scots- 
men, 
Far known for rustic hospitality. 
That mind not birth or titles in our guests ; 
The harper has his seat beside our hearth. 
The wanderer must find comfort at our boar I, 
His name unask'd, his pedigree unknown ; 
So did our ancestors, and so nuist we. 

AucH. All this is freely granted, worth; iiiis- 
man; 
And prithee do not think me churl enoui;h 
To count how many sit beneath my salt. 
I've wealth enough to fill ray father's hall 
Each day at noon, and feed the guests who crowd it . 
I am near mate with those whom men call Lord, 
Though a rude western knight. But mark me, 

cousin. 
Although 1 feed wayfaring vagabonds, 
I make them not my comrades. Such as I, 
Who have advanced the fortunes of my line, 
And swell'd a baron's turret to a palace, 
Have oft the curse awaiting on oiu' tlu-ift. 
To see, while yet we live, things which must he 
At our decease — the downfall of our family, 
The loss of land and lordship, name and knight- 
hood. 
The wreck of the fair fabric we have built, 
By a degenerate heir. Philip has that 
Of inborn meanness in him, that he loves not 
Tlie company of betters, nor of equals ; 
Never at ease, unless he bears the bell, 
And crows the loudest in the company. 
He's mesh'd, too, m the snares of every female 
Who deigns to cast a passing glance on him — 
Licentious, disrespectful, rash, and profligate. 
GiF. Come, my good coz, think we too have been 
young. 
And I wiU swear that in yoiu- father's lifetime 
You have yourself been trapp'd by toys like these. 
AucH. A fool I may have been — but not a mad- 
man; 
I never play'd the rake among my followers. 
Pursuing this man's sister, that man's wife ; 
And therefore never saw I man of mine, 
When summon'd to obey my best, grow restive. 
Talk of his honor, of his peace destroy'd. 
And, while obeying, nmtter threats of vengeanci". 
But now the humor of an idle youth. 
Disgusting trusted followers, sworn dependents, 
Plays football with his honor and my safety. 

GiF. I'm sorry to find discord in your house. 
For I had hoped, while bringmg you cold news, 
To find you arm'd in union 'gainst the danger. 
AucH. What can man speak that I would .shrink 
to hear. 
And where the danger I would deign to shun ? 

[lie rises 
■WTiat should appal a man inured to perils. 



Like the bold climber on the crags of Ailsa ? 
Winds whistle past hini, billows rage below, 
The sea-fowl sweep around, with shriek and clang, 
One single slip, one unadvised pace. 
One qualni of giddiness — and peace be with him ' 
But he whose grasp is sure, whose step is firm. 
Whose brain is constant — he makes one proud rock 
The means to scale another, till he stand 
Triumphant on the peak. 

GiF. And 30 I trust 

Tliou wilt surn\punt the danger now approaching. 
Which scarcely can I frame my tongue to tell you. 
Though I rode here on purpose. 

AvcH. Cousin, I tliink thy heart was never coward. 
And strange it seems thy tongue should take such 

semblance. 
I've heard of many a loud-mouth'd, noisy braggart. 
Whose hand gave feeble sanction to his tongue ; 
But thou art one whose heart can think bold tilings, 
Whose hand can act them — but who shrinks to 

speak them ! 
GiF. And if I speak them not, 'tis that I shame 
To tell thee of the calumnies that load thee. 
Tilings loudly spoken at the city Cross — 
Thuigs closely wliisper'd in our Sovereign's ear — 
Things which the plumed lord and flat-capp'd cit- 
izen 
Do cu-culate amid their different ranks — 
Things false, no doubt; but, falsehoods wliile I 

deem them. 
Still honoring thee, I shun the odious topic. 

AucH. Shun it not, cousin; 'tis a friend's best 

office 
To bring the news we hear unwilhngly. 
The sentinel, who tells the foe's approach, 
And wakes the sleeping camp, does but his duty : 
Be thou as bold in telling me of danger. 
As I shall be in facing danger told of 

GiF. I need not bid thee recollect the death-feud 
That raged so long betwixt thy liouse and Cassilis ; 
I need not bid thee recollect the league. 
When royal James himself stood mediator 
Between thee and Sari Gilbert. 

AucH. Call you these news ? — You might as well 

have told me 
That old King Coil is dead, and gi'aved at Kylesfeld. 
I'll help thee out — King James commanded us 
Henceforth to live in peace, made us clasp hands too. 
0, sir, when such an union hath been made, 
In heart and hand conjoining mortal foes, 
Under a monarch's royal mediation. 
The league is not forgotten. And with this 
Wliat is there to be told ? The king commanded — 
" Be friends." No doubt we were so — -Who dares 

doubt it ? 
GiF. Tou speak but half the tale. 
AccH. By good Saint Trinion, but I'U tell the 

whole ! 



There is no terror in the tale for me — ' 

Go speak of ghosts to children 1 — Tliis Earl Gilbert 

(God sain him) loved Heaven's peace as well as I 

did. 
And we were wondrous friends whene'er we met 
At chm'ch or market, or m burrows town. 
Midst this, our good Lord Gilbert, Earl of CassiUs, 
Takes purpose he would jom'uey forth to Edin- 
burgh. 
The King was doling gifts of abbey-lands. 
Good thmgs that thrifty house was wont to fish for. 
Our mighty Earl forsakes liis sea-wash'd castle. 
Passes our borders some four miles from hence ; 
And, holding it unwholesome to be fasters 
Long after sumise, lo I The Earl aud train 
Dismount, to rest their nags and eat their breakfast. 
The niornmg rose, the small birds caroll'd sweetly ; 
The corks Avere drawn, tlie pasty brooks mcision — ■ 
His lordsliip jests, his train are choked with laugh- 
ter; 
When, — wondrous change of cheer, and most un- 

look'd fvr. 
Strange epilogue to bottle and to baked meat !— 
Flash'd from the greenwood half a score of cara- 
bines. 
And the good Earl of Cassilis, in his breakfast, 
Had nooning, dinner, supper, ail at once. 
Even in the mornuig that he closed his journey ; 
And the grim sexton, for his chamberlain. 
Made him the bed which rests the head for ever. 
GiF. Told with much spirit, cousin — some there 
are 
Would add, and in a tone resembling triumph. 
And would that with these long-estabhslid facts 
My tale began and ended ! I must tell you. 
That evil-deeming censures of the events. 
Both at the time and now, throw blame on thee — 
Time, place, and circumstance, they say, proclaim 

tliee, 
Alike, the author of that morning's ambush. 

AucH. Ay. 'tis an old behef in Carrick here, 
'Wiiere natives do not always die in bed. 
That if a Kennedy shall not attain 
Methuselah's last span, a Mure has shiin liim. 
Such is the general creed of all their clan. 
Thank Heaven, that they're bound to prove tlie 

charge 
They are so prompt in making. They have clamor'd 
Enough of this before, to show their mahce. 
But what said these coward pickthanks when I 

came 
Before the King, before the Justicers, 
Rebutting all their calumnies, and daring them 
To show that I knew aught of CassiUs' journey — 
Which way he meant to travel — where to halt— 

1 " There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats." 

Shauspbari. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



V99 



Without which knowledge I possess'd no means 
To dress an ambush for him ? Did I not 
Defy the assembled clan of Kennedys 
To show, by jjroof direct or inferential, 
Wherefore they slander'd me with this foul 

charge ? 
My gauntlet rung before them in the nourt. 
And I did dare the best of them to lift it, 
Anil prove such charge a true one — Did I not ? 
Gu. I saw your gauntlet lie before the Ken- 
nedys, 
Who look"d on it as men do on an adder. 
Longing to crusli, and yet afraid to grasp it. 
Not an eye sp;irkled — not a foot advanced — 
No arm was stretch'd to lift the fatal symbol. 
AucH. Then, wherefore do the hildings murmur 
now? 
Wish they to see again, how one bold Mure 
Can batHe and defy their assembled valor ? 

GiF. No; but they speak of evidence suppress'd. 
AccH. Suppress'd ! — what evidence ? — by whom 
suppress'd ? 
What WLU-o'-Wi.sp — what idiot of a witness. 
Is he to whom they trace an empty voice. 
But cannot sliow his person ? 

GiF. They pretend, 

With the King's leave, to bring it to a trial ; 
Averring that a lad, named Quentin Blane, 
Brought thee a letter from the murder'd Earl, 
With friendly greetings, telling of his journey. 
The hour which he set forth, tlie place he halted at 
Affording thee the means to form the ambush. 
Of which your hatred made the application. 
Ai'CH. A prudent Earl, indeed, if such his prac- 
tice, 
Wlien ileahng with a recent enemy ! 
And wliat should he propose by such strange con- 
fidence 
In one who sought it not ? 

GiF. His purposes were kindly, say the Ken- 
nedys — 
Desiring you would meet him where he halted. 
Offering to undertake whate'er commissions 
You listed trust him with, for court or city : 
And, thus apprised of Cassilis' purposed journey. 
And of liis halting-place, you placed the ambush. 

Prepared the homicides 

AucH. They're free to say their pleasure. They 
are men 
Of the new court — and I am but a fragment 
Of stout old Morton's faction. It is reason 
That such as I be rooted from the earth, 
That they may have full room to spread their 

branches. 
No doubt, 'tis easy to find stroUing vagrants 
To prove whate'er they prompt. This Quentin 

Blane — 
Dvl you not call him so? — tihy comes he now? 



And wherefore not before i Tliis must be answer'd 

— {abrupthj) — • 
■Where is he now ? 

GiF. Abroad — the}' say — kidnapp'd, 

By you kidnapp'd, that he might die in Flanders. 
But orders have been sent for his discharge, 
And his transmission hither. 

AucH. {assuming a7i air of cwnpoxicrr.) \Vhen 
they produce such witness, cousin Gifford, 
We'U be prepared to meet it. In the moan wliile, 
The King doth ill to throw his royal sceptre 
In the accuser's scale, ere he can know 
How justice shall iuchae it. 

GiF. Our sage prmce 

Resents, it may be, less the death of Cassilis, 
Than he is angry that the feud should burn, 
After his royal voice had said, '■ Be quench'd :" 
Thus urging prosecution less for slaughter, 
Tlian that, being done against the King's com- 
mand. 
Treason is mix'd with homicide. 

AucH. Ha 1 ha I most true, my cousia 

Why, well coneider'd, 'tis a crime so great 
To slay one's enemy, the King forbidding it. 
Like parricide, it should be hold impossible. 
'Tis just as if a wretch retain'd tlie evil. 
When the King's touch had bid the sores be heal'd ; 
And such a crime merits the stake at least. 
What ! can there be witliin a Scottish bosom 
A feud so deadly, that it kept its ground 
When the King said, Be friends ! It is not credible. 
Were I King James, I never would believe it ; 
I'd rather think the story all a dream, 
And that there was no friendsliip, feud, nor journey, 
No halt, no ambush, and no Earl of Cassilis, 
Than dream anointed Majesty has wrong ! — 

GiF. Speak within door, coz. 

AucH. 0, true — {axldr) — I shall betray myself 
Even to this half-bred fool. — I must have room, 
Room for an instant, or I suffocate. — 
Cousin, I prithee call our PhiUp hither — 
Forgive me ; 'twere more meet I summon'd him 
Myself; but then the sight of yonder revel 
Would chafe my blood, and I have need of cool- 
ness. 

GiF. I understand thee — I will bring him 
straight. 

[Exa. 

AucH. And if thou dost, he's lost his ancient 
trick 
To fathom, as he wont, his fire-pint flagons. — 
This space is mine — for the power to fill it, 
Instead of s8nsele.ss rage and empty curses. 
With the dark spell which witches learn fiora 

fiends. 
That smites the object of their hate afar, 
Nor leaves a token of its mystic action. 
Stealing the soul from out the unscathed body, 



800 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As lightning melta the blade, nor harms the scab- 
bard ! 
— 'Tis vain to wish for it — Each curse of mine 
Falls to tlie ground as hai-mless as the arrows 
Which children shoot at stars! The time for 

thought, 
If thought could aught avail me, melts away. 
Like to a snowball in a sclioolboy's hand, 
That melts the faster the more close he grasps 

it!— 
If I liad time, this Scottish Solomon, 
Whom some call son of David the Musician,' 
Might find it perilous work to march to Carrick. 
There's many a feud still slumbering in its ashes. 
Whose embers are yet red. Nobles we have. 
Stout as old Graysteel, and as hot as Bothwell ; 
Here too are castles look from crags as liigh 
On seas as wide as Logan's. So the King — 
Pshaw ! He is here again — 

Enter Giffoed. 

GiF. I heard you name 

The King, my kinsman ; know, he comes not hither. 

AucH. (affcding indifferenee.) Nay, then we need 
not broach oui' ban'els, cousin. 
Nor purchase us new jerkins. — Comes not Philip ? 

GiF. Yes, sir. He tarries but to drink a service 
To his good friends at parting. 

AucH. Friends for the beadle or the .sheriff-officer. 
Well, let it pass. Who comes, and how attended. 
Since James designs not we.stward ? 

GiF. you shall have, instead, liis fiery func- 
tionary, 
George Home that was, but now Dunbar's gi'eat 

Earl; 
He leads a royal host, and comes to show you 
How he cUstributes justice on the Border, 
Vhcre judge and hangman oft reverse their office. 
And the noose does its work before the sentence. 
But I have said my tidings best and worst. 
None but yourself can know what course the time 
And peril may demand. To hft your banner. 
If I might be a judge, were desperate game : 
Ireland and Galloway offer you convenience 
For flight, if flight be thought the better remedy ; 
To face the court requires the consciousness 
And confidence of innocence. You alone 
Can judge if you possess these attributes. 

\^A noise behind the scenes. 

Aut'H. Plidip, I think, has broken up his revels ; 
His ragged regiment are disper.sing them. 
Well liquor'd, doubtless. They're disbanded sol- 
diers. 
Or some such vagabonds. — Here comes the gallant. 
[JEntcr Philu'. Ne has a huff-coat and 

1 The calumnious tale which ascrihed the birth of James 
VI. to an intrigue of Queen Mary with Rizzio: 



head-piece, wears a sword and daqqer, iviih 
pistols at his girdle. He appears to be 
affected bij liquor, but to be by no means 
intoxicated. 
AucH. You scarce have been made known to 
one another, 
Although you sate together at the board. — 
Son PhiUp, know and prize our cousin Gifford. 
Phi. (tastes the wine on the table.) If you had 
prized him, sir, you had been loth 
To have welcomed him in bastard Alicant : 
rU make amends by pledging his good journey 
In glorious Burgundy. — The stirrup-cup, ho ! 
And bring my cousin's horses to the court. 

AucH. (draws him aside.) The stirrup-cup! He 
doth not ride to-night — 
Shame on such churlish conduct to a kinsman ! 
Phi. (aside to his father.) I've news of 'pressing 
import. 
Send the fool off. — Stay, I will start him for you, 
(To GiF.) Yes, my kind cousin, Burgundy is better, 
On a night-ride, to those who tliread our moors, 
And we may deal it freely to our friends. 
For we came freely by it. Yonder ocean 
Rolls many a purple cask upon our shore. 
Rough witli embossed shells and shagged sea-weed, 
Wlien the good skipper and his careful crew 
Have had their latest earthly draught of brine, 
And gone to quench, or to endure then- tliirst, 
Where nectar's plenty, or even water's scarce. 
And filter'd to the parched crew by dro]i*full. 
AucH. Thou'rt mad, son Philip ! — Giffurd's no 
intruder, 
Tliat we should rid him hence by such wild rants: 
My kinsman hither rode at his own danger. 
To tell us that Dunbar is hasting to us, 
With a strong force, and witli tlie King's com- 
mission. 
To enforce agamst our h luse a liateful charge, 
With every measure of c xtremity, 
Pm. And is this all that our good cousin tells 
us? 
I can say more, thanks to the ragged regiment. 
With whose good company you have upbraided me, 
On whose authority, I tell thee, cousin, 
Dunbar is here already. 

GiF. Already- ? 

Phi. Yes, gentle coz. And jou, my sire, be 
hasty 
In what you think to do. 

AucH. I tliink thou darest n.t jest on such a 
subject. 
Where hadst thou these fell tidings ? 

Phi. Where you, too, might have heard them, 
noble father, 
Save that your ears, nail'd to our kinsman's lips, 
Would list no coarser accents. 0, my soldiers, 
My merry crew of vagabonds, for ever ! 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



801 



Scum iif the Netherlands, anil wash'd ashore 

Upon this coast like unregarded aca-weed, 

They had not been two hours on Scottish land, 

Wlien, lo ! they met a military friend, 

An ancient tburier, known to them of old, 

Who. "warm'd by certain .stoops of searching wine, 

Inforni'd his old companions that Dunbar 

Left Glasgow yesterday, conies here to-morrow; 

Himself, he said, was sent a spy before. 

To view what preparations we were making. 

AuoH. {to GiF.) If this be sooth, good kinsman, 
thou must claim 
To take a part with us for life and death. 
Or speed from hence, and leave us to our fortune. 

GiF. In such dilemma, 
Believe me, friend, I'd choose upon the instant — 
But I lack harness, and a steed to charge on. 
For mine is overtired, and, save my page. 
There's not a man to back me. But I'll hie 
To Kyle, and raise my vassals to your aid. 

Phi. 'Twill be when the rats, 
Tliat on these tidings fly this house of ours, 
Come back to pay their rents. — (Apart.) 

AucH. Courage, cousin — 
Thou goe.^t not hence ill mounted for thy need : 
Full forty coursers feed in my wide stalls. 
The best of them is yom-s to speed your journey. 

Phi. Stand not on ceremony, good our cousin, 
WTieu .safety signs, to shorten courtesy. 

GiF. {to AtiCH.) Fm'eweU. then, cousin, for my 
tarrying here 
Were ruin to myself, small aid to you ; 
yet loving well your name and family, 
I'd fain 

Phi. Be gone ? — that is our object, too — 
Kinsman, adieu. 

\^Ji2-it GiFFOnn. Philip calh after htm. 
Tou yeoman of the stable. 
Give Master Gilford there my fleetest steed, 
Ton cut-tail'd roan that trembles at a spear. — 

[Tramplinff of the hor^e heard going off'. 
Hark ! he dep.arts. How swift the dastard rides. 
To shun the neighborhood of jeopardy 1 

[He lays aside the appearance of levity 
which he has hitherto worn, and says 
very seriously. 

And now, my father — 

AncH. And now, my son — thou'st ta'en a peril- 
ous game 
Into tliine hands, rejecting elder counsel, — 
How dost thou mean to play it ? 

Phi. Sir, good gamesters play not 
TiU they review the cards which fate has dealt them, 
Computing thus the chances of the game ; 
And woefully they seem to weigh against us. 

AucH. Exile's a passing Ul, and may be borne ; 
And when Dunbar and all his myrmidons 
Are e.istward tum'd, we'll seize our own again. 



Pui. Would that were all the risk we had to 
stand to I 
But more and worse, — a doom of treason, forfeiture, 
Death to om-selve.s, dishonor to our house, 
Is what tlie stern Justiciary menaces ; 
And, fatally for u.s, he hath the means 
To make his threatenings good. 

AucH. It cannot be. I te.Il thee, there's no force 
In Scottish law to raze a house like mine. 
Coeval with the time the Lords of Galloway 
Submitted them unto the Scottish sceptre, 
Renouncing rights of Tanistry and Brehon. 
Some dreams they liave of evidence ; some sus- 
picion. 
But old Montgomery knows my purpose well. 
And long before their mandate reach the camp 
To crave the presence of this mighty witness. 
He will be fitted with an an.swer to it. 

Phi. Father, what we call great, is often ruin'd 
By means so ludicrously disproportion'd, 
They make me think upon tlie gunner's linstock, 
Which, yielding forth a hght about the size 
And semblance of the glow-worm, yet applied 
To powder, blew a palace into atoms, 
Sent a young King — a young Queen's mate at 

least — 
Into the air, as high as e'er flew niglit-hawk. 
And made such wild work in the realm of Scotland, 
As they can tell who heard, — and you were one 
Who saw, perhaps, the night-flight which began it. 

AucH. If thou hast naught to ?peak but drunken 
folly, 
I cannot listen longer. 

Phi. I will speak brief and sudden. — Tliere is 
one 
Whose tongue to us has the same perilous force 
Which Botliwell's powder had to Kirk of Field ; 
One whose least tones, and tliose but peasant ac 

cents, 
Could rend the roof from off our fathers' castle, 
Level its tallest turret with its base ; 
And he that doth possess this wondrous power 
Sleeps this same night not five miies distant from 
us. 

AucH. [who had looked on PniLir with much ap- 
pearance of astonishment and donbt, ex- 
claims,) Then thou art mad indeed ! — Ha I 
ha ! I'm glad on't. 
I'd purchase an escape from what I dread. 
Even by the phreusy of my only son ! 

Phi. I thank you, but agi'ee not to the bargain. 
You rest on wluat yon civet cat has said : 
Yon silken doublet, stuff 'd with rotten straw, 
Told you but half the truth, and knew no mora 
But my good vagrants had a perfect tale : 
They told me, Uttle judging the importance, 
That Quentin Blane had been discharged witli 
them. 



802 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



They told me, that a quarrel happ'd at landing, 
And that the youngster and an ancient sergeant 
Had left their company, and taken refuge 
In Chapeldonan, where our ranger dwells ;* 
They saw him scale the cliff on which it stands, 
Ere they were out of sight ; the old man with him. 
And therefore laugh no more at me as mad ; 
But laugh, if thou hast list for merriment, 
To think he stands on the same land with us, 
Wiiose absence thou wouldst deem were cheaply 

purchased 
With thy soul's ransom and thy body's danger. 

AucH. 'Tis then a fatal truth ! Thou art no yelper. 
To open rashly on so wiUl a scent ; 
Thou'rt the young bloodhound, which careers and 

springs. 
Frolics and fawns, as if the friend of man, 
But seizes on his victim like a tiger. 

Phi. No matter what I am — I'm as you bred me ; 
So let that pass till there be time to mend me, 
And let us speak like men, and to the purpose. 
This object of our fear and of our dread. 
Since such our pride must own him, sleeps to-night 
Within our power :— to-morrow in Dunbar's, 
And we are then his victims.' 

AucH. He is in mcrs to-night.' 

Pin. He is. I'll answer that MacLellan's trusty. 

AucH. Yet he replied to you to-day full rudely. 

Pm. Yes ! the poor knave has got a handsome 
wife. 
And is gone mad with jealousy. 

Aucii. Fool ! — When we need the utmost faith, 
allegiance. 
Obedience, and attachment in our vassals, 
Thy wild intrigues pour gall into their hearts, 
And turn their love to hatred ! 

Phi. Most reverend su-e, you talk of ancient 
morals, 
Preach'd on by Knox, and practised by Glen- 
cairn ;* 
Respectable, indeed, but somewhat musty 
In these our modern nostrils. In our days. 
If a young baron chance to leave his vassal 
The sole possessor of a handsome wife, 
Tis sign he loves his follower ; and, if not. 
He loves his follower's wife, which often proves 
The surer bond of patronage. Take either case : 
Favor flows in of course, and vassals rise. 

1 MS. — " In the old tower where Niel ttlacLellan dwells. 
And therefore laugh no more," &c. 



' And we are then in his power-'* 
' He's in our power to-night." 



2 MS. 

'MS. 

* Ale.xander. fifth Earl of Glencairn. for distinction called 
"The Good Earl," was among the first of the peers of Scot- 
and who concurred in the Reformation, in aid of which he 
acted a conspicuous part, in the employment both of his 
Bword and pen. In a remonstrance with the Queen Regent, 
be told her, that " if she violated the engagements which she 



AucH. Pliilip, this is infamous, 
And, what is worse, impolitic. Take example : 
Break not God's laws or man's for each temptation 
That youth and blood suggest. I am a man — 
A weak and erring man ; — full well thou know'st 
That I may hardly term myself a pattern 
Even to my son ; — yet thus far will I say, 
I never swerved from my integrity. 
Save at the voice of strong necessity. 
Or such o'erpowering view of high advantage 
As wise men liken to necessity. 
In strength and force compulsive. No one saw me 
Exchange my reputation for my pleasure. 
Or do the DevU's work without his wages. 
I practised prudence, and paid tax to virtue. 
By following her behests, save where strong reason 
Compell'd a deviation. Then, if preachers 
At times look'd sour, or elders shook their heads, 
They could not term my walk irregular ; 
For I stood up still for the worthy cause, 
A pillar, though a flaw'd one, of the altar. 
Kept a strict walk, and led tliree hundred horse. 

Phi. All, these three htuidred horse in such 
rough times 
Were better commendation to a party 
Than all your efforts at hypocrisy, 
Betrtiy'd so oft by avarice and ambition. 
And dragg'd to open shame. But, righteous father, 
Wiien sire and son unite in mutual crime. 
And join their efforts to the same enormity, 
It is no time to measure other's faults. 
Or fix the amount of each. Most moral father, 
Think if it be a moment now to weigh 
The vices of the Heir of Auchindrane, 
Or take precaution that the tincient house 
Shall have another heir than the sly courtier 
That's gaping for the forfeiture. 

AucH. We'll disappoint him, Pliilip, — 
We'll disappoint him yet. It is a folly, 
A wilful cheat, to cast our eyes behind, 
When time, and the fast flitting opportunity. 
Call loudly, nay, compel us to look forward : 
Why are we not already at MacLellan's, 
Since there the victim sleeps ? 

Phi. Nay, soft, I pray thee. 

I had not made yom' piety my confessor. 
Nor enter'd in debate on these sage councils, 
Wliich you're more like to give than I to profit h} 

had come nnder to her subjects, tliey would consider them 
selves as absolved from their allegiance to her." He was 
author of a satirical poem against the Roman Catholics, en- 
titled "The Hermit of Allareit" (Loretto).— See Sibbald's 
Chronicle of Scottish Poetry. — He assisted the Reformers 
with his sword, when they took arms at Perth, in 1559 ; had 
a principal command in the army embodied against Queen 
Mary, in June, 1567; and demolished the altar, broke the 
images, tore down the pictcres, &c., in the Chapel-royal of 
Holyrood-house, after the Queen was conducted to Lochleven 
He died in 1574. 



aUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



8U8 



Could I have used the time more usefully • 
But lirat an interval must pass between 
The fate of Queutin and the httlo ai'tifice 
That shall detach him from liis conu'ade, 
The stout old soldier that I told you of. 

AucH. How work a point so difficult — so danger- 
ous ? 
Phi. 'Tis cared for. Mark, my father, the con- 
vtfnience 
Arismg from mean company. My agents 
Are at my hand, like a good workman's tools. 
And if I mean a mischief, ten to one 
That they anticipate the deed and guilt. 
Well knowing this, when first the vagrant's tattle 
Gave me the Iiint that Quentiu was so near us. 
Instant I sent MacLellan, with strong charges 
To stop him for the night, and bring me word. 
Like an accomphsh'd spy, how all things stood. 
Lulling the enemy into security. 

Alien. There was a prudent general ! 
Phi. MacLellan went and came within the hour. 
The jealous bee, which buzzes in liis nightcap. 
Had humm'd to him, this feUow, Quentin Blane, 
Had been in schoolboy days an humble lover 

Of his own pretty wil'e 

AuoH. Most fortunate I 

The knave will be more prompt to serve our pur- 
pose. 
Phi. No doubt on't. 'Mid the tidings he brought 
back 
Was one of some importance. The old man 
Is flush of dollars ; this I caused him tell 
Among his comrades, who became as eager 
To have him in their company, as e'er 
They had been wild to part with him. And in 

brief space, 
A letter's framed by an old hand amongst them. 
Familiar with such feats. It bore the name 
And character of old Montgomery, [tance, 

Whom he might well suppose at no great dis- 
Commanding his old Sergeant Hildebrand, 
By all the ties of late authority, 
Conjuring him by ancient soldiership. 
To hasten to his mansion instantly. 
On business of high import, with a charge 

To come alone 

Aucu. Well, he sets out, I doubt it not, — what 

follows ? 
Phi. I am not curious into others' practices, — 
So far I'm an economist in guilt. 
As you my sire advise. But on the road 
To old Montgomery's he meets his comrades. 
They nourish grudge against him and his dollars, 
And tilings may hap, which counsel, learu'd in law. 
Call Robbery and Murder. Should he hve. 
He has seen naught that we would hide from him. 
AijcH. Who carries the forged letter to the 
V"teran ? 



Phi. Wliy, Niel MacLellan, who, returu'd again 
To liis own tower, as if to pass the night there. 
They pass'd on hini, or tried to pass, a story. 
As if they wish'd the sergeant's company, 
Without the young comptroller's — that is Quen- 

tin's, 
And he became ixn agent of their plot. 
That he might better caiTy on cm' own. 

AucH. There's life in it — yes, there is life iii't , 
And we will have a mounted party ready 
To scour the moors in quest of the banditti 
That kill'd the poor old man — they shall die in- 
stantly. 
Dunbar shall see us use sharp justice here. 
As well as he in Teviotdale. You are sure 
You gave no hint nor impulse to then purpose ? 

Phi. It needed not. The whole pack oped at 
once 
Upon the scent of dollars. — But time comes 
When I must seek the tower, and act with Niel 
What farther's to be done. 

Aucu. Alone with him thou goest not. He bears 
grudge — - 
Thou art my only son, and on a night 
When such wild passions are so free abroad. 
When such wild deeds are doing, 'tis but natmal 
I guarantee thy safety. — m ride with thee. 

Phi. E'en as you wUl, my lord. But, p.ardoD 
me, — 
If you will come, let us not have a word 
Of conscience, and of j^ity, and forgiveness; 
Fine words to-morrow, out of place to-night. 
Take counsel then, leave aU this work to me ; 
CaU up your household, make fit prejjai-ation. 
In love and peace, to welcome this Earl Justiciar, 
As one that's free of guilt. Go, deck tlie castle 
As for an honor'd guest. Hallow the chapel 
(If they have power to hallow it) with thy prayers. 
Let me ride forth alone, and ere the sun 
Comes o'er the eastern liill, thou shalt accost him : 
" Now do thy worst, thou oft-returning spy. 
Here's naught thou canst discover." 

AucH. Yet goest thou not alone with that Mac- 
Lellan ! 
He deems thou bearest will to injure him. 
And seek'st occasion suiting to such will. 
Philip, thou art irreverent, fierce, ill-nurtured, 
Stain'd with low vices, which di.sgust a father ; 
Yet ridest thou not alone with yonder man, — 
Come weal, come woe, myself will go with thee. 
[£ :it, and calls to horse behind the scene 

Phi. {alone.) Now would I give my fleetest horse 
to know 
What sudden thought roused this paternal care, 
And if 'tis on his own account or mine : 
'Tis true, he hath the deepest share in all 
That's hkely now to hap, or which has happen'd. 
Yet strong through Nature's universal reign, 



804 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The liak which binds the parent to the offspring : 
The slie-wolf knows it, and the tigress owns it. 
So that dark man, who, shunning what is vicious, 
Ne'er turn'd aside from an atrocity. 
Hath still some eai-e left for his helpless offspring. 
Therefore 'tis meet, though wayward, light, and 

stubborn. 
That I should do for him all that a sou 
Can do for sire — and his dark wisdom join'd 
To influence my bold courses, 'twill be hard 

To break our mutual purpose Horses there ! 

[Hxii. 



ACT IIL— SCENE I. 

It is moonlight. The scene is the Beach beneath the 
Tower which was exhibited in the first' scene, — 
the Vessel is gone frcnn lier anchorage. AnoH- 
INDKANE and Philip, as if distnoimtcd from their 
horses, come forward cautiously. 

Phi. The nags are safely stow'd. Their noise 
might scare him ; 
Let them be safe, and ready when we need them. 
The business is but short. We'll call MacLellan, 
To wake him, and in quiet bring him forth, 
If he be so disposed, fur here are waters 
Enough to drown, and sand enough to cover him. 
But if he hesitate, or fear to meet us, 
By heaven, I'll deal on him in Chapeldonan 
With my own hand ! — 

AucH. Too furious boy ! — alarm or noise undoes 
us. 
Our practice must be silent as 'tis sudden. 
Bethink thee that conviction of this slaughter 
Confirms the very worst of accusations 
Our foes can bring against us. Wherefore should 

we, 
Who by our birth and fortune mate with nobles. 
And are aUied with them, take this lad's hfe, — 
His peasant life, — unless to qu.ash his evidence. 
Taking such pains to rid him from the world, 
V.'ho would, if spared, have fix'd a crime upon us ? 

Phi. Well, I do own me one of those wise folks, 
Who think that when a deed of fate is plann'd. 
The execution cannot be too rapid. 
But do we still keep purpose ? Is't determined 
Ho sails for Ireland — and without a wherry ? 
Salt water is his passport — is it not so ? 

AucH. I would it could be otherwise, 
flight he not go there while in life and limb. 
And breathe liis span out in another air ? 
Many seek Ulster never to return — 
Why might this wretched youth not harbor there ? 

Phi. With aU my heart. It is small honor to me 



To be the agent in a work hke this. — 

Yet this poor caitiff, having thrust liimself 

Into the secrets of a noble house. 

And twined himself so closely with our safety, 

That we must peri.sh, or that he must die, 

I'll hesitate as httle on the action. 

As I would do to slay the animal 

Whose flesh supplies my dinner. 'Tis as hiu-mles» 

Th.it deer or steer, as is this Quentin Blane, 

And not more necessary is its death 

To our accommodation — so we slay it 

Without a moment's pause or hesitation. 

AucH. 'Tis not, my son, the feelicg call'd re- 
morse. 
That now lies tugging at this heart of mine. 
Engendering thoughts that stop the lifted hand. 
Have I not heaid John Knox pour forth his thun- 
ders 
Against the oppressor and the man of blood. 
In accents of a minister of vengeance ? 
Were not liis fiery eyeballs turn'd on me. 
As if he said expressly, " Thou'rt the man ?" 
Tet did my soUd purpose, as I listen'd. 
Remain unshaken as that massiv* rock. 

Phi. Well, then, I'll understand 'tis not re- 
morse, — 
As 'tis a foible httle known to thee,— 
That inten'upts thy purpose. What, then, is it ? 
Is't scorn, or is't compassion ? One thuig's certain, 
Either the feeling must have free indulgence. 
Or fully be subjected to your reason — 
Tliere is no room for these same treacherous courses, 
Which men call moderate measures. 
We must confide in Quentin, or must slay him 

AucH. In Ireland he might live afar from us. 

Phi. Among Queen Mary's faithful partisans. 
Your ancient enemies, the haughty Ilamiltons, 
The stern MacDonnells, the resentful Gra;nies — 
With these around hun, and with Cassilis' death 
Exasperating them against you, tliink, my father, 
What chance of Quentin's silence. 

AucH. Too true — too true. He is a silly youth, 
too, 
Wlio had not wit to shift for liis own Uving — 
A bashful lover, whom Ills rivals laugh'd at — 
Of pliant temper, which companions play'd on — 
A moonlight waker, and a noontide dreamer — 
A torturer of phrases into sonnets, — ■ 
Whom all might lead that chose to praise his 
rhymes. 

Phi. I marvel that your memory has room 
To hold so much on such a worthless subject. 

AucH. Base m himself, and yet so strangely link'd 
With me and witli my fortunes, that I've studied 
To read him through and through, as I would read 
Some paltry rhyme of vulgar prophecy. 
Said to c<intain the fortunes of my house ; 
And, let me speak huu truly — He is grateful, 



AUCHliXDUANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



805 



Kind, tractable, obedient — a child 

Might lead him by a thread — He shall not die ! 

Phl Indeed ! — then have we had our miilnight 
ride 
To wondrous little purpose. 

Accn By the blue heaven, 

Thou shalt not murder him, cold selfish sensualist ! 
Yon pure vault speaks it — yonder summer moon, 
■With its ten milUon sparklers, cries, Forbear ! 
The deep earth sighs it forth — Thou shalt not 

murder ! — 
Thou slialt not mar the image of thy Maker I 
Thou shalt not from thy brother take the life, 
Tlie precious gift which God alone Citn give ! — 

Phi. Here is a worthy guerdon now, for stuffing 
His memory with old saws and holy sayings ! 
They come upon liim in the very crisis. 
And when his resolution should be firmest, 
Tliey sliake it like a palsy — Let it be. 
He'll end at last by yielding to temptation, 
Consenting to the thing which must be done, 
With more remorse the more he hesitates. — 

[To his Father, w/w has stood fixed after 
his last speech. 
Well, su", 'tis fittuig you resolve at last, 
How the yomig clerk shiill be disposed upon ; 
Unless you would ride home to Auchindrane, 
And bid them rear the Maiden in the court-yard, 
That wheu Dunbar comes, he have naught to do 
But bid us 'kl's the cushiou and tne headsmaa 

Auctt It IS too true — There is no safety for us, 
Consistent with the unhappy wretch's life ! 
In Ireland he is sure to find my enemies. 
Arran I've proved — the Netherlands I've tried. 
But wilds and wars return him on my hands. 

Pm. Yet fear not, father, we'U make surer work ; 
The land has caves, the sea has whirlpools, 
Where that which they suck in returns no more. 

Adch. I wdl know naught of it, hard-hearted boy ! 

Pui. Hard-hearted ! Why — my heart is soft as 
yours ; 
But then they must not feel remorse at once, 
We can't afford such wasteful tenderness : 
I can mouth forth remorse as well as you. 
Be executioner, and I'll be chaplain, 
And say as mild and moving things as you can ; 
But one of us must keep his steely temper. 

Aucii. Do thou the deed — I cannot look on it. 

Phi. So be it— walk with me — MacLellan brings 
him. 
The boat hes moor'd within that reach of rock, 
And 'twill require our greatest strength combined 
To launch it from the beach. Meantime, MacLellan 
Brings our man hither. — See the twinkling light 
That glances in the tower. 

Aucu. Let us withdraw — for should he spy us 
suddenly, 
He may suspect us, and alarm the family. 



Phi. Fear not, MacLellan has his trust and con- 
fidence. 
Bought with a few sweet words and welcomes 
home. 
AucH. But tliink you that the Ranger may be 

trusted ? 
Phi. I'll answer for liim, — Let's go float the 
shallop. 

\_They go off, and as they leave the Stage, 

IVIacLellan is seen descending from the 

Tower with Quentin. The former bears a 

dark lantern. They come upon the Stage. 

Mao. (showing the tight.) So — bravely done — 

that's the last ledge of rocks, 

And we are on the sands. — I have broke your 

slumbers 
Somewhat untimely. 

Que. Do not think so, friend. 

These six years past I have been used to stir 
Wlicn the reveille rung ; and that, believe me, 
Chooses the hours for rousing me at random. 
And, having given its summons, yields no license 
To indulge a second slmuber. Nay, more, I'll tell 

thee, 
That, like a pleased child, I was e'en too happy 
For sound repose. 

Mac. The greater fool were you. 

Men should enjoy the moments given to slumber ; 
For who can tell how soon may be the waking, 
Or where we shall have leave to sleep again ? 
Que. The God of Slumber comes not at com- 
mand. 
Last night the blood danced merry through my 

veins : 
Instead of finding tliis our land of Carrick 
The dreary waste my fears had apprehended, 
I saw thy wife, MacLellan, and thy daughter, 
And had a brother's welcome ; — saw thee, too, 
Reuew'd my early friendship with you both, 
And felt once more that I had friends and country 
So keen the joy that tingled through my system, 
Jom'd with the searching powers of yonder wine. 
That I am glad to leave my feverish lair, 
Although my hostess smooth'd my couch herself 
To cool my brow upon this moonlight beach, 
Gaze on the moonlight dancing on the waves. 
Such scenes are wont to soothe me into melancholj , 
But such the hurry of my spuits now, 
That every thing I look on makes me laugh. 
Mac. Ive seen but few so gamesome. Master 
Quentin, 
Being roused from sleep so suddenly as you were. 
Que. ^Yhy, there's the jest on't. Your old cas- 
tle's haunted. 
In vain the host — in vain the lovely hostess, 
In kind addition to all means of rest. 
Add their best wishes for our sound repose, 
■RTicn some hobgoblin brings a pressing message : 



Montgomery presently must see his sergeant, 
And up gets Hildebrand, and off he trudges. 
I can't but hiugh to think upon the grin 
With which lie doff d the kerchief he had twisted 
Around his brows, and put his morion on — 
Ha! ha! ha! ha! 

Mao. Tm glad to see you merry, Quentin. 

Que. Why, faith, my spirits are but transitory, 
And you may Uve witli me a month or more. 
And never see me smile. Then some such trifle 
As yonder little maid of yours would laugh at. 
Will serve me for a theme of merriment — 
Even now, I scarce can keep my gravitj' ; 
We were so snugly settle<l in our quarters, 
Witli full intent to let the sun be high 
Ere we should leave our beds — and first the one 
And then the other's summon'd briefly forth. 
To the old tune, " Black Bandsmen, up and march !" 

Mac. Well I you shall sleep anon — rely upon it — 
And make up tune misspent. Meantime, metliinks, 
Tou are so merry on your broken slumbers. 
You ask'd not why I call'd you. 

QciE. I can guess, 

Tou lack my aid to search the weir for seals. 
You lack my company to stalk a deer. 
Think you I have forgot your silvan tasks, 
Wliicli oft you have permitted me to share, 
Till days that we were rivals ? 

Mac. You have memory 

Of that too ?— 

Que. Like the memory of a dream. 

Delusion far too exquisite to last. 

Mao. You guess not then for what I call you forth. 
It was to meet a friend — 

Que. What friend ? Thyself excepted. 
The good old man who's gone to see Montgomery, 
And one to whom I once gave dearer title, 
I know not in wide Scotlanil man or woman 
Whom I could name a friend. 

Mac. Tliou art mistaken. 
Tliere is a B.aron, and a powerful one . 

Que. There flies my fit of mirth. You have a 
grave 
And alter'd man before you. 

Mac. Comjjuse yourself, there is no cause for 
fear, — 
He will and must speak with you. 

Que. Spare me the meeting, Niel, I cannot see 
liim. 
Say, I'm just landed on my native earth; 
Say, that I will not cumber it a day ; 
Say, that my wretched thread of poor existence 
Shall be drawn out in solitude and exile. 
Where never memory of so mean a thing 
Again shall cross his path — but do not ask me 
To see or speak again with that dark man 1 

Mac Your fears are now as foolish as your 
mirth — 



What should the powerful Knight of Aucliindrann 
In common have with such a man as thou ? 

Que. No matter what — Enough, I will not sen 

him. 
Mac He is thy master, and lie claims obedience. 
Que. My master? Ay, my task-master — Ever 
since 
I could write man, his hand hath been upon me ; 
No step I've made but cumber'd with his chain, 
And I am weary on't — I will not see him. 

Mac. You must and .shall — there is nfi remedv. 
Que. Take heed that you compel me not to find 
one. 
I've seen the wars since we liad strife together ; 
To put my late experience to the test 
Were something dangerous — Ha, I'm bctray'd ! 

[ W^iile the latter part of this dialofjue is 
passing, AucaiNnBANE and Philip en- 
ter on the Staffe from behind, and sud- 
den li/ present themselves. 
AncH. What says the runagate ? 
Que. {laying aside all appeara7ice of resiatance.) 
Nothing, you are my fate ; 
And in a shape more fearfully resistless, 
My evil angel could not stand before me. 

AucH. And so you scruple, slave, at my com- 
mand. 
To meet me when I deign to a.sk thy presence ? 
Que. No, sir; I had forgot — I am yoiu' bond- 
slave ; 
But sure a passing thought of independence. 
For which I've seen whtile nations doing battle, 
Was not, in one Avlio has so long enjoy'd it, 
A crime beyond forgiveness. 

AucH. We shall see : 

Thou wert my vassal, born upon my land, 
Bred by my bounty — It concern'd me highly. 
Thou know'st it did — and yet again.st my charge 
Again I find thy worthlessness in Scotland. 

Que. Alas ! the wealthy and the powerful know 
not 
How very dear to those who have least share in't, 
Is that sweet word of countrj' ! The poor exile 
Feels, in each action of the varied day, 
His doom of banishment. The very air 
Cools not his brow as in his native land ; 
The scene is stnmge, the food is loathly to hini ; 
The language, nay, the music jars his car." 
Why should I, guiltless of the slightest ci-iine, 
Suffer a punLshmeut which, sparing life, 
Deprives that Ufe of all which men hold dear ? 

AucH. Hear j'e the serf I bred, begin to reckon 
Upon his rights and pleasure ! Who am I— 
Tliou abject, who am I, whose wiU thou thwartest ! 
Phi. Well spoke, my pious sire. There goes re- 
morse ! 

I MS. — " Tbe strains of foreign music jar hia ear." 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



807 



Let once thy precious pride take fire, and then, 
MacLelhin, jou and I may have small trouble. 
Que. Your words are deadly, and your power 
resistless ; 
Fm in your hands — but, surely, less than life 
May give you the security you .seek. 
Without commission of a mortal crime. 

AucH. Who is't would deign to think upon thy 
life? 
r but require of thee to speed to Ireland, 
Where tli<iu may'st sojourn for some little space, 
Having due means of living dealt to thee. 
And when it suits the changes of the times, 
Permission to return. 

Que. Noble my lord, 

I am too weak to combat with your pleasure ; 
Yet, 0, for mercy's sake, and for the sake 
Of that dear land which is our common mother. 
Let me not part in darkness from my country I 
Pass but an hour or two, and every cape, 
Headland, and bay, shall gleam with new-born 

light. 
And ril take boat as gayly as the bird 
That soars to meet the morning. 
Grant me but this — to show no darker thoughts 
Are on your heart than those your speech ex- 
presses ! 
Phi. a modest favor, friend, is this you ask ! 
Are we to pace the beach like watermen, 
Waiting youi worship's pleasure to take boat ? 
No, by my faith ! you go upon the instant. 
The boat lies ready, and the ship receives you 
Near to the point of Turnberry. — Come, we wait 

you ; 
Bestir you ! 

Que. I obey. — Then farewell, Scotland, 

And Heaven forgive my sins, and grant that merey. 
Which mortal man fleserves not! 

AucH. {spfaKs aside to his Son.) What signal 
Shall let me know 'tis done ? 

Phi. When the light is quench'd. 

Your fears for Quentin Blane are at an end. — • 
(To Que.) Come, comrade, come, we must begin 
our voyage. 
Que. But when, when to end it ! 

\_He goes off rHuctantly with Philip and 
MacLellan. Auchindrane stands look- 
ing after tfxem. The moon becomes over- 
clouded, mid the Stage dark, Auchin- 
BEANE, wlu} has gazed fixedly and eagerly 
after those leho have left the Stage, be- 
ron*es animated, and speaks. 
4ucH. Tt is no fallacy ! — The night is dark. 
The moon has sunk before the deepening clouds ; 

I MS. *' my antipathy. 

Strong source of inward iiate, arose witliin me, 
Sneiiig its object was witliin my reach, 
And scarcely coald forbear." 



I cannot on the muiky beach distinguish 

The shallop from the rocks which he beside it ; 

I cannot see tall Philip's floating plume, 

Nor trace the suUen brow of Niel MacLellan ; 

Yet still that caitiff's visage is before me. 

With chattering teeth, mazed look, and bristlingr 

hair, 
As he stood here this moment ! — Have I changed 
My Inunan eyes for those of some night prowler. 
The wolf's, the tiger-cat's, or the hoarse bird's 
That .spies its prey at midnight ? I can see him — 
Yes, 1 can see him, seeing no one else, — 
And well it is I do so. In liis absence. 
Strange thoughts of jjity mingled with my purpose. 
And moved remorse within me — But they vanish'd 
Wliene'er he stood a living man before me ; 
Then my antipathy awaked witliin me, 
Seeuig its object close within my reach, 
Till I could scarce forbear him.' — How they linger ! 
The boat's not yet to sea ! — I ask myself. 
What has the poor wretch done to wake my lia 

tred — 
Docile, obedient, and in sufferance patient ?^ 
As well demand what evil has the hare 
Done to the hoimd that courses her in sport. 
Instinct infallible supphes the reason — 
And that must plead my cause. — The vision's gone ! 
Tlieir boat now waUvs the waves ; a single gleam, 
Now seen, now lost, is all that marks her course ; 
Tliat soon shall vanish too — then all is over ! — 
Would it were o'er, for in this moment lies 
Tlie agony of ages !' — Now, 'tis gone — 
And all is acted ! — no — she breasts again 
The opposing wave, and bears the tiny sparkle 
Upon her crest — 

[A faint cry heard as from seaward. 
All ! there wa-s fatal evidence, 
All's over now, indeed ! — The light is quench'd — ■ 
And Quentin, source of .all my fear, exists not. — 
The morning tide shall sweep his corpse to sea, 
And hide all memory of this stern night's work. 

[7/e walks in a slow and d^ejdy meditative 
manner tmvards the side ef the Stage, 
and suddenly meets Marion, the vnfe of 
MacLellan, who has descended from 
the Castle. 
Now, how to meet Dtmbar — Heaven guard my 

senses ! 
St.and ! who goes there ? — Do spirits walk the e.trth 
Ere yet they've left the body ! 

Mar. Is it you. 

My lord, on this wild beach at such an hour ! 

AucH. It is MacLcUan's wife, in search of him, 
Or of her lover — of the mmderer, 

5 '* In that moment, o'er his sool 

Wintereof memory seem'd to roll." 

Byro."* — Tlie Oiaow^ 



808 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Or of the murder'd man. — Go to, Danie Marion, 
Men have their hunting-gear to give an eye to. 
Their snares and trackings for their game. But 

women 
Should t^hun the night air. A young wife also, 
Still more a handsome one, should keep her pillow 
Till the sun gives example for her wakening. 
Come, dame, go back — back to yoxir bed again. 

Mae. Hear me, my lord 1 there have been sights 
and sounds 
That terrified my child and me — Groans, screams, 
As if of dyuig seamen, came from ocean — 
A corpse-light danced upon the crested waves 
For several minutes" space, then sunk at once. 
When we retired to rest we had two guests, 
Besides my husband Niel — I'U tell your lordship 
Who the men were 

AucH. Pshaw, woman, can you think 

That I have any interest in your gossips ? 
Please yom' own husband, and that you may please 

him. 
Get thee to bed, and shut up doors, good dame. 
Were I MacLellan, I .should scarce be satisfied 
To fiud thee wandering here in mist and moonlight. 
When silence should be in thy habitation. 
And sleep upon thy pillow. 

Mak. Good my lord. 

Tills is a liolyday. — By an ancient custom 
Our children seek the shore at break of day 
And gather shells, and dance, and play, and sport 

them 
In honor of the Ocean. Old men say 
The custom is derived from heathen times. Our 

Isabel 
Is mistress of the feast, and you may think 
She is .awake alre.idy, and impatient 
To be the fh'st shall stand upon the beach. 
And bid the sun good-morrow. 

AucH. Ay, indeed f 

Linger such dregs of heathendom among you > 
And hath Knox preach'd, and Wishart died, in 

vain? 
Take notice, I forbid these sinful practices. 
And will not have my followers mingle in them. 

Mae. If such your honor's pleasure, I must go 
And lock the door on Isabel ; she is wilful. 
And voice of mine will have small force to keep her 
From the amusement she so long has dream'd of. 
But I must tell your honor, the old people, 
Tliat were survivors of the former race. 
Prophesied evil if this day should pass 
Without due homage to the mighty Ocean. 

AucH. Folly and Papistry — Perhaps the ocean 
Hath had his morning sacrifice already ; 
Or can you tliiuk the dreadful element. 
Whose frown is death, whose roar the dirge of 

navies, 
Will miss the idle pageant you prepare for ? 



I've business for you, too — the dawn advances— 
I'd have thee lock thy little child in safety. 
And get to Auclmidrane before the sun rise ; 
Tell them to get a royal b.inquet ready. 
As if a king were coming there to feast liim. 
Mar. I will obey your pleasure. But my hus- 
band 

AncH. I wait him on the beach, and bring lum in 
To share the banquet. 

Mak. But he has a friend. 

Whom it would ill become liim to intrude 
Upon your hospitality. 

Aucu. Fear not ; his friend shall be made wel- 
come too. 
Should he return with Niel. 

Mab. He must — he will return — he has no op 

tion. 
AucH. (Apart.) Thus rashly do we deem of 
others' destiny — 
He has indeed no option-»-but be comes not. 
Begone on thy commission — I go this way 
To meet thy husband. 

[Maeion goes to her Tower, and after en- 
tering it, is seen to come out, Jock the 
door, and leave the Stage, as if to execute 
AccHrNDEANE's Commission. He, ap- 
parentlij going off in a different direc- 
tion, has watched her from the side of 
the Stage, and on her departiire speaks. 
AucH. Fare thee well, fond woman. 
Most dangerous of spies — thou prying, prating, 
Spying, and telling woman ! I've cut short 
Thy dangerous testimony — hated word ! 
What other evidence have we cut short, 
And by what fated means, this dreary morning ! — 
Bright lances here and helmets ? — I must shift 
To join the otGers. [JExit. 

Enter from the other side the Sergeant, accompa- 
nied with an Officer and two Pikemen. 

See. 'Twas in good time you came ; a minute 
later 
The knaves had ta'en my dollars and my life. 

Okf. You fought most stoutly. Two of them 
were down 
Ere we came to your aid. 

See. Gramercy, halberd ! 

And well it happens, since your leader seeks 
This Quentin Bhme, that you have faU'n on me ; 
None else can surely tell you where he hides, 
Being in some fear, and bent to quit tliis province. 

Off. 'Twill do our Earl good service. He liaa 
sent 
Dispatches into Holland for this Quentin. 

See. I left him two hours since in yonder tower 
Under the guard of one who smoothly spoke, 
Although ho looVd but roughly — I will chide him 
For bidduig me go forth with yonder traitor. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



800 



Off. Assure yoiurself 'twas a concerted strata- 
gem. 
Montgomery's been at Holyrood for months, 
AuJ call have sent no letter — 'twas a plan 
Ou you and on your dollars, and a base one, 
To which this Ranger was most likely privy ; 
Such mL-n as he hang on our fiercer barons, 
The ready agents of their lawless will ; 
Boys of 'lie belt, who aid their master's pleasures, 
And in liis moods ne'er scrujile his injunc*ions. 
But haste, for now we must imkennel Quentin ; 
I've strictest charge concernmg him. 

See. Cto up, then, to the tower. 
You've younger limbs than mine — there shall you 

tind him 
Lounging and snoring, like a lazy cur 
Before a stable door ; it is his practice. 

[T/ie Officer r/ocs up to the Tower, and 
after knocking without receiving an 
answer, turns the key which Marion 
had left in the lock, and enters ; Isabel, 
dressed as if for her dunce, runs out 
and descends to the Stage; the Officer 
follows. 
Off. There's no one in the house, this little 
maid 

Excepted 

IsA. And for me, I'm there no longer, 

And will not be again for three hours good : 
I'm gone to join my playmates on the sands. 
Off. (detaining her.) You shall, when you have 
told to me distinctly 
Where are the guests who slept up there last night. 
IsA. Why, there is the old man, he stands beside 
you, 
Tlie merry old man, with the glistening hair ; 
He left the tower at midnight, for iny father 
Brought hira a letter. 

Skr. In ill hour I left you, 

I wish to Heaven that 1 had stay'd with you ; 
There is a nameless horror that comes o'er me. — 
Speak, pretty maiden, tell us what chanced ne.\t, 
And thou shalt liave thy freedom. 

Is.\. After you went last night, my father 
Grew moody, and refused to doff his clothes. 
Or go to bed, as sometimes he will do 
When there is aught to chafe him. Until past 

midnight. 
He wauder'd to and fro, then call'd the stranger, 
Tlie gay young man, that sung such merry songs. 
Yet ever look'd most sadly whUst he sung them. 
And forth they went together. 

Off. And you've seen 

Or heard naught of them since ? 

IsA. Seen surely nothing, and I cannot think 
That they have lot or share in what I heard. 
I beard my motlier praying, for the corpse-lights 
Were dancing on the waves ; and at one o'clock. 



Just as the Abbey steeple toll'd the knell. 
There was a heavy plunge upnn the waters. 
And some one cried aloud for mercy ! — mercy 
It was the water-spirit, sure, which promised 
Mercy to boat and fisherman, if we 
Perform'd to-day's rites duly. Let me go — 
I am to lead the ring. 
Off. (to Ser.) Detam her not. She cannot tell 

us more ; 
To give her liberty is tlie sure way 
To lure her parents homeward. — Strahan, take two 

men, 
And should the father or the mother come, 
Arrest them both, or either. Auchindraue 
May come upon the beach ; arrest him also, 
But do not state a cause. I'll back again, 
And take directions from my Lord Dunbar. 
Keep you upon the beach, and have an eye 
To all that passes there. 

[Exeunt separately. 



SCENE IL 

Scene changes to a remote and rocky part of Urn 
Sea-beac/i. 

Enter Auchinhrane, meeting Philip. 

AucH. The devil's brought his legions to thu 
beach, 
Tliat wont to be so lonely ; morions, lances, 
Show in the morning beam as tliick as glow 

worms 
At summer midnight. 

Pel I'm right glad to see them, 

Be they whoe'er they may, so tliey are mortal ■ 
Fur I've contended with a lifeless foe. 
And I have lost the battle. I would give 
A thousand crowns to hear a mortal steel 
Ring on a mortal harness. 

AucH. How now ! — Art mad, or hast thou done 
the turn — 
The turn we came for, and must live or die by» 

Phi. 'Tis done, if man can do it ; but I doubt 
If tliis unhappy wretch have Heaven's permission 
To die by mortal hands. 

AucH. Where is lie ? — where's MacLellan ? 

Phi. In the deep— 

Botli in the deep, and what's immortal of them 
Gone to the judgment-seat, where we must meet 
them. 

AucH. MacLeUan dead, and Quentin too t — So 
be it 
To all that menace ill to Auchindrane, 
Or have the power to uijure hiin ! — Thy word* 
Are full of comfort, but thine eye and look 



Huve in this pallid gloom a gh.istliness, 
Which contradicts the tidings of thy tongue.* 

rm. Hear me, old man. — -There is a heaven 
above us, 
As you have heard old Knox and Wisliart preach, 
Tli«>ugh little to your boot. Tlie dreaded witness 
Is tflain, and silent. But his misused body 
Comes right ashore, as if to cry for vengeance ; 
It rides tlie waters like a living thing,^ 
Erect, as if he trode the waves which bear him. 

AucH. Thou speakest phrensy, when sense is 
most required. 

Pur. Hear me yet more ! — I say I did the deed 
With all the coolness of a practised hunter 
"When dealing with a stag. I struck him over- 
board, 
And with MncLellan's aid I held his head 
Under the waters, while the Ranger tied 
The weights we had provided to liis feet. 
We cast liim loose wlien life and body parted, 
And bid bun ^peed for Ireland. But even then, 
As iu defiance of the words we spoke, 
Tlie body rose upright behind our stern, 
One half in ocean, and one half in air, 
And tided after as m chase <»f us.^ 

AvcTi. It was enchantment! — Did you strike at 
it? 

Vni. Once and again. But blows avail'd no more 
Than on a wreath of smoke, where they may break 
The column for a moment, which unites 
And is entire again. Thus the dead body 
Sunk down before my oar, but rose unharm'd, 
And dogg'd us closer still, as in defiance. 

AucH. 'Twas Hell's own work ! 

Vm. MacLellan then grew restive 

And desperate in his fear, blaspliemed aloud, 
Cursing ns both as authors of his ruin. 
Myself was wellnigh frantic while pursued 
By this dead shape, upon whose ghastly features 
The cliangeful moo!ibeam spread a grisly light; 
And, b:iited thus, I took the nearest way^ 
To ensure his silence, and to queU his noise ; 

1 " Tlii< man's brow, like to a title leaf, 

ForeteJis the nature of a tragic %olume ; 

TIioii Iremlilest ; and the wliitetiess in tliy cheek 

[s apter than tliy tongue to tell lliy errand.*' 

2ft King Henry IV. 

2 " Walks the waters like a thing of life." 

Byron — The Corsair, 

3 Tliis passage was probably suggested by a striking one in 
S'outiiey's Life of Nelson, touching the corpse of the Nenpoli- 
lan Prince Caraccioli, executed on board the Fuudroyant, then 
the great British Admiral's flag-ship, in the bay of Naples, in 
1799. The circumstances of Caraccioli's trial and death form, 
it is alnio;*t neciilcss to observe, the most unpleasant cliapter in 
Lortl Nels-on's history : — 

*'1iie body." saya Soulhey, " was carried out to a con- 
siderable distance and sunk in the bay, with three double- 
headed shot, weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, tied to 



I used my dagger, and I flung him overboard, 

And half expected his dead carcass also 

Would join the chase — but he sunk down at once. 

AucH. He had enough of mortal sin about him, 
To sink an argosy. 

Phi. But now resolve you what defence to make, 
If Quentm's body shall be recognized; 
For 'tis ashore already; and he bears 
Marks of my handiwork ; ao does MacLellan. 

AucH. The concom-se thickens still — Away, 
away ! 
We must avoid the multitude. 

[They rush out 



SCENE III. 

Scene changes to another part of the Beach. Chil- 
dren are seen danchtff^ and Villagers looking on. 
Isabel seems to take the management of thfi 
Danee. 

ViL. WoM. How well she queens it, the brave 

little maiden ! 
ViL. Ay, tliey all queen it from then- very- 
cradle, 
These willing slaves of haughty Auchindrane. 
But now I hear the old man's reign is ended ; — 
*Tis well — he h;is been tyrant long enough. 

Second Vil. Finlay, speak low, you interrupt 

the sports. 
TniRD Vil. Look out to sea — There's something 
coming yonder, 
Bound fur the beach, will scare us from our mirth. 
Fourth Vil. Pshaw, it is bu^ a sea-gull on the 
wing, 
Between the wave and sky. 

Third Vil. Thou art a fool, 

Standing on solid, land — 'tis a dead body. 

Second Vil. And if it be, he bears him hke a 
Hve one, 



its legs. Between two or three weeks afterwards, when tJie 
King (of Naples) was on board the Foudroyant, a Neapolitan 
fisherman came to the shi]), and solemnly declared, that 
Caraecioli had risen from the bottom of the sea, and was com- 
ing as fast as he could to Naples, swimming half out of the 
water. Such an account wa.s listened to like a tale of idle 
credulitv. The day being fair. Nelson, to please the King, 
stood out to sea ; but the ship had not proceeded far before a 
body was distinctly seen, U|)right in the water, and approach- 
ing them. It was recognized, indeed, to be the corpse of 
Caraecioli, which had risen and floated, while the great 
weights attached to tlie legs kept the body in a position like 
that of a living man. A fact so extraordinary astonished the 
King, and perhaps excited some feelings of superstitions fear, 
akin to regret. He gave permission for the body to be taken on 
shore, and receive Christian burial." — Life of JVcI^on, chap. 
vi. 

i MP — " And. baited by my slave, 1 used mvdagger." 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



811 



Not prone and weltering like a drowned corpse, 
But bolt erect, as if he trode the waters. 
And used them as his path. 

Fourth Vil. It is a merman, 

And nothing of this earth, alive or dead. 

\By deyrees all the Dancers break off 
from their sport, and stand gazing to 
seaward, while an object, bnperfeclhj 
seen, drifts towards the Beach, and at 
length arrives among the rocks which 
border the tide. 
Third Vil. Perhaps it is some wretch who needs 
assistance ; 
Jasper, make in and see. 

Second Vil. Not I, ray friend ; 

E'en take the risk yourself, you'd put on others. 

[HiLPEBRAND has entered, and heard the 
two last words. 
Ser. What, are you men ? 
Fear ye to look on what you must be one day ? 
I, who have seen a thousand dead and dying 
Within a flight-shot squai-e, will teach you how in 

war 
We look upon the corpse when life has left it. 

\_-He goes to the back scene, and seems at- 
tempting to turn the bodg, which has 
come ashore with its face downwards. 
Will none of you come aid to turn the body ? 
IsA. You're cowards all. — I'll help thee, good old 
man. 

[S/te goes to aid the Sergeant with the 
body, and presently gices a cry, and 
faints. HiLDEBR.iND comes forward. 
All crowd round him ; he speaks with 
an^ expression of horror. 
Ser. 'Tis Quentia Blane ! Poor youth, his gloomy 
bodhigs 
Have been the prologue to an act of darkness ; 
His feet are manacled, his bosom stabb'd, 
And he is foully murder'd. Tlie proud Knight 
And his dark Ranger must have done this deed, 
For which no common ruffian could have motive. 
A Pea. Caution were best, old man — Thou art 
a stranger. 
The Knight is gre.at and powerful. 

Ser. Let it be so. 

Call'd on by Heaven to stand forth an avenger, 
I will not blench for fear of mortal man. 
Have I not seen tliat when that innocent 

1 M>". — " His uDblooiled wounds," &c. 

3 " The poet, in his play of Anchindrane, displayed real 
tragic (lower, and soothed all those who cried out before f»r a 
more direct story, and less ot the retrospet'live. Several 0' tjie 
Bcenes a-s conceived and executed with all the powers of the 



Had placed her hands upon the murder'd body, 
His gapiug wounds,' that erst were soak'd with 

brine. 
Burst forth with blood as ruddy as the cloud 
Wliich now the sun doth rise on ? 

Pea. Wliatofthat? 

Ser. Notliing that ciin affect the innocent child. 
But murder's guilt attaching to her father. 
Since the blood musters iu the victim's veins 
At the approach of what holds lease from him 
Of all that parents can transmit to children. 
And here comes one to whom I'll vouch the cir- 
cumstance. 

The Earl of Ddnbar enters with Soldiers and oth- 
ers, having Auchindrane and Philip prisoners. 
Du.v. Fetter the young ruffian and his trait'rous 
father I 

\They are made secure. 
AucH. 'Twas a lord spoke it — I have known a 
knight. 
Sir George of Home, who had not dared to say so. 
Dun. 'Tis Heaven, not I, decides upon your guilt. 
A hiirmless youth is traced within your power. 
Sleeps in your Ranger's house — his friend at mid- 
night 
Is spirited away. Tlien lights are seen. 
And groans are heard, and corpses come ashore 
JIangled with daggers, wliile {to Philip) your da^ 

ger wears 
The sanguine Uvery of recent slaughter : 
Here, too, the body of a murder'd victim 
(Whom none but you had interest to remove) 
Bleeds ou the cliild's approach, because the daughter 
Of one the abettor of the wicked deed. 
All this, and other proofs corroborative. 
Call on us briefly to pronounce the doom 
We have in eh.arge to utter. 

AucH. If my house perish. Heaven's will be done ! 
I wish not to survive it ; but, Philip, 
Would one could pay the ransom for us both ! 

Phi. Father, 'tis fitter that we both should die, 
Leaving no heir behind. — The piety 
Of a bless'd saint, the morals of an anchorite, 
Could not atone thy dark hypocrisy, 
Or the wild profligacy I have practised. 
Ruin'd our house, and shatter'd be our towers, 
And with them end the cmse our sins have mer- 
ited !' 

best parts of ' Waverley.* The verse, too, is more roogh. natu- 
ral, and nervous, than that of ' Halidon Uill ;* but. noble aa 
the ertbrt was. it was eclijised so much by his splenditl roman- 
ces, that the pubHc still complained that he had not done hi* 
best, and that his genius was not dramatic." — Allan Con- 
NINOHAM. — J^thenteum, Hth Dec. 1833. 



812 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A TRAGEDY. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

This attempt at dramatic composition was exe- 
cuted nearly thirty years since, wlien the magnifi- 
cent works of Goethe and Schiller were for the 
first time made known to the British pubUc, and 
received, as many now alive must remember, with 
universal enthusiasm. What we admire we usually 
attempt to miitate ; and the author, not trusting 
to his own efforts, borrowed the substance of the 
story and a part of the diction from a dram.atic 
romance called " Der Heilige Vehmfe" (the Secret 
Tribunal), wliich fills the sixth volume of the " Sa- 
gen der Vorzeit" (Tales of Antiquity), by Beit 
Weber. The drama must be termed rather a rifa- 
cimento of the original than a translation, since the 
whole is compre.ssed, and the incidents and dia- 
logue occasionally much varied. Tlie imitator is 
ignorant of the real name of his ingenious contem- 
porary, and has been informed that of Beit Weber 
is fictitious.' 

The late Mr. John Kemble at one time had some 
desire to bring out the play at Drury-Lane, then 
adorned by liimself and his matchless sister, who 
were to have supported the characters of the un- 
happy son and mother : but great objections ap- 
peared to this proposal. There was danger that 
the main-spring of the story, — the binding engage- 
ments ftirmed by members of the secret tribunal, — 
might not be sufficiently felt by an English audi- 
ence, to whom the nature of that singularly mys 
terious institution was unknown from early asscx;i- 
ation. Tliere was also, according to Mr. KemUe's 
experienced opinion, too much blood, too mucli of 
the dire catastrophe of Tom Tliumb, when all die 
on the stage. It was, besides, esteemed perilous to 
jiluoe the fifth act and the parade and .sh.jwof the 
secret conclave, at the mercy of uudorlings and 
[■cene-shifters, who, by a ridiculous motion, gesture, 
or accent, might turn what should be grave into 
farce. 

The author, or rather the translator, willingly 
prquiesced in this reasoning, and never afterwards 

' George Wachter, who published various* works uniier the 
pseudonym of f«( WebuT, was born in 1763, and died in 1837. 
—Ed. 



made any attempt to gain the honor of the buskin 
The German taste also, caricatured by a number 
of imitators who, incapable of cojiying the sublim- 
ity of the great masters of the school, supplied ita 
jjlace by extravagance and bombast, fell into dis- 
repute, and received a ccmp ch grace from the joint 
efforts of the late lamented Mr. Canning and Mr. 
Frere. The effect of tlieir singularly happy piece 
of ridicule called " The Rovers," a mock play which 
appeared in the Anti-Jacobin, was, that the Ger- 
man school, with its beauties and its defects, passed 
completely out of fashion, and the following scenes 
were consigned to neglect and obscm-ity. Very 
lately, however, the writer chanced to look them 
over with feelings very different from those of the 
adventurous period of his Uterary Ufe durir.g which 
they had been written, and yet with such as per- 
haps a reformed Ubertine might regard the ille- 
gitimate production of an early amour. There is 
something to be ashamed of, certainly ; but, after 
all, paternal vanity whispers that the child has a 
resemblance to the father. 

To this it need only be added, that there are in 
existence so ma.ny manuscript copies of the follow- 
ing play, that if it should nut find its way to the 
public sooner, it is certain to do so when the author 
can no n.ore have any opportunity of correcting 
the f/rtds, and consequently at greater disadvantage 
than at present. Being of too small a size or con- 
ocqucace for a separate publication, the piece is 
tdnt as a contribution to the Keepsake, where its 
demerits may be hidden amid the beauties of more 
valuable articles.' 

ABBOTStoRD, \sl April, 1829. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.fi. 



RuDiGER, Baron of A&pen, an old German warrior 

George of Aspen, } .. u j- „ 

' \ sons to Riidiger. 
Henry of Aspen, ^ 



' See Life of Scott, vol. 

ii.aos. 



pages 18, 20, 73; iii. S; 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



813 



RoDEBio, Count of Maltingen, chief of a department 
of the hivisible U\ibnnaf, and the hereditary enc- 
iHif of the famihj of Aspeii, 

William, Baron of Wolfsteiit, ally of Count Rod- 
eric. 

Bertram of Ebeksdorf, brother to the former hus- 
band of the Baroness of Aspe7t, disyuised as a 
minstrel. 

jDuke of Bavaria. 

Vv K^KRIfn i 

p . . ' > followers of the House of Alpen. 

Conrad, Pnrje of Honor to Henry of AspetL 
Martin, Sf/iiire to George of Aspen. 
Hugo, Squire to Count Roderic. 
Peter, an ancient domestic of Rudiger. 
Father Ludovic, Chaplain to Rudiger. 

WOMEN. 

Isabella, formerly married to A':nolf of Ebersdorf 

novi wife of Rudiger. 
Gertrude, Isabella's niece, bttrothtd to Henry. 

Soldiers, Judges of the Invisible Tribunal, 
&c. &c. 

Scene. — The ^stle of Ebersdorf iji Bavaria, the 
ruins of Lr-riefenhaus, and the adjacent country. 



^I)c i^OKSc of ^spm. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 

An ancient Gothic chamber in the Castle of Ebers- 
dorf Spears, crossbows, and arms, with the horns 
of buffaloes and of deer, are hung round the wall. 
An antique buffet with beakers and stone bottles. 

Rudiger, Baron of Aspen, and his lady, Isabella, 
are discovered sitting at a large oaken table. 

RuD. A plague upon that roan horse ! Had he 
not stumbled witli me at tlie ford after our last 
skirmish, I had been now with my sons. And 
yonder the boys are, hardly three mUes off, bat- 
tliii;; with Count Roderic, and their fiither must 
lie here hke a worm-eaten manuscript in a convent 
library ! Out upon it ! Out upon it ! Is it not hard 
that a warrior, who has travelled so many leagues 
to display the cross on the walls of Zion, should be 
now unable to lift a spear before his own castle 
gate 1 

IsA. Dear husband, your anxiety retards your 
recovery. 

RuD. May be so ; but not less than your silence 
and melancholy ! Here have I sate tliis month, 



and more, since that cursed fall I Neither hiniting, 
nor feasting, nor lance-breaking for me I And my 
sons — George enters cold and reserved, as if he 
had the weight of the empire on his shoulders, ut 
ters by syllables a cold " How is it with you !" and 
slmt.s liimself up for days in his soUtary chaiulicr — 
Henry, my cheerful Henry — 

IsA. Surely, he at least — 

RuD. Even he forsakes me, and skips uj) the 
tower staircase like lightning to join youi' fair 
ward, Gertrude, on the battlements. I caimot 
blame him ; for, by my knightly faith, were I in 
liis place, I tliink even these bruised bones woulc 
hardly keep me from her side. Still, however, 
here I must sit alone. 

IsA. Not alone, dear husband. Heaven knows 
what I would do to soften your confinement. 

RuD. Tell me not of that, lady. When 1 lirst 
knew thee, Isabella, the fair maid of Arnheim was 
the joy of her companions, and breathed life wliere- 
ever she came. Thy father married thee to Arnolf 
of Ebersdorf — not much with thy will, 'tis true — 
{she hides ha- face.) Nay — forgive me, Isabella — 
but that is over — he died, and the ties between us. 
which thy marriage had broken, were renewed — 
but the sunshine of my Isabella's light heart re- 
turned no more. 

IsA. (weeping.) Beloved Rudiger, you search ray 
very soul ! Why will you recall past times — days 
of spring that can never return ? Do I not love 
thee more than e.ver wife loved husband ? 

RuD. (stretc/ies out his arms — she embraces him.) 
And therefore art thou ever my beloved Isabella 
But still, is it not true ? Has not thy cheerfulness 
vanished since thou hast become Lady of Aspen ? 
Dost thou repent of thy love to Rudiger ? 

Is. Alas ! no ! never I never ! 

RuD. Then why dost thou herd with monks and 
priests, and leave thy old knight alone, when, for 
the first time in his stormy hfe, he has rested for 
weeks within the walls of Ms castle ? Hast thou 
committed a crime from which Rudiger's love 
cannot absolve thee ? 

IsA. O many ! many ! 

RuD. Then be this kiss thy penance. And tell 
me, Isabella, hast thou not founded a convent, and 
endowed it with the best of thy late husband's 
lands ? Ay, and with a vineyard which J could 
have prized as well as the sleek monks. Dost 
thou not daily distribute alms to twenty pilgrims ? 
Dost thou not cause ten masses to be simg each 
night for the repose of thy late husband's soul ? 

IsA. It will not know repose. 

RuD. Well, well — -God's peace bo with Arnolf 
of Ebersdorf; the mention of hun makes thee ever 
sad, though so many years have passed since his 
death. 

IsA. But at present, dear husband, have I not 



814 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the mobt just cause for anxiety ? Are not Henry 
and George, our beloved sons, at tliis very moment 
perhaps eng:jged in doubtful contest with our he- 
reditary foe, Count Roderic of Maltingen ? 

KuD. Now, there lies the difference : you sorrow 
that they are in danger, I that I cannot share it 
with them. — Hark 1 I hear horses' feet on ihe 
drawbridge. Go to the wmdow, Isabella. 

Is.v. {'if the window.) It is Wickerd, your squire. 

IUd. Then shall we have tidings of George and 
Henry. {Enter Wickerd.) How now, Wickerd ? 
Have you come to blows yet ? 

Wic. Not yet, noble sir. 

Rl'd. Not yet? — shame on the boys' dallying — 
what wait they for ? 

Wic. The foe is strongly posted, sir knight, ujiou 
the AVolfshill, near the ruins of Griefenhaus ; there- 
fore your noble son, George of Aspen, greets you 
well, and requests twenty more men-at-arms, and, 
after they have joined him, he hopes, with the aid 
of St. Theodore, to send you news of victory. 

RuD. (attempts to rise hastity.) Saddle my black 
barb ; I will head them myself (Sits down.) A 
murrain on that stumbling roan ! I had forgot my 
dislocated bones. Call Reynold, Wickerd, and bid 
him take all whom he can spare from defence of 
the castle — (Wickerd is going) and ho ! Wick- 
erd, carry with you my black barb, and bid George 
cliarge upon him. (Exit Wickerd.) Now see, 
Isabella, if I disregard the boy's safety ; I send 
him tlie best horse ever knight bestrode. When 
we lay before Ascalou, indeed, I had a bright bay 
Persian — Thou dost not heed me. 

Is.\. Forgive me, dear husband ; are not om- 
sons in danger ? Will not our sius be visited upon 
them ? Is not their present situation 

RcD. Situation ? I know it well : as fair a field 
for open tight as I ever hunted over : see here — 
(makes lines on the table) — here is the ancient cas- 
tle of Griefenhaus m ruins, liere the WolfshiU ; and 
here the marsh on the right. 

Is.v. The marsh of Griefenhaus! 

Run. Yes; by that the boys must pass. 

Is.\. Pass there ! (Apart.) Avenging Heaven ! 
'hy hand is upon us ! \_Exit hastily. 

RuD. Whither now ? Whither now ? She is 
({One. Thus it goes. Peter ! Peter 1 (Enter Pe- 
TER.) Help me to the gallery, that I may see 
them on horseback. l_Exit, leaning on Peier. 



SCENE IL 

The inner eotirt of the Castle of Ebersdorf ; a quad- 
rangle, surrounded witli Gothic buildings ; troop- 
ers, followers of Rudiger, pass and repass in 
haste, as if pireparing for an excursion. 



Wickerd comes forward. 
Wio. What, ho ! Reynold ! Reynold !— By our 
Lady, the spirit of the Seven Sleepers is upon 
him — So ho ! not mounted yet ! Reynold ! 

Enter Reynold. 

Ret. Here ! here ! A devil choke thy bawling ! 
tliiuk'st thou old Reynold is not as ready for a skh'- 
mish as thou i 

Wic Nay, nay : I did but jest ; but, by my sooth, 
it were a shame should our youngsters have yoked 
with Count Roderic before we graybeards come. 

Rev. Heaven forefend ! Our troopers are but 
saddling their horses ; five minutes more, and we 
ai-e in our stirrups, and then let Count Roderic sit 
fast. 

Wic. a plague on him ! he has ever lain hard 
on the skh'ts of our noble m.aster. 

Rev. Especially since he was refused the hand 
of our lady's niece, the pretty Lady Gertrude. 

Wic. Ay, marry ! would nothing less serve the 
fox of Maltingen than the lovely lamb of our young 
Baron Henry 1 By my sooth, Reynold, when I 
look upon these two lovers, they make me full 
twenty years younger ; and when I meet the man 
that would divide them — I say notliiug — but let 
him look to it. 

Rey. And how fare our young lords ? 

Wic. Each well in his humor. — Baron George 
stern and cold, according to his wtmt, and his 
brother as cheerful as ever. 

Rey. Well ! — Baron Henry for me. 

Wic. Yet George saved thy life. 

Rey. True — with as much indifference as if he 
had been snatchmg a chestnut out of the fire. 
Now Baron Henry wept for my danger and my 
wounds. Therefore George shall ever conmiand 
my life, but Henry my love. 

Wic. Nay, Baron George shows his gloomy spirit 
even by the choice of a favorite. 

Ret. Ay — Martin, formerly the squire of Arnolf 
of Ebersdorf, liis mother's first husband. — I marvel 
he could not have fitted himself with an attendant 
from among the faithful followers of his worthy 
father, whom Arnolf and Iiis adherents used to 
hate as the Devil hates holy water. But Martin 
is a good soldier, and has stood toughly by George 
in many a hard brunt. 

Wic. The knave is sturdy enough, but so sulky 
withal — I have seen, brotLjr Reynold, that when 
Martin showed his moody visage at the banquet, 
our noble mistress has dropped the wine she was 
raising to her hps, and exchanged her smiles for a 
ghastly frown, as if sorrow went by sympathy, as 
kissing goes by favor. 

Ret. His appearance reminds her of her first 
husband, and thou hast well seen that makes her 
ever sad. 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



815 



Wic. Dost thou maryel at that ! She was mar- 
ried to A]-nolf by a species of force, aiul they sa} 
that before his death he compelled her to swear 
never to espouse Rudiger. The priests will not 
absolve her for the breach of that vow, and there- 
fore she is troubled in inind. For, d'ye mark me, 
Reynold [^Bttglp sounds. 

Ret. a truce to your preaching ! To horse ! 
and a blessing on our arms ! 

Wic. St. George gi'ant it ! [^Exeunt. 



SCENE III. 

The galhry of the Castle^ tfirminatii^y in a hirr/e 
balcony caimnaiidlnrj a distant prospect, — Voices, 
bugle-horns, kettle-drums, trampling of horses, d'c, 
are hedrd without. 

Rddiger, leaning on Peter, looks from the halco7ig. 
Gertrude and Isabella are near him. 

Run. There they go at length — look, Isabella ! 
look, my pretty Gertrude — these are the iron- 
handed warriors who shall tell Roderic what it 
will cost him to force thee from my protection — 
[Flourish ivithout — Rudiger stretches his arms 
from the balcony.) Go, my children, and God's 
blessing with you. Look at my black barb, Ger- 
trude. Tliat horse shall let daylight in through a 
phalanx, were it twenty pikes deep. Shame on it 
that I cannot mount him ! Seest thou how fierce 
old Reynold looks ? 

Ger. I can hardly know my friends in their armor. 
l^The bugles and kettle-drums are heard 
as at a greater dista?ice. 

Run. Now I could tell every one of their names, 
even at this distance ; ay, and were they covered, 
as I have seen them, with dust and blood. He on 
the dapple-gray is Wickerd — a hardy fellow, but 
somewhat given to prating. That is young Con- 
rad who gallops so fast, page to thy Henry, my girl. 
l^Bugles, d'c., at a greater distance still. 

Ger. Heaven guard them. Alas ! the voice of 
war that calls the blood into your cheeks cliiUs and 
freezes mine. 

RuD. Say not so. It is glorious, my girl, glori- 
, ous ! See how their armor glistens as they wuul 
round yon hill ! how their spears glimmer amid 
the long train of dust. Hark ! you can stiU hear 
the faint notes of their trumpets — (Bugles very 
faint.) — And Rudiger, old Rudiger with the iron 
arm, as the crusaders used to oall me, must remain 
behind with the priests and the women. "Well ! 
well ! — (Sings.) 

" It was a knight to battle rode, 
And as liis war-horse he bestrode." 



Fill me a bowl of wine, Gertrude ; and do thou, 
Peter, call the minstrel who came liither last night. 
—(Ulngs.) 

" Off rode the horseman, dash, sa, sa I 
And stroked liis wliiskers, tra, la, la." — 

{Peter goes out. — Rudiger sits down, and Ger- 
trude helps him with wine.) Thanks, my love. It 
t.astes ever best from thy hand. Isabella, here la 
glory and victoiy to our boys — (Z^rwiis.)— Wilt 
thou not pledge me ? 

IsA. To their safety, and God grant it ! — (Drinks.) 

Enter Bertram as a minstrel, with a boy bearing 
his harp. — Also Peter. 

RuD. Tliy name, minstrel ? 

Ber. Minhold, so please j'ou. 

RuD. Art thou a German ? 

Ber. Yes, noble sir ; and of this province. 

RuD. Sing me a song of battle. 

[Bertram sings to the harp. 

RuD. Thanks, minstrel: well sung, and lustily. 
What sayest thou, Isabella ? 

IsA. I markeil him not. 

Run. Nay, in sootli you are too anxious. Cheer 
up. And thou, too, my lovely Gertrude : in a few 
hours, thy Henry shall return, and twine his lau- 
rels into a garland for thy hair. He fights for 
thee, and he must conquer. 

Ger. Alas ! must blood be spilled fur a silly 
maiden ? 

RuD. Surely : for what should knights break 
lances but for honor and ladies' love — ha, minstrel ' 

Ber. So please you — also to punish crimes. 

RuD. Out upon it ! wouldst have us execution 
ers, mmstrel ? Such work would disgrace our 
blades. We leave malefactors to the Secret Tri- 
bunal. 

Is.\. Merciful God ! Thou hast spoken a word, 
Rudiger, of dreadful import. 

Ger. They say that, unknown and invisible 
themselves, these awful judges are ever present 
with the guilty; that the past and the present 
misdeeds, the secrets of the confessional, nay, the 
very thoughts of the heart arc before them ; that 
their doom is as sure as that of fate, the means 
and executioners unknown. 

RuD. They say true ; the secrets of th.at asso- 
ciation, and the names of those who compose it, 
are as inscrutable as the grave : we only know 
that it has taken ileep root, and spread its branches 
wide. I sit down each day in ray hall, nor know 
I how many of these secret judges may surround 
me, all bound by the most solemn vow to avenge 
guilt. Once, and but once, a knight, at the earnest 
request and inquiries of the emperor, Iiintcd that 
he belonged to the society : the next morning he 



816 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



was found slain in a forest : the poniard waa left in 
the wound, and bore tliis label — " Thus do the in- 
visible judges punish treachery." 

Geb. Gracious ! aunt, you grow pale. 

IsA. A slight indisposition only. 

RuD. And what of it all ? We know our hearts 
are open to our Creator : sliall we fear any earthly 
inspection ? Come to the battlements ; there we 
shall soonest descry the return of our warriors. 

[Srit RuDiGEE, imth Gertkude and Petek. 

IsA. Minstrel, send t!ie chaplain liither. {-Exit 
Bertbam.) Gracious Heaven ! the guileless inno- 
cence of my niece, the manly honesty of my up- 
right-hearted Rudiger, become daily tortures to 
me. While he was engaged in active and stormy 
exploits, fear for his safety, joy when lie returned 
to his castle, enabled me to disguise my inward 
anguish from others. But from myself — Judges 
of blood, that he concealed in noontide as in mid- 
night, who boiist to avenge the hidden guilt, and 
to penetrate the recesses of the human breast, how 
blind is your penetration, how vain your dagger, 
and your cord, compared to the conscience of the 
sinner ! 

Enter Father Ludovio. 

LuD. Peace be with j'ou, lady ! 

IsA. It is not with me : it is thy office to bring it. 

LuD. And the cause is the absence of the young 
knights ? 

IsA. Tlieir absence and their danger. 

LuD. Daughter, thy hand has been stretched out 
in bounty to the sick and to the needy. Thou hast 
not denied a shelter to the weary, nor a tear to 
the .afflicted. Trust in their prayers, and in those 
of the holy convent thou hast founded; perad- 
vcnture they will bring back thy children to thy 
bosom. 

IsA. Thy brethren cannot pray for me or mine. 
Their vow binds them to pray night and day for 
another — to supplicate, without ceasing, the Eter- 
nal Jlercy for the soul of one who — Oh, only 
Heaven knows how much he needs their prayer ! 

LuD. Unbounded is the mercy of Heaven. The 
soul of thy former husband 

IsA. I charge thee, priest, mention not the word. 
(Apart.) Wretch that I am, the meanest menial in 
my train has power to goad me to madness ! 

LuD. Hearken to me, daughter; thy crime 
against Arnolf of Ebersdorf cannot bear in the eye 
of Heaven so deep a dye of guilt. 

IsA. Repeat that once more ; say once again 
that it cannot — cannot bear so deep a dye. Prove 
to me that ages of the bitterest penance, that tears 
of the dearest blood, can erase such guilt. Prove 
but that to me, and I will build thee an abbey 
which shall put to shame the fairest fane in Chris- 
tendom. 

LuD. Nay, nay, daughter, your conscience is over 



tender. Supposing that, under dread of the stern 
Arnolf, you swore never to marry your present 
husband, still the exacting such an oath was un- 
lawful, and the breach of it venial 

IsA. {resuming her crmiposure.) Be it so, good 
father ; I yield to thy better reasons. And now 
tell me, has thy pious care achieved the task I 
intrusted to thee ? 

LuD. Of superintending the erection of thy new 
Ijospit.al for pilgrims ? I have, noble lady ; and 
last night the minstrel now in the castle lodged 
there. 

IsA. Wherefore came he then to the castle ? 

LuD. Reynold brought the commands of the 
Baron. 

IsA. Wlience comes he, and what is his tale? 
When he sung before Rudiger, I thought that long 
before I had heard such tones — seen such a face. 

LuD. It is possible you may have seen him, lady, 
for he boasts to have been known to Arnolf of 
Ebersdorf, and to have lived formerly in this cas- 
tle. He inquires much after Martin, Araolf's 
squire. 

IsA. Go, Ludovic— go quick, good father, seek 
him out, give him this purse, and bid him leave 
tlie castle, and speed him on his way. 

LuD. May I ask why, noble lady ? 

IsA. Thou art inquisitive, priest : I lionor the 
servants of God, but I foster not the prying spirit 
of a monk. Begone ! 

LuD. But the Baron, lady, will expect a reason 
why I dismiss his guest ? 

IsA. True, true {recollecting herself) ; pardon my 
warmth, good father, I was thuiking of the cuckoo 
that grows too big for the nest of the sparrow, and 
strangles its foster-mother. Do no such bnds roost 
in convent- walls ? 

LuD. Lady, I understand you not. 

IsA. Well, then, say to the Baron, that I have 
dismissed long ago all the attendants of the man 
of whom thou hast spoken, and that I wish to have 
none of them beneath my roof. 

LuD. {inquisitively.) Except Martin ? 

IsA. (sharply.) Except Martin ! who saved the 
life of my son George ? Do as I command thee. 

[Exit. 
Manet Ludovic 

LuD. Ever the same — stern and peremptory to 
others as rigorous to herself; haughty even to me, 
to whom, in another mood, she has knelt for abso- 
lution, and whose knees she has bathed in tears. 
I cannot fathom her. The unnatural zeal with 
which she performs her dreadful penances cannot 
be religion, for shrewdly I guess she believes not 
in then- blessed efficacy. Well for her that she ia 
the foundress of our convent, otherwise we might 
not have erred in denouncing her as a heretic. 

[ExU 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



811 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 

A woodland prospect. — Through a long avenue, half 
grown up bi/ brambles, are discerned hi the back- 
ground the ruins of the ancient Castle of Grie- 
feiihaus. The distatit noise of battle is heard du- 
ring this scene. 

Enter George of Aspen, armcdwith a battle-axe 
in his hand, as fro/n horseback. He supports 
Martin, and brings him forward. 

'Jeo. Lay thee down here, old friend. The en- 
emy's h(trsemen "will hardly take their way among 
these brambles, through which I have dragged 
thee. 

Mar. Oh, do not leave me ! leave me not an 
instant ! My moments arc now but few, and I 
would profit by them. 

Geo. Martin, you forget yourself and me — I must 
back to the field. 

M.\R. {attempts to rise.) Then drag me back 
thither also ; I cannot die but m your presence — I 
dare not be alone. Stay, to give peace to my 
parting soul. 

Geo. I am no priest, Martin. {Going.) 

Mar. {raising himsetf with great pain.) Baron 
George of Aspen, I saved thy life in battle ; for 
',hat good deed, hear me but one moment. 

Geo. I heiir thee, my poor friend. {Brturning.) 

Mar. But come close — vory close. See'st thou, 
sir knight — this wtiund I bore for thee — and this — 
wid this — dost thou not remember ? 

Geo. I do. 

Mar. I have served thee since thou wast a 
child ; served thee faithfully — was never from thy 
side. 

Geo. Thou hast. 

Mar. And now I die in thy service. 

Geo. Thou may'st recover. 

Mar. I cannot. By my long service — by my 
scars — by this mortal gash, and by the death that 
I imi to die — oh, do not hate me for what I am 
now to unfold ! 

Geo. Be assured I can never hate thee. 

Mae. Ah, thou little knowest Swear to me 

thou wilt speak a word of comfort to my parting 
eoul. 

Geo. {takes hit hand.) I swear I will. (Alarm 
and shouting.) But be brief — thou knowest my 
ha.ste. 

Mar. Hear me, then. I was the squire, the be- 
loved and favorite attendant, of Arnolf of Ebers- 
dorf. Arnolf was savage as the mountain bear. 
He loved the Lady Isabel, but she requited not 
his passion. She loved thy father ; but her sire, 
old Arnheim, was the friend of Arnolf, and she 

was forced to marry him. By midnight, in the 
103 



chapel of Ebersdorf, the ill-omened rites were per- 
formed ; her resistance, her screams were in vain. 
These arms detained her at the altar till the nup 
tial benediction was pronounced. Canst thou for- 
give me ? 

Geo. I do forgive thee. Thy obedience to thy 
savage master has been obliterated by a long train 
of services to his widow. 

Mar. Services! ay, bloody services! fur they 
commenced — do not quit my hand — they com- 
menced with the murder of my master, {(teorgb 
guits his hand, and stands aghast in speechless hor- 
ror.) Trample on me ! pursue me with your dag- 
ger ! I aided your mother to poison her first hus- 
band ! I thank Heaven, it is said. 

Geo. My mother? Sacred Heaven ! Martin, tliou 
ravest — the fever of thy womid has distracted 
thee. 

Mar. No ! I am not mad ! Would to God I were I 
Try me ! Yonder is the Wolfshill — yonder the old 
castle of Griefenliaus — and yonder is the hemlock 
marsh {in a whisper) where I gathered the deadly 
plant that drugged Arnolt's cup of death. (G eorge 
traverses the stage in the utmost agitation, and some- 
times stands over Martin nith his hands clasped to- 
gether.) Oh, had you seen him when the potion 
took effect ! Had you heard his ravings, and seen 
the contortions of his ghastly visage ! — He died 
furious and impenitent, as he hved ; and went — 
where I am shortly to go. You do not speak ? 

Geo. {with exertion.) Miserable wretch ! how 
can I? 

Mae. Can you not forgive me ? 

Geo. May God pardon thee — I cannot I 

Mae. I saved thy Ufe 

Geo. For that, take ray curse I {lie snatches up 
his battle-axe, and rushes oict to tlte side from which 
the noise is heard.) 

Mar. Hear me ! yet moie — more horror I {At- 
tempts to rise, and falls heavily. A loud alarm.) 

Enter Wickerd, hnstiJv. 

Wio. In the name of God. Martin, lend me thy 
brand 1 

Mae. Take it. 

"Wio. Where is it ! 

Mar. {looks wildly at him) In the chapel at 
Ebersdorf, or buried in the hemlock mar.sh. 

Wio. The old grumbler is crazy with his wounds. 
Martin, if thou hast a spark of reason in thee, give 
mf thy sword. The day goes sore against us. 

Mar. There it lies. Burj- it in the heart of thy 
master George ; thou wilt do liim a good office — 
the office of a faithful servant. 

Enter Coneab. 
Con. Away, Wickerd ! to horse, and pursue . 
Baron George has turned the day ; he fights more 



818 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



like a fiend than a man : he has unhorsed Roderic, 
and slain six of his troopers — they are in head- 
long flight — the hemlock marsh is red with their 
gore ! (Martix gives a deep groan, and faints.) 
Away I away I (The;/ hurry off, as to the pur- 
suit.) 

F.nler Roderic of Maltingen, without his helmet, 
his arms disordered and broken, holding the 
trnnclicon of a spear in his hand; with him, 

B.UiO.N WoLFSTEIN. 

Rod. a curse on fortune, and a double curse upon 
George of Aspen ! Never, never will I forgive 
him my disgrace — overtluown like a rotten trunk 
befere a whirlwind ! 

Wolf. Be comforted, Count Roderic ; it is well 
we have escaped being prisoners. See how the 
troopers of Aspen pour along the plain, like the 
billows of the Rhine ! It is good we are shrouded 
by tlie thicket. 

Ron. Why took he not my life, when he robbed 
me of my honor and of my love ? Why did his 
spear not pierce my heart, when mine shivered 
on his arms like a frail bukush ? (Throws down the 
broken spear.) Bear witness, heaven and earth, I 
outlive this disgrace only to avenge 1 

Wolf. Be comforted ; the knights of Aspen have 
not gained a bloodless victory. And see, there 
hes one of George's followers — (seeing Martin.) 

Rod. His squire Martin ; if he be not dead, we 
will secure him ; he is the depositary of the secrets 
of his master. Arouse thee, trusty follower of the 
house of Aspen ! 

Mar. (reviving.) Leave me not ! leave me not, 
Baron George ! my eyes are darkened with agony ! 
I have not yet told all. 

Wolf. The old man takes you for liis master. 

Rod. What wouldst thou tell * 

Mail Oh, I would tell all the temptations by 
which I was urged to the murder of Ebersdorf 1 

Rod. Murder 1 — this is worth marking. Proceed. 

Mae. I loved a maiden, daughter of Arnolfs 
steward ; my master seduced her — she became an 
outcast, and died in misery — I vowed vengeance — 
and I did avenge her. 

Rod. Hadst thou accomplices ? 

JLiR. None, but thy mother. 

Rod. The Lady LsabeUa ! 

MjUI. Ay : she hated her husband : he knew her 
love to Rudiger, and when she heard that thy 
father was retm-ned from Palestine, her hfe was 
endangered by the transports of his jealousy — 
thus prepared for evil, the fiend tempted us, and 
we fell. 

Rod. (breaks into a transport.) Fortune ! thou 
hast repaid me all ! Love and vengeance are my 
own ! — Wolfstein, recall our followers ! quick, sound 
thy bugle — (Wolfstein sounds.) 



Mar. {.Glares wildly round.) That was no note 
of Aspen — Count Roderic of Maltingen — Heaven I 
what have I said ! 

Rod. What thou caust not recall. 

Mar. Then is my fate decreed! 'Tis as it should 
be ! in this very place was the poison gather'd — 
'tis retribution ! 

Enter three or four soldiers of Roderic. 

Rod. Secure this wounded trooper ; bind his 
wounds, and guard him well: carry liim to the 
ruins of Griefenhaus, and conceal him till the 
troopers of Aspen have retired from the pursuit ; 
— look to him, as you love your lives. 

JL\ii. [led off by soldiers.) Ministers of vengeance ! 
my hour is come ! [Jixeunt. 

Rod. Hope, joy, and triumph, once again are ye 
mine ! Welcome to my heart, long-absent visit- 
ants ! One lucky chance has thrown dominion 
into the scale of the house of Maltingen, and As- 
pen kicks the beam. 

Wolf. I foresee, indeed, dishonor to the family of 
Aspen, should this wounded squire make good his 
tale. 

Rod. And how think'st thou this disgrace will 
fall on them ? 

Wolf. Surely, by the public punishment of Lady 
Isabella. 

Rod. And is that all ? 

Wolf. What more ? 

Rod. Shortsighted that thou art, is not George 
of Aspen, as well as thou, a member of the holy 
and invisible circle, over which I preside ? 

Wolf. Speak lower, for God's sake ! these are 
things not to be mentioned before the sun. 

Rod. True : but stands he not bound by the 
most solemn oath religion can devise, to discover 
to the tribunal whatever concealed iniquity shall 
come to his knowledge, be the perpetrator whom 
he may — ay, were that perpetrator liis own fa- 
ther — or mother ; and ciiu you doubt that he has 
heard Martin's confession ? 

AVoLF. True : but, blessed Vu'gin ! do you think 
he will accuse his own mother before the invisible 
judges ? 

Rod. If not, he becomes forsworn, and, by our 
law, must die. Either way my vengeance is com- 
plete — perjured or parricide, I care not ; but, as 
the one or the other shall I crush the haughty 
George of Aspen. 

Wolf. Thy vengeance strikes deep. 

Rod. Deep as the wounds I have borne fi'om 
this proud family. Rudiger slew my father in bat- 
tle — George has twice baffled and dishonored my 
arms, and Henry has stolen the heart of my be- 
loved : but no longer can Gertrude now remain 
under the care of the murderous dam of this 
brood of wolves ; far less can she wed the smooth- 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



819 



checked boy, when this scene of villacy shall be 
cUsclosed. [Bugle. 

Wolf. Hark I they sound a retreat: let us go 
deeper into the wood. 

Rod. The victors approach ! I shall dash their 
triiinipli ! — Issue the private summons for convok- 
ing the members this very evening ; I will direct 
the other measures. 

Wolf. What place ? 

Rod. The old chapel in the ruins of Griefenhaus, 
as usual. [Exeimt. 



SCENE II 

Enter George of Aspe.v, as from the pursuit. 

Geo. {comes slowli/ forward.) How many wretches 
have sunk uudcr my arm this day, to whom hfe 
was sweet, though the wretched bondsmen of 
Coimt Roderic ! And I — I who sought death be- 
neath every lifted battle-axe, and offered my 
breast to every arrow — I am cursed with victory 

and safety. Here I left the wretch Martin ! — 

il.-u-tin ! — wh.at, ho ! Martin ! Motlier of God 1 

he is gone ! Should he repeat the dreadful tale 
to any other Martin ! — He answers not. Per- 
haps he has crept into the thicket, aud died there 
— were it so, the horrible secret is ouly mine. 

Enter Henry of Aspen, uith Wickerd, Reynold, 
and followers. 

Hen. Joy to thee, brother! though, by St. Fran- 
cis, I would not gain another field at the price of 
seeing thee fight with such reckless desperation. 
Thy safety is little less than miraculous. 

Rey. By'r Lady, when Baron George struck, I 
think he must have forgot that his foes were 
God's creatures. Such fm'ious doings I never saw, 
and 1 have been a trooper these forty-two years 
come St. Barnaby 

Geo. Peace ! saw any of you Martin ? 

Wic. Noble sir, I left .him here not long since. 

Geo. Alive or dead? 

Wic. Alive, noble sir, but sorely wounded. I 
think he must be prisoner, for he could not have 
budged else from hence. 

Geo. Heedless skive! Why didst thou leave him ? 

Hex. Dear brother, Wickerd acted for the best : 
he came to our assistance and the aid of his com- 
panions. 

Geo. I tell thee, Henry, Martin's safety was of 
more importance than the lives of any ten that 
stand here. 

Wic. {muttering.) Here's much to do about an 
old crazy trencher-shifter. 

Geo. What mutterest thou? 

Wic. Only, sir knight, that Martin seemed out 



of hia senses when I left him, and has perhaps 
wandered into the marsh, and perished there. 

Geo. How — out of his senses ? Did he speak to 
thee ? — {apprehensiiiehj.) 

Wio. Yes, noble sir. 

Geo. Dear Henry, step for an instant to yon 
tree — thou wilt see from thence if tlie foe rally 
upon the Wolfsliill. (Henrv retires) And do you 
stand back {to the soldiers.) 

[He brings "Wickerd forward. 

Geo. {with marked apprehension.) What did 
Martin say to thee, Wickerd? — tell me, on thy 
allegiance. 

Wic. Mere ravings, sir knight — offered me his 
sword to kill you. 

Geo. Said he aught of killing any one else 1 

Wic. No : the pain of liis wound seemed to have 
brought on a fever. 

Geo. {clasps his hands together.) I breathe again 
— I spy comfort. Why could I not see as well as 
this fellow, that the wounded wretch may have 
been distracted ? Let me at least think so till 
proof shall show the truth {aside.) Wickerd, tliink 
not on what 1 said — the heat of the battle had 
chafed my blood. Thou hast wished for the Neth- 
er farm at Ebersdorf — it shall be thins 

Wio. Thanks, my noble lord. 

He-enter Henry. 

Hen. No — they do not rally — they have had 
enough of it — but Wickerd and Conrad shaU re- 
main, with twenty troopers aud a score of cross- 
bowmen, and scour the woods towards Griefeu- 
haus, to prevent the fugitives from m.aking head. 
We wUl, with the rest, to Ebersdorf. What say 
you, brother ? 

Geo. Well ordered. Wickerd, look thou search 
everywhere for Martin : bring him to me dead or 
alive ; leave not a nook of the wood unsought. 

Wic. I warrant you, noble sir, I shall find him, 
could he clew himself up hke a dormouse. 

Hen. I think he must be prisoner. 

Geo. Heaven forefeud ! Take a trumpet, Eus- 
tace {to an attendant) ; ride to the castle of Mal- 
tingen, and demand a parley. If Martin is prisoner, 
offer any ransom : offer ten — twenty — all our pris- 
oners in exchange. 

Eus. It shaU be done, sir knight. 

Hen. Ere we go, sound trumpets — strike up the 
song of victory. 



Joy to the victors ! the sons of old Aspen ! 

Joy to the race of the battle and scar 1 
Glory's proud garland triimiphantly grasping ; 
Generous in peace, and victorious in war. 
Honor acquiring. 
Valor inspiring, 



820 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Burstinj resistless, through foemen they go : 

^\'ar-axes wielding, 

Broken ranks yielding, 
Till from the battle proud Roderic retiring, 
Yields in wild rout the fair palm to his foe. 

Joy to each warrior, true follower of Aspen! 
Joy to the heroes that gain'd the bold day I 
Health to our wounded, in agony gasping ; 
Peace to our brethi-en that fell in the fray ! 
Boldly this morning, 
Roderic's power scorning. 
Well for their chieftain their blades did they 
wield : 
Joy blest them dying. 
As Maltingen flying, 
Low laid his banners, our conquest adorning, 
Their death-clouded eyeballs descried on tlie field ! 

Now to our home, the proud mansion of Aspen, 

Bend we, gay victors, triumphant away ; 
There each fond damsel, her gallant youth clasping, 
Shall wipe from his forehead the stains of the 
fray. 
Listening the prancing 
Of horses advancing ; 
E'en now on the tiu'rets our maidens appear. 
Love our hearts warming. 
Songs the night charming, 
Round goes the grape in the goblet gay dancing ; 
Love, wine, and song, our bhthe evening shall 
cheer ! 

Hen. Now spread our banners, and to Ebersdorf 
in triumph. We carry relief to the anxious, joy 
to the heart of the aged, brother George. (Gobiq 

off-) 

Geo. Or treble misery and death. 

[Apart, aiul following slowly. 

The music sounds, and the followers of Aspen begin 
to fie across the stage. The curtain falls. 



ACT HL— SCENE L 
Castle of Ebersdorf. 

RuDiGEE, Isabella, and Geetrude. 

RuD. I prithee, dear wife, be merry. It must 
be over by this time, and happily, othenvise the 
bad news had reached us. 

IsA. Should we not, then, have heard the tidings 
of the good ? 

RuD. Oh 1 these fly slower by half. Besides, I 
wariant all of them engaged in the pursuit. Oh 1 



not a page would leave the skirts of the fugitives 
tUl they were fairly beaten into tlieir hold.'* ; but 
had the boys lost the day, the stragglers liatl made 
for the castle. Go to the window, Gertrude ; seest 
thou any thing ? 

Ger. I think I see a horseman. 

IsA. A single rider ? then I fear me much. 

Gee. It is only Father Ludovic. 

Run. A plague on thee ! didst thou take a fat 
friar on a mule for a trooper of the house of Aspen ? 

Gee. But yonder is a cloud of dust. 

Run. [eagerly.) Indeed ! 

Ger. It is only the wine sledges going to my 
aunt's convent. 

Run. The devil confound the wine sledges, and 
the mules, and the monks ! Come from the win- 
dow, and torment me no longer, thou seer of 
strange sights. 

Ger. Dear imcle, what can I do to amuse you ? 
Shall I tell you what I dreamed this morning ! 

RuD. Nonsense : but say on ; any thing is better 
than silence. 

Ger. I thought I was in the chapel, and they 
were burying my aimt Isabella alive. And who, 
do you think, aunt, were the gravediggers who 
shovelled in the earth upon you ! Even Baron 
George and old Martin. 

IsA. {appears shocked.) Heaven ! wliat an idea ! 

Ger. Do but think of my terror — and Minhold 
the minstrel played all the while, to tirown your 
screams. 

Run. And old Father Ludovic danced a sara- 
band, with the steeple of the new convent upon 
his thick skull by way of mitre. A truce to this 
nonsense. Give us a song, my love, and leave thy 
di"eams and visions. 

Ger. What shall I sing to you ? 

RuD. Sing to me of war. 

Gee. I cannot sing of battle; but I will sing 
you the Lament of Eleanor of Toro, when her lover 
was slain in the wars. 

IsA. Oh, no laments, Gertrude. 

Run. Then sing a song of mii-th. 

IsA. Dear husband, is this a time for mirth } 

Run. Is it neither a time to sing of mirth nor of 
sorrow ? Isabella would ratlier hear Father Ludo- 
vic chant the " De profundis." 

Ger. Dear uncle, be not angry. At present. I 
can only sing the lay of poor Eleanor. It conies 
to my heart at tliis moment as if the sorrowful 
mom'ner had been my own sister. 

SONG.' 

Sweet shone the s\m on tlie fair lake of Toro, 
Weak were the whispers that waved the dark 
wood, 

1 Compare with " The Maid of Tor(t " ante, 63*. 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



821 



Aa a fail' maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow, 

Sigli'd to the breezes and wept to the flood. — 

" Saints, from the mansion of bliss lowly bending. 
Virgin, that heai-'st tho poor suppliant's cry. 

Grant my petition, in anguish ascending. 
My Frederick restore, or let Eleanor die." 

Distant and faint were the sounds of the battle ; 
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes 
they fail, 
TiU the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's 
dread rattle, 
And the chase's wild clamor came loading the 
gale. 
Breathless she gazed through the woodland so 
dreary. 
Slowly approaching, a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. 

" Save thee, fan- maid, for our armies are flying ; 
Save tlice, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ; 
Cold on yon lieath thy bold Frederick is lying. 
Fast through the woodland approaches the foe." 
[Tke voice of Gertrude sinks by degrees^ 
till she bursts into tears. 

Run. How now, Gertrude ? 

Ger. Alas ! may not the fate of poor Eleanor at 
this moment be mine ? 

RuD. Never, my girl, never ! (Militarji music is 

heard.) Hark ! hark ! to the sounds that tell tliee so. 

\^All rise and run to the window. 

RuD. Joy ! joy ! they come, and come victorious. 
{The chorus of the war-so7iff is heard without.) Wel- 
come ! welcome ! once more have my old eyes 
seen the banners of the house of Maltingen tram- 
pled in tlie dust. — Isabella, broach our oldest casks : 
wine is sweet after war. 

Enter Henrt, followed by Reynold and troopers. 

Run. Joy to thee, my boy 1 let me press thee to 
this old heart. 

IsA. Bless thee, my son — (embraces him) — Oh, 
bow many hours of bitterness are compensated by 
this embrace ! Bless thee, my Henry ! where hast 
thou left thy brother ? 

Hen. Hard at hand : by tliis he is crossing the 
drawbridge. Hast thou no greetings for me, Ger- 
trude ? ( Goes to her.) 

Gee. I joy not in battles. 

Run. But she had tears for thy danger. 

Hes. Thanks, my gentle Gertrude. See, I have 
brougl't back thy scarf from no inglorious field. 

Ger. It is bloody ! — (shocked.) 

Rm>. Dost start at that, my girl ? Were it his 
own blood, as it is that of his foes, thou shouldst 
glory in it. — Go, Reynold, make good cheer with 
thy fellows. \^Exit Reynold and Soldiers. 



Enter Georoe pensively. 

Geo. (goes straight to Rudiger.) Father, thy 
blessing. 

RuD. Thou hast it, boy. 

IsA. [rushes to embrace him — he avoids her.) 
How ? art thou wonrded ? 

Geo. No. 

RuD. Thou lookest deadly pale. 

Geo. It is nothing. 

IsA. Heaven's blessing on my g.allant George. 

Geo. (aside.) Dares slie bestow a blessing ? Oh 
Martin's tale was phrensy ! 

IsA. Smile upon us for once, my son; darken 
not thy brow on tliis day of gladness — few are 
our moments of joy — should not my sons share in 
them? 

Geo. (aside.) She has moments of joy — it was 
phrensy then ! 

IsA. Gertrude, my love, assist me to disarm the 
knight. (She loosens and takes off his castjue.) 

Ger. There is one, two, three hacks, and none 
has pierced the steel. 

RuD. Let me see. Let me see. A trusty casque ! 

Ger. Else hadst thou gone. 

IsA. I will reward the armorer with its weight 
in gold. 

Geo. (aside.) She must be innocent. 

Ger. Anil Henry's shield is hacked, too ! Let me 
show it to you, uncle. (She carries Henry's shield 

to RUDIGEU.) 

RtJD. Do, my love ; and come hither, Henry, 
thou shalt tell me Iiow the day went. 

[Henry and Gertrude converse apart with 
Rudiger; George comes forward ; Isa- 
bella comes to him. 

IsA. Surely, George, some evil has befallen 
thee. Grave thou art ever, but so dreadfully 
gloomy — 

Geo. Evil, indeed. — (Aside.) Now for the trial. 

IsA. Has your loss been great ? 

Geo. No ! — Yes ! — (Apart.) I cannot do it. 

IsA. Perhaps some friend lost ? 

Geo. It must be. — Martin is dead. — (He regardu 
her teilh apprehension, but steadily, aji lie proncrunces 
these words.) 

IsA. (starts, then shows a ghastly expressioii of 
joy.) Dead ! 

Geo. (almost overcome by his feelings.) Guilty! 
Guilty 1 — (apart.) 

IsA. (without observing his emotion.) Didst thou 
say dead ? 

Geo, Did I — no — I only said mortally wounded, 

IsA. Wounded ? only wounded ? Where is he ! 
Let me fly to him. — ( Going.) 

Geo. (sternly.) Hold, lady ! — Speak not so loud I 
— Thou canst not see him ! — He is a prisoner. 

IsA. A prisoner, and wounded ? Fly to his de- 
liverance !— Offer wealth, lands, castles, — aU our 



822 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



possessions, for his ransom. Never shall I know 
peace till these -walls, or till the grave scures him. 
Geo. [apart.) Guilty! Guilty 1 

Enter Peter. 

Pet. Hugo, squire to the Count of Maltingen, 
has arrived with a message. 

RuD. I will receive Mm in the halL 

\_Exit, leanivg on Gertrude and Henry. 

IsA. Go, George — see after Martin. 

Geo. (Jirmlt/.) No — I have a task to perform ; 
and though the earth should open and devour me 
alive — I will accomplish it. But first — but first — 
Nature, take thy tribute. — [lie falls on his mother's 
neck, arid weeps bitterly.) 

IsA. George ! my son ! for Heaven's sake, what 
dreadful phi-ensy ! 

Geo. {iralks two furtis across the stage and com- 
poses himself.) Listen, mother — I knew a knight 
in Hungary, gallant ui battle, hospitable and gen- 
erous in peace. The king gave him his friendship, 
and tlie administration of a province ; that province 
was infested by tliieves and murderers. You mark 
me? — 

IsA. Most heedfuUy. 

Geo. The knight was sworn — bound by an oath 
the most dreadful that can be taken by man — to 
deal among offenders even-handed, stern, and im- 
partial justice. Was it not a dreadful vow ? 

IsA. {tcith an affectation of composure.) Solemn, 
doubtless, as the oath of every magistrate. 

Geo. And inviolable ? 

IsA. Surely — inviolable. 

Geo. WeU ! it happened, that when he rode out 
against the banditti, he made a prisoner. And 
who, thmk you, that prisoner was ? 

IsA. I know not (with increasing terror^ 

Geo. {trembling, but proceeding rapidly^ His 
own twin-brother, who sucked the same breasts 
with him, and lay in the bosom of the same moth- 
er; his brother wliom lie loved as his own soul 
— what should that knight have done unto Ills 
brother ? 

IsA. (almost speechless.) Alas 1 what did he do ? 

Geo. He did (turning his head from her, artd 
with clasped hands) what I can never do : — he did 
iMi duty. 

IsA. My son! my son! — Mercy! Mercy! (Clings 
to him.) 

Geo. Is it then true ? 

IsA. Wh.at? 

Geo. What Martin said ? (Isabella hides her 
face.) It is true ! 

IsA. (looks np with an air of dignity.) Hear, 
Framer of the laws of nature ! the mother is judged 
by tho child — {Tarns towards him.) Yes, it is true 
— true that, fearful of my own life, I secured it by 
the mu'ler of my tyrant. Mistaken coward 1 I 



little knew on what terrors I ran, to avoid one 
moment's agony. — Thou hast the secret ! 

Geo. Knowest thou to whom thou hast told it ! 

IsA. To my son. 

Geo. No ! No ! to an execut<^ri?r ' 

IsA. Be it so — go, proclaim my crime, and forget 
not my punishment. Forget not that the murder 
ess of her husband has dragged out years of hidden 
remorse, to be brought at last to the scaffold by 
her own cherished son — thou ai't silent. 

Geo. The language of Nature is no more ! How 
shall I learn another ? 

IsA. Look upon me, George. Should the execu- 
tioner be abashed before the criminal — look upon 
me, my son. From my soul do I ft.>rgive thee. 

Geo. Forgive me what ? 

IsA. What thou dost meditate — be vengeance 
heavy, but let it be secret — add not the death of a 
father to that of the sinner ! Oh ! Rudiger ! Rudi- 
ger ! mnocent cause of all ray guilt and all my woe, 
how wilt thou tear thy silver locks when thou shalt 
heal' her guilt whom thou hast so often clasped to 
thy bosom — hear her infamy prt>clainied by the 
son of thy fondest hopes — (weeps.) 

Geo. (straggling for breath.) Nature will have 
utterance : mother, dearest motlier, I will save 
you or perish ! (throws himself into her arms.) 
Thus fall my vows. 

IsA. Man thyself! I ask not safety from thee. 
Never shall it be said, that Isabella of Aspen 
turned her son from the path of duty, (hough liis 
footsteps must pass over her mangled corpse. 
Man thyself. 

Geo. No ! No ! The ties of Nature were knit 
by God liimself. Cursed be the stoic pride that 
would rend them asunder, and call it iibtue ! 

IsA. My son 1 My son ! — How shaU 1 ueliold thee 
hereafter ? 

[Three knocks are heard -upon the door of 
the apartment. 

Geo. Hark! One — two — three. Roderie, thou 
art speedy ! (Apart.) 

IsA. (opens the door.) A parcliniont stuck to the 
door with a poniard ! (Opens it.) Heaven and 
earth ! — a summons from the invisible judges ! — 
(Drops the parchment.) 

Geo. (reads with emotio7i.) " Isabella of A.«pen, 
accused of murder by poison, we conjure thee, by 
the cord and by the steel, to appear tliis night 
before the avengers of blood, who judge in secret 
and av ;nge in secret, like the Deity. As thou ai't 
innocei.t or guilty, so be tiiy deliverance." — Mar- 
tm, Martin, thou hast played false ! 

IsA. Alas ! whither shall I fly ? 

Geo. Thou canst not fly; instant death would 
follow the attempt ; a hundreil thousand arms 
would be raised against thy life ; every morse' 
thou didst taste, every drop which thou didsl 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



823 



ilrink, the very breeze of heavca that fanned thee, 
would come loaded with destruction. One chance 
jf safety is open : — obey the summons. 

IsA. And perish. — ^Yet why should I still fear 
death i Be it so. 

Geo. No — I have sworn to save you. I will not 
do the work by halves. Does any one save Martin 
know of the dreadful deed I 

Is.\. None. 

Geo. Then go — assert your innocence, and leave 
the rest to me. 

IsA. Wretch that I am ! How can I support the 
task you would impose ? 

Geo. Think on my father. Live for him; he 
will need all tlie comfort thou canst bestow. Let 
the thought that his destruction is involved m 
thine, carry thee through the dreadful trial. 

IsA. Be it so. — For Rudiger I have hved : for 
him I will continue to boar the burden of exist- 
ence : but the instant that my guilt comes to his 
knowledge shall be the last of my life. Ere I 
would bear from liim one glance of hatred or of 
Bcorn, this dagger should drink my blood. (Puts 
the poiiiard i7ito her bosom.) 

Geo. Fear not. He can never know. No evi- 
dence sliall appear against you. 

IsA. How shall I obey tlie summons, and where 
find the terrible judgment-seat ? 

Geo. Leave that to the judges. Resolve but to 
obey, and a conductor will be found. Go to the 
chapel ; there pray for your sins and for mine. 
[He leads her oitf, and returns.) — Sins, indeed ! I 
break a dreadful vow, but I save the life of a pa- 
rent ; and the penance I will do for my perjury 
shall appal even tlie judges of blood. 

Enter Reynold. 
Ret. Sii' knight, the messenger of Count Roderic 
desires to speak with you. 
Geo. Admit him. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hug. Count Roderic of Maltingen greets you. 
He says he will this night hear the bat flutter and 
the owlet scream ; and he bids me ask if thou also 
wilt listen to the mu.sic. 

Geo. I understand liim. I wUl be there. 

HcG. And tlie Count says to you, that lie will 
not ransom your wounded squire, though you 
would down-weigh his best horse with gold. But 
you may send Mm a confessor, for the Count says 
he win need one. 

Geo. Is he so near death ? 

Hug. Not as it seems to me. He is weak tlirough 
loss of blood ; but since his wound was dressed he 
can both stand and walk. Onr Count has a notable 
balsam, which has recruited him much. 

Geo. Enough — I will send the priest. — {Exit 

CGO.) I fathom his plot. He would add anotlier 



witness to the tale of Martin's guilt. But no priest 
shall approach him. Reynold, thinkest thou not 
we could send one of the troopers, disguised as a 
monk, to aid Martin in making his escape ? 

Ret. Noble sir, the followers of your house are 
80 well known to those of Maltingen, that I fear it 
is impossible. 

Geo. Knowest thou of no stranger who might be 
employed ? His reward sliall exceed even his hopes. 

Rev. So please you — I think the minstrel could 
well execute such a commission : he is shrewd and 
cunning, and can write and read like a priest. 

Geo. Call him. — {Exit Reynold.) If this fails, I 
must employ open force. Were Martin removed, 
no tongue can assert the bloody truth. 

Enter Minstrel. 

Geo. Come hither, Minhold. Hast thou courage 
to undertake a dangerous enterprise ? 

Ber. My life, sh knight, has been one scene of 
danger and of dread. I have forgotten how to fear. 

Geo. Thy speech is above thy seeinmg. Wlio 
art thou ? 

Ber. An unfortunate knight, obliged to shroud 
myself under this disguise. 

Geo. What is the cause of thy misfortunes? 

Ber. I slew, at a tournament, a prince, and wa," 
laid under the ban of the empire. 

Geo. I have interest with the emperor. Swear 
to perform what task 1 shall impose on thee, and 
I will procure the recall of the ban. 

Ber. I swear. 

Geo. Then take the disguise of a monk, and go 
with the follower of Comit Roderic, as if to confess 
my wounded squire Martin. Give him thy dress, 
and remain m prison in his stead. Thy captivity 
shall be short, and I pletlge my knightly word I 
will labor to execute my promise, when thou .shalt 
have leisure to unfold thy history. 

Ber. I will do as you direct. Is the life of yotir 
squire in danger ? 

Geo. It is, unless thou canst accomplish his re- 
lease. 

Bee. I will essay it. \^Exit. 

Geo. Such are the mc;m expedients to wliich 
George of Aspen must now resort. No longer can I 
debate with Roderic iu the field. The depraved — 
the perjured knight must contend with liim only 
iu the arts of dissimulation and treachery. Oh, 
mother ! mother ! the most bitter consequence of 
thy crime has been the birth of thy first-bora! 
But I must warn my brother of the impending 
storm. Poor Henry, how Utile can thy gay tem- 
per anticipate evil ! What, ho there ! {Enter an 
Attendant.) Where is Baron Henry I 

Att. Noble sir, he rode forth, after a shght re- 
freshment, to visit the party in the field. 

Geo. Saddle my steed ; I will follow liim 



824 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Att. So please you, your noble father has twice 
demanded your presence at the banquet. 

Geo. It matters not — say that I have ridden 
forth to the Wolfeliill. Where is thy lady ? 

Att. In tlie chapel, sir knight. 

Geo. 'Tis well — saddle my bay-horse — {apart) 
for the last time. [Exit. 



ACT IV.— SCENE L 

The wood of Griefenhaus, with the ruins of the 
Castle. A nearer view of the Castle than in 
Act Seeond, but still at scnne distance. 

Enter Roderic, Wolfstein, and Soldiers, as from 
a reconnoltcring farttj. 

Wolf. They mean to improve their success, and 
will push their advmitage far. We must retreat 
betimes, Count Roderic. 

Rod. We are safe here for the present. They 
make no immediate motion of advance. I fancy 
neither George nor Henry are with their party m 
the wood. 

Enter Huoo. 

Huo. Noble sir, how shall I tell what has hap- 
pened ! 

Rod. What? 

Hug. Martin has escaped. 

Rod. Villain, thy life shall pay it ! {Strikes at 
Hugo — is held b;/ Wolfstein.) 

Wolf. Hold, hold, Comit Roderic 1 Hugo may 
be blameless. 

Rod. Reckless slave ! how came he to escape ' 

Hu«. Under the disguise of a monk's habit, 
whom by your orders we brought to confess him. 

Rod. Has he been long gone ? 

Hug. An hour and more since he p.assed our 
sentinels, disguised as the chaplain of Aspen : but 
he walked so slowly and feebly, I think he cannot 
yet have reached the posts of the enemy. 

Rod. Where is the treacherous priest ? 

Hug. He waits his doom not far from hence. 

[Exit Hugo. 

Rod. Drag him hither. The miscreant that 
snatched the morsel of vengeance fi'om the Hon of 
Maltingeu, shall expire under torture. 

He-enter Hugo, with Beeteam and Attendants. 

Rod. Villain ! what tempted thee, under the 
garb of a minister of rehgion, to steal a criminal 
from the hand of justice ? 

Ber. I am no villaui. Count Roderic ; and I only 
aided the escape of one wounded wretch whom 
thou didst mean to kill basely. 

Rod. Liar and slave I thou hast a.ssisted a mur- 
derer, upon whom justice had sacred claims. 



Bee. I warn thee again. Count, that I am neither 
har nor slave. Shortly I hope to tell thee I am 
once more thy equal. 

Rod. Thoul Thou! 

Bee, Yes ! the name of Bertram of Ebersdorf 
was once not unknown to thee. 

Rod. (astonished.) Thou Bertram ! the brother 
of Arnolf of Ebersdorf, first husband of the Bar- 
oness Isabella of Aspen ? 

Bee. The same. 

Rod. Who, in a quarrel at a tournament, many 
years since, slew a blood-relation of the emperor, 
and was laid under the ban ? 

Ber. The same. 

Rod. And who has now, in the disguise of a 
priest, aided the escape of Martin, squire to George 
of Aspen i 

Bee. The same — the same. 

Rod. Then, by the holy cross of Cologne, thou 
hast set at hberty the murderer of thy brother 
Arnolf ! 

Bee. How ! What ! I understand thee not ! 

Rod. Miserable plotter ! — Martin, by liis own 
confession, as Wolfstein heard, avowed having 
aided Isabella in the murder of her husband. I 
had laid such a pl.m of vengeance as should have 
made all Germany shudder. And thou hast coun- 
teracted it — thou, the brother of the mmdered 
A-nolf? 

Bee. Can this be so, Wolfstein ? 

Wolf. 1 heard ilartin confess the murder. 

Bee. Then am I indeed unfortunate ! 

Rod. What, in the name of evil, brought thee 
here ? 

Bee. I am the last of my race. When I was 
outlawed, as tliou knowest, the lands of Ebers- 
dorf, my rightful inheritance, were declared for- 
feited, and the Emperor bestowed them upon 
Rudiger when he miu-ried Isabella. I attempted 
to defend my domain, but Rudiger — Hell thank 
him for it — enforced the ban against me at the 
head of liis vassals, and I was constrained to fly. 
Since then I have warred ag'ainst the Saracens in 
Spain and Palestine. 

Rod. But why didst thou return to a land where 
death attends thy being discovered ? 

Bee. Impatience urged me to see once move the 
land of my nativity, jmd the towers of Ebersdorf. 
I came there yesterday, imder tlie name of the 
minstrel Minhold. 

Rod. Aid what prevailed on thee to imdertake 
to deUver Martin? 

Bee. George, though I told not my name, en- 
gaged to procure the recall of the ban ; besides. 
he told me Martin's life was in danger, and I ac- 
counted the old villain to be the last remaining 
follower of our house. But, as God shall judge 
me, the tale of horror thou hast mentioned I could 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



B26 



not have even suspected. Report ran, that my 
brotlicr died of the plague. 

Wolf. Raisrd for the purpose, doubtless, of pre- 
venting attendance upon his sick-bed, and an in- 
spection of his body. 

Ber. My vengeance shall be dreadful as its 
cause ! The usurpers of my inheritance, the rob- 
bera of my honor, the murderers of my brother, 
sliall be cut off, root and branch 1 

Rod. Thou art, then, welcome here ; especially 
if thou art still a true brother to our invisible 
order. 

Ber. I am. 

Rod. There is a meeting this night on the busi- 
ness of tliy brother's death. Some are now come. 
I must dispatch them in pursuit of Martin. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hug. The foes advance, sir knight. 

Rod. Back ! back to the ruins ! Come with us, 
Bertram ; on the road thou slialt hear the dread- 
ful history. \_Exeunt. 

From the opposite side enter George, Henry, 
WiCKERD, Conrad, and Soldiers. 

Geo. No news of Martin yet ? 

Wic. None, sir knight, 

Geo. Nor of the minstrel ? 

"Wic. None. 

Geo. Then he has betrayed me, or is prisoner — 
misery either way. Begone, and search the wood, 
Wickerd. [Exeimt Wickeed and followers. 

Hen. Still this dreadful gloom on thy brow, 
brother ? 

Geo. Ay ! what else ? 

Hen. Once thou thoughtest me worthy of thy 
friendsliip. 

Geo. Henry, thou art young — 

Hen. Shall I therefore betray thy confidence ? 

Geo. No ! but thou art gentle and well-na- 
tured. Thy mind cannot even support the burden 
which mine must bear, far less wilt thou approve 
the means I shall use to throw it off. 

Hen. Try me. 

Geo. I may not. 

Hen. Then thou dost no longer love me. 

Geo. I love thee, and because I love thee, I will 
not involve thee in my distress. 

Hen. I will bear it with thee. 

Geo. Shouldat thou share it, it would be doubled 
to me. 

Hen. Fear not, I will find a remedy. 

Geo. It would cost thee peace of mind, here, 
and hereafter. 

Hen. I take the risk. 

Geo. It may not be, Henry. Thou wouldst be- 
come the confiilant of crimes past — the accomplice 
of others to come. 
104 



Hen. Shall I guess ? 

Geo. I charge thee, no ! 

Hen. I must. Thou art one of the secret judges. 

Geo. Unhappy boy ! what hast thou said ? 

Hen. Is it not so ! 

Geo. Dost thou know what the discovery has 
cost thee ? 

Hen. I care not. 

Geo. He who discovers any part of our mysttcy 
must himself become one of our number. 

Hen. How so ? 

Geo. If he does not consent, his secrecy will be 
speedily ensured by his death. To that we are 
sworn — take thy choice I 

Hen. Well, are you not banded in secret to 
punish those offenders whom the sword of justice 
cannot reach, or who are shielded from its stroke 
by the buckler of power ? 

Geo. Such is indeed the purpose of our frater- 
nity ; but the end is pursued through paths dark, 
intricate, and slippery with blood. Who is he that 
shall tread them with safety '! Accursed be the 
hour in which I entered the labyrinth, and doubly 
accursed that, in which thou too must lose the 
cheerful sunshine of a soul without a mystery 1 

Hen. Yet for thy sake will I be a member. 

Geo. Henry, thou didst rise this morning a free 
man. No one could say to thee, " Why dost thou 
so ?" Thou layest thee down to-night the veriest 
slave that ever tugged at an oar — the slave of 
men whose actions will appear to thee savage and 
incomprehensible, and whom thou must aid against 
the world, upon peril of thy throat. 

Hen. Be it so. I will .share your lot. 

Geo. Alas, Henry I Heaven forbid ! But .since 
thou hast by a hasty word fettered thyself, I will 
avail myself of thy bondage. Mount thy fleetcsi 
steed, and hie thee this very night to the Duke of 
Bavaria. He is chief and paramount of our chap- 
ter. Show him this signet and this letter ; tell 
him that matters will be this night discussed con- 
cerning the house of Aspen. Bid him speed him 
to the assembly, for he well knows the president 
is our deadly foe. He will admit theo a member 
of our holy body. 

Hen. Who is the foe whom you dread? 

Geo. Young man, the first duty thou must learn 
is implicit and blind obedience. 

Hen. Well I I shall soon return and see thee 
again. 

Geo. Return, indeed, thou wilt; but for the rest 
— well ! that matters not. 

Hen. I go : thou wilt set a watch here ? 

Geo. I will. (Hbnrt going) Return, my (ear 
Henry ; let me embrace thee, shouldat thou not 
see me again. 

Hen. Heaven 1 what mean you ? 

Geo. Nothing. The hfe of mortals is prccari- 



826 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ous ; and, should we not meet again, take my 
blessing and this embrace — and this — (embraces 
hint wannlt/.) And now haste to the duke. {Exit 
Henry.) Poor youth, thou little knowest what 
thou hast undertaken. But if Martin has escaped, 
and if the duke airives, they will not dare to pro- 
ceed without proof. 

Re-enter "Wiokeed and followers. 
Wic. Wr have made a follower of Maltmgcn 
prisoner. Baron George, who reports that Martin 
has escaped. 

Geo. Joy ! joy ! such joy as I can now feel ! 
Set }iim free for the good news — and, Wickerd, 
keep a good watch in this spot all night. Send 
out scouts to find Martin, lest he should not be 
able to reach Ebersdorf 
Wic. I shall, noble sir. 

[The kettle-drmns and trumpets Jfourlsh 
as for setting the watch : the scene closes- 



SCENE IL 

The chnpel at Ebersdorf, an aii^ient Gothic building. 

Isabella is discovered rising frcnn before the altar, 
on which burn two tapers. 

IsA. I cannot pray. Terror and guilt have sti- 
fled devotion. The heart must be at ease — the 
hands nuist be pure when they are hfted to Heav- 
en. Midnight is the hour of summons: it is now 
near. How can I pray, when I go resolved to 
deny a crime which every drop of my blood could 
not wash away ! And mj- son ! Oh ! he will fall 
the victim of my crime ! Arnolf! Arnolf! thou 
art dreadfully avenged ! (Tap at the door.) The 
footstep of my dreadful guide. (Tap again.) My 
courage is no more. {Enter Gertrude bt/ the door.) 
Gertrude ! is it only thou ? (embraces her.) 

Gee. Dear aunt, leave this awful place ; it chills 
my very blood. My uncle sent me to call you to 
the hall. 

I.>:A. Who is in the hall ? 

Ger. Only Reynold and the family, with whom 
■ny uncle is making merry. 

IsA. Sawest thou no strange faces ? 

Gee. No ; none but friends. 

IsA. Art thou sure of that? Is George there? 

Gee. No, nor Henry ; both have ridden out. I 
think they might have staid one day at least. But 
come, aunt, I hate tliis place ; it reminds me of my 
dream. See, yonder was the spot where methought 
they were burying you alive, below yon monu- 
ment {poi7iting.) 

laA. (aiarting.) The monument of my first hus- 



band. Leave me, leave me, Gertrude. I follow 
in a moment. {Exit Gertrude.) Ay, there he 
hes ! forgetful alike of his crimes and injuries '. 
Insensible, as if this chapel had never rung with 
my shrieks, or the castle resounded to his parting 
groans 1 When shall I sleep so soundly ? (As 
she gazes on the monmnent, a figure niu^ed in black 
appears from behind it.) Merciful God ! is it a. 
vision, such as has haunted my couch ? {It ap- 
proaches ; she goes on leith mingled terror and res- 
olution^ Ghastly phantom, art thou the restless 
spirit of one who died in agony, or art thou the 
mysterious being that must guide me to the pres- 
ence of the avengers of blood ? {Figure bends its 
head and beckons.) — To-morrow ! To-morrow ! I 
cannot follow thee now 1 (Figure shmvs a dagger 
from bc7ieath its cloak.) Compulsion I I under- 
stand thee : I will follow. {She follows the figure 
a little wag ; lie turns and wraps a black veil round 
her head, and takes her hand: then both exeunt 
behind the momtment.) 



SCENE III. 

Tlie Wood of Griefenhaus. — A watch-fire, round 
which sit WicKEED, Co.NRAD, ojirf others, in their 
watch-cloaks. 

Wic. The night is bitter cold. 

Con. Ay, but thou hast hned thy doublet well 
with old Rhenish. 

Wio. True ; and I'll give you warrant for it. 
{Sings.) 

(rhein-wein lted.) 

What makes the troopers' frozen courage musier f 

Tlie grapes of juice divine. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster: 

Oil, blessed be the Rhine ! • 

Let fringe and furs, and many a rabbit .skin, sua, 

Bedeck your Saracen ; 
He'll freeze without what warms our hearts with- 
in, sirs. 

When the night-frost crusts the fen. 

But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine they cluster, 

The grapes of juice divine. 
That make our troopers' frozen courage muster: 

Oh, blessed be the Rliine ! 



Con. Well sung 
jovial soul. 



Wickerd: thou wert ever s 



Enter a trooper or two more. 
Wio. Hast thou made the rounds, Frank ? 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



82" 



Frank. Yes, up to the hemlock marsh. It is a 
sturuiy night; the moon shone on the Wolfshill, 
and on the ileatl bodies with which to-day's work 
has covered it. We heard the spirit of the house 
of Maltingen waihng over the slaughter of its ad- 
herents : I durst go no farther. 

W'lc. Hen-hearted rascal ! The spirit of some old 
raven, who was picking their bones. 

Cox. Nay, Wickerd ; the churchmen say there 
are such tilings. 

Frank. Ay ; and Father Ludovic told us last 
sermon, how the devil twisted the neck of ten 
farmers at Kletterbach, who refused to pay Pe- 
ter's pence. 

Wic. Yes, some church devil, no doubt. 

Frank. Nivy, old Reynold says, that in passing, 
by midnight, near the old chapel at our castle, he 
saw it all lighted up, and heard a chorus of voices 
sing the funeral service. 

Another Soldier. Father Ludovic heard the 
same. 

Wic. Hear me, ye hare-hvered boys ! Can you 
look de.ath in the face in battle, and dread such 
nursery bugbears ? Old Reynold saw his vision 
in the strength of the grape. As for the chaplain, 
far be it from me to name the spirit which visits 
hin\ ; but I know what I know, when I found him 
confessing Bertrand's pretty Agnes in the chestnut 
grove. 

Con. But, Wickerd, though I have often heard 
of strange tales wliich I could not credit, yet there 
is one in our family so well attested, that I almost 
believe it. Shall I tell it you ? 

All Soldiers. Do ! do tell it, gentle Conrad. 

Wic. And I will take t'other sup of Rhenish to 
fence against the horrors of the tale. 

Cos. It is about my own uncle and godfather, 
Albert of Horsheim. 

Wic. I have seen liim — he was a gallant war- 
rior. 

Cox. Well ! he was long absent in the Bohe- 
mian wars. In an expedition he was benighted, 
and came to a lone house on the edge of a forest : 
he and his followers knocked repeatedly for en- 
trance in vain. Tliey forced the door, but found 
no inhabitants. 

Frank. And they made good their quarters ? 

Cox. They did: and Albert retired forest in an 
up|jer chamber. Opposite to the bed on wliich he 
threw himself was a large mirror. At midnight 
he was aw.aked by deep groans : he cast his eyes 
upon the mirror, and saw 

Frank Sacred Heaven ! Heard you nothing ? 
Wic. Ay, the wind among the wither'd leaves. 
On on, Conrad. Your uncle was a wise man. 

Con. That's more than gray hairs can make 
other folks, 

Wic. Ha! stripling, art thou so malapert? 



Tliough thou art Lord Henry's page, I sliall teach 
thee who commands this party. 

All Soldiers. Peace, peace, good Wickerd : lot 
Conrad proceed. 

Con. WTiere was I ? 

Frank. About the m'u-ror. 

Con, True. My uncle beheld in the mirror the 
reflection of a human face distorted and covered 
with blood. A voice pronounced articulately, " It 
is yet time." As the words were spoken, my un- 
cle discerned in the ghastly visage the features of 
his own father. 

Soldier. Hush ! By St. Francis, I heard a groan. 
{Theii start up all but Wickerd.) 

Wic. The croaking of a frog, who has caught 
cold in this bitter night, and sings rather more 
hoarsely than usual. 

Frank. Wickerd, thou art surely no Christian. 
[Tlirti nit donm, and clone roxntd thf^Jire.) 

Cox. Well — my uncle called up his attendant.^ 
and they searched every nook of the chamber, but 
found nothing. So they covered the mirror with 
a cloth, and Albert was left alone ; but hardly had 
he closed liis eyes when the same voice proclaimed, 
" It is now too late ;" the covering was di'awn aside, 
and he saw the figure 

Frank. Merciful 'Virgin I It comes. {All rise.) 

Wic Where? what? 

Con. See yon figure coming from the thicket 1 

Enter Martin, in the monk's dress, much disorder- 
ed: his face is very pale and his steps slow. 

Wic. [levelling his pike.) Man or devil, wliich 
thou wilt, thou shalt feel cold iron, if thou budgest 
a foot nearer. (Martin stops.) Who art thou ? 
What dost thou seek ? 

Mar. To warm myself at your fire. It is deadly 
cold. 

Wic See there, ye cravens, your apparition is 
a poor benighted monk: sit down, father. {Theii 
place Martin by the f re.) By heaven, it is Martin 
— our Martin ! Martin, how fares it with thee ? 
We have sought thee this whole night. 

Mar. So have many others [vacantly.) 

Con. Yes, thy master. 

Mar. Did you see him too ? 

Con. Wliom ? Baron George ? 

Mar. No 1 my first master, Arnolf of Ebersdorf. 

Wic. He raves. 

Mak. He passed me but now in the wood, moimt- 
ed upon his old black steed ; its nostrils breathed 
smoke and flame ; neither tree nor rock stopped 
him. He said, " Martin, thou wilt return this night 
to my service !" 

Wic. Wrap thy cloak around him, Francis ; he 
is distracted with cold and pain. Dost thou not 
recollect me, old friend ? 

Mar, Yes, you are the butler at Ebersdorf: yoa 



328 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



have the cliarge of the large gilded cup, embossed 
with the figures of the twelve apostles. It was the 
favorite goblet of my old master. 

Con. I?y our lady, Martin, thou must be dis- 
tracted indeed, to think our master would intrust 
Wickerd with the care of the cellar. 

Mak. I know a face so like the apostate Judas 
on that cup. I have seen the likeness when I gazed 
on a mirror. 

Wic. Try to go to sleep, dear Martin; it will 
relieve thy brain. (Footsteps are heard in t/te wood.) 
To your arms. {They take their anns.) 

Enter two Members of the Invisible Tribunal, vmf- 
fied in their cloaks. 
Con. Stand! Who are you? 
1 Me.m. Travellers benighted in the wood. 
Wic. Are ye friends to Aspen or Maltingen i 

1 Mem. We enter not into their quarrel ; we are 
friends to the right. 

Wic. Then are ye friends to us, andwelcome to 
pass the night by our fire. 

2 Mem. Tlianks. (They approach the fire, and 
reffard Martin very earveatly.) 

Con. Hear ye any news abroad ! 
2 Mem. None ; but that oppression and villany 
ire rife and rank as ever. 
Wic. The old complaint. 

1 Mem. No ! never did former .ige equal this in 
wickedness; and yet, as if the daily commission of 
enormities were not enough to blot the sun, every 
hour discovers crimes which have lain concealed 
for years. 

Con. Pity the Holy Tribunal should slumber in 
its office. 

2 Mem. Young man, it slumbers not. When 
criminals are ripe for its vengeance, it falls like 
the bolt of Heaven. 

Mar. (attempting to rise.) Let me be gone. 

Con. (dctaijiing him.) Whither now, Martin ? 

Mar. To mass. 

1 Mem. Even now, we heard a tale of a villain, 
who, un^'rateful as the frozeu adder, stung the bo- 
som that had warmed him into life. 

Mar. Conrad, bear me off; I would be away from 
these men. 

Co.v. Be at ease, and strive to sleep. 

Mar. Too well I know — I shall never sleep again. 

'.! Mem. Tlie wretch of whom we speak became, 
frcm revenge and lust of gain, the murderer of the 
master whose bread he did eat. 

Wic Out upon the monster 1 

1 Me.m. For nearly thirty years was he permit- 
led to cumber the ground. The miscreant thought 
his crime was concealed ; but the earth which 
groaned under his footsteps — the winds which 
passed over his unhallowed head — tlie stream 
which he polluted by his lips — the fire at which he 



warmed his blood-stained hands — every element 
bore witness to his guilt. 

Mar. Conrad, good youth — lead me from hence, 
and I wiU show thee where, thirty years since, 1 
deposited a mighty bribe. [Bises. 

CoN. Be patient, good Martin. 
Wic. And where was the miscreant seized ! 

[The two Members suddenly lay hands on 
M.\RTIN, and draw their daygcrs ; the 
Soldiers spring to their arms. 
1 Mem. On this very spot. 
Wic. Traitors, unloose your hold I 
1 Mem. In the name of the Invisible Judges, I 
charge ye, impede us not in our duty. 

[All sink their weapons, and stand mo- 
tionless. 
Mar. Help! help! 
1 Mem. Help him with your prayers ! 

[He is dragged off. The scene shuts. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 

The subterranean chapel of the Castle of Grief en- 
haus. It seems deserted, and in decay. There are 
four entrances, each defended by an iron portal. 
At each door stands a icarder clothed in black, 
and masked, armed with a naked sword. During 
the whole scene they remain motionless on their 
posts. In the centre of the chapel is a ruinous 
altar, half sunk in the ground, oti which lie a 
large book, a dagger, and a coil of ropes, beside 
two lighted tapers. Antique stone benches of dif- 
ferent heights around the chapel. In the back 
scene is seen a dilapidated entrance into the sa- 
cristy, which is quite dark. 

Various Members of the Invisible Tribunal enter 
by the four different doors of the chapel. Each 
lehispers something as he passes the Warder 
which is answered by an inclination of the head. 
The costume of the Monbers is a long black robe 
capable of muffling the face : some wear it in this 
ynanner ; others have their faces uncovered, un- 
less on the entrance of a stranger : they place 
themselves in profound silence upon the stone 
benches. 

Enter Count Roderic, dressed in a scarlet cloak of 
the same form with those of the other Members. 
He takes his place mi the most elevated bejich. 

Rod. Warders, secure the doors! (The doors 

are barred with great care.) Herald, do thy duty ! 

[Members ail rise — Herald stands by the 

altar. 

Her. Members of the Invisible Tribunal, who 

judge in secret, and avenge in secret, like the Deity, 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



829 



are your hearts free from malice, and your hands 
from blood-guiltiness ! 

[All the Mnnhrrs hicline their heads. 
Rod. God pardon our .sins of ignorance, and pre- 
serve us from those of presumption. 

[Affain ike Members soletnuly incline tfieir 
heads. 
Hek. To the east, and to the west, and to the 
north, and to the south, I raise my voice ; wherever 
there is treason, wlierever there is blood-guiltiness, 
wlicrever there is sacrilege, sorcery, robbery, or 
perjuiy, there let tliis curse alight, and pierce tlie 
marrow and the bone. Raise, then, your voices, 
and say with me, woe ! woe, unto offenders ! 
All. Woe ! woe ! [Members sit down. 

Hek. He who knoweth of an unpunislicd crime, 
let him stand forth as bound by his oath when his 
liand was laid upon the dagger and upon the cord, 
and call to the assembly for vengeance ! 

Me.m. (rises, his face covered.) Vengeance 1 ven- 
geance ! vengeance i 

Rod. Upon whom dost thou invoke vengeance ? 
Accuser. Upon a brother of this order, who is 
forsworn, and perjured to its laws. 
Rod. Relate his crime. 

Accu. This perjured brother was sworn, upon 
the steel and upon the cord, to denounce malefac- 
tors to the judgment-seat, from the four quarters 
of heaven, though it were the spouse of his heart, 
or the son whom he loved as the apple of his eye ; 
yet did he conceal tlie guilt of one who was dear 
into him ; he folded up the crime from tlie knowl- 
edge of the tribunal ; he removed the evidence of 
guilt, and withdrew the criminal from justice. 
What does his perjury deserve ? 

Rod. Accuser, come before the altar ; lay thy 
hand upon the dagger and tlie cord, and swear to 
the truth of thy accusation. 

Accu. (his hand on the altar.) I swear I 
Rod. Wilt thou take upon thyself the penalty 
of perjury, should it be found false ? 
Accu. I wilL 
Rod. Brethren, what is your sentence ? 

[The Members confer a vioment in whis- 
pers — a silence. 
Eldest Mem. Our voice is, that the perjured 
brother merits death. 

Rod. Accuser, thou hast heard the voice of the 
assembly ; name the criminal. 
Accu. George, Baron of Aspen. 

[A murmur in the assembly. 
A Mem. (suddenly risiny.) I am ready, accord- 
ing to our holy laws, to swear, by the steel and 
the cord, that George of Aspen merits not tliis ac- 
cusation, and that it is a foul calumny. 

Accu. Rash man ! gagest thou an oath so lightly ? 
Mem. I gage it not liglitly. I proffer it in the 
clause of innocence and virtue. 



Accu. What if George of Aspen should not him- 
self deny the charge ? 

Mem. Then would I never trust man again. 

Accu. Hear him. then, bear witness against liim- 
self (throws back his mantle.) 

Rod. Baron George of Aspen ! 

Geo. Tlie same — prepared to do penance for tlie 
crime of whicli he stands self-accused. 

Rod. Still, canst thou disclose tlie name of the 
criminal whom thou hast rescued from justice, on 
that condition alone, thy bretliren may .*ave thy 
hfe. 

Geo. Tliinkest thou I would betray for tlie safety 
of my life, a secret I have preserved at tlie breach 
of my word ? — No ! I have weighed the value of 
my obUgation — I will not discharge it — but most 
willingly will I pay the penalty ! 

Rod Retire, George of Aspen, till tlie assembly 
pronounce judgment. 

Geo. Welcome be your sentence — I am weary 
of your yoke of iron. A light beams on my soul. 
Woe to those who seek justice in the dark haunts 
of mystery and of cruelty ■ She dwells ui the 
broad blaze of the sun, and Mercy is ever by her 
side. Woe to those who would advance the gen- 
eral weal by trampling upon the social affections! 
they aspire to be more than men — they shall be- 
come worse than tigers. I go : better for me your 
altars should be stained with my blood, than my 
soul blackened with your crimes. 

[Exit George, by the ruinous door in the 
back scene, into the sacristy. 

Rod. Brethren, sworn upon the steel and upon 
the cord, to judge and to avenge in secret, without 
favor and without pity, what is your judgment 
upon George of Aspen, self-accused of perjury, and 
resistance to the laws of our fraternity ? 

[Long and earnest imtrmurs in the as- 
sembly. 

Rod. Speak your doom. 

Eldest Mem. George of Aspen h.is declared him- 
self perjured ; — the penalty of perjury is death ! 

Rod. Father of the secret judges — Eldest among 
those who avenge in secret — take to thee the steel 
and the cord ; — let the guilty no longer cumber the 
land. 

Eldest Mem. I am fourscore and eight years old. 
My eyes are dim, and my hand is feeble ; soon shall 
I be called before the throne of my Creator ; — How 
shall I stand there, stained with the blood of such 
a man? 

Rod. How wilt thou stand before tliat throne, 
loaded with the guilt of a broken oath ? The blood 
of the criminal be upon us and ours ! 

Eldest Mem. So be it, in the name of God I 

[He takes the dagger from the altar, goes 
slowly towards the back scene, and rt- 
luctantly enters the sacristy. 



830 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Eldest Judge, [fr&tn behmd the scene.) Dost thou 
forgive me ? 
Geo. (6eA(W.) I do ! (He is heard to fall heavibj!) 
\^Re-e7iter the old judge from the sacriMy. 
He lays on the altar the bloody dagyer. 
Rod. Hast thou done thy duty ? 
Eldest Mem. I have. (He faints.) 
Rod. He swoons. Remove liim. 

^ H^ is assisted off the stage. During this 
four members enter the sacristy, and 
bring out a bier covered with a pall, 
which they place onthe steps of the altar. 
A deep silence. 
Rod Judges of evil, dooming in secret, and aveng- 
ing in secret, Uke the Deity : God keepyour thoughts 
from evil, and your hands from guilt. 

Bee. I raise my voice u\ tliis assembly, and cry, 
Vengeance ! vengeance ! vengeance ! 

Rod. Enough has this night been done — (he rises 
and brings Bertram foricard.) Think what thou 
doest — -George has fallen — it were murder to slay 
both mother and son. 

Ber. George of Aspen was thy victim — a sacri- 
fice to thy hatred and envy. I claim misie, sacred 
to justice luid to my murdered brother. Resume 
thy place — thou canst not stop the rock thou bast 
I put in motion. 

Rod. (resumes his seat.) Upon whom callest thou 
for vengeance ? 
Ber. Upon Isabella of Aspen. 
Rod. She has been summoned. 
Herald. Isabella of Aspen, accused of mmder 
by poison, I charge thee to appear, and stand upon 
thy defence. 

\Three knocks are heard at one of the 
doors — it is opened by the warder. 

Enter Isabella, the veil still wrapped around her 
head, led by her conductor. All the members 
mujffle their faces. 

Rod. Uncover her eyes. 

[The veil is removed. Isabella looks wild- 
ly round. 

Rod. Knowest thou, lady, where thou art ? 

IsA. I guess. 

Rod. Say thy guess. 

IsA. Before the Avengers of blood. 

Rod. Knowest thou why thou art called to their 
pre.sence ? 

IsA. No. 

Ror. Speak, accuser. 

Ber. I impeach thee, Isabella of Aspen, before 
tliis awful assembly, of having murdered, privily 
aufl by poison, Amolf of Ebersdorf, thy first hus- 
band. 

Rod. Canst thou swear to the accusation ? 

Ber. (his hand on the altar.) I lay my hand on 
Ihe steel and the cord, and swear. 



Rod Isabella of Aspen, thou hast heard thy ao 
cusatioa Wliat canst thou answer ? 

IsA. That the oath of an accuser is no proof o/ 
guilt I 

Rod. Hast thou more to say ? 

Is.\. I have. 

Rod. Speak on. 

IsA. Judges invisible to the sun, and seen only 
by the stars of midnight 1 I stand before you, ac- 
cused of an enormous, dai-ing, ;md premeditated 
crime. I was married to Arnolf when I was only 
eighteen years old. Arnolf was wary and jealous ; 
ever suspecting me without a cause, unless it was 
because he had injured me. How then should I 
plan and perpetrate such a deed ? The lamb turns 
not against the wolf, though a prisoner in his den. 

Rod. Have you finished ? 

IsA. A moment. Years after years have elapsed 
without a whisper of this foul suspicion. Arnolf 
left a brother! though common fame had been 
silent, natural affection would have been heard 
agaiiist me — why spoke he not my accusation ? Or 
has my conduct justified this horrible charge ? No ! 
awful judges, I may answer, I have founded clois- 
ters, I have endowed hospitals. The goods that 
Heaven bestowed on me I have not held back from 
the needy. I appeal to you, judges of evil, can 
these proofs of innocence be down-weighed by the 
assertion of an unknown and disguised, percliance 
a m.ilignant accuser ! 

Ber. No longer will I wear that disguise (throws 
back his mantle.) Dost thou know me now ? 

IsA. Yes ; I know thee for a wandering minstrel, 
relieved by the charity of my husband. 

Ber. No, traitress ! know me for Bertram Oi* 
Ebersdorf, brother to him thou didst murder. Call 
her accomplice, Martin. Ha! turnest thou pale ? 

IsA. May I have some water ? — (Apart.) Sacreu 
Heaven 1 his vindictive look is so like — 

[ Water is brought 

A Mem. Martin died in the hands of our bretluen. 

Rod. Dost thou know the accuser, lady ? 

ISA. (rcassmning fortitude^ Let not the sinking 
of nature under tliis dreadful trial be imputed to 
the consciousness of guilt. I do know the accuser 
— know him to be outlawed for homicide, and un- 
der the ban of the empire : his testimony cannot 
be received. 

Eldest Judge. She says truly. 

Bee. (to RoDERic.) Then I call upon thee and 
WiUiam of Wolfstein to bear witness to what you 
know. 

Rod. Wolfstein is not in the assembly, and my 
place prevents me from being a witness. 

Ber. Then I will caU another: meanwhile let 
the accused be removed. 

Rod. Retire, lady. 

[Isabella is led to the sacristy, 



IsA. {in going off.) Tlie ground is slipperj' — 
Heavens ! it is floated -with blood I 

l^Exit into the sacristy. 

Rod. {apart to Bertram.) Wlmm dost thou mean 
to call ? [Bertram whispers. 

Rod. This goes beyond me. {After a mometd's 
thought.) But be it so. Maltingcn shall behold 
Aspeu humbled in the du.'it. (Aloud.) Brethren, 
the accuser calls for a witness who remains with- 
out : admit him \_All inu£ie their faces. 

Enter Rudiger, his eyes bound or covered, leani^ig 
upon two vienibers ; they place a stool for him, 
and unbind his eyes. 

Rod. Knowest thou where thou art, and before 
Wiiom ? 

RuD. IJaiow not, and I care not. Two strangers 
summoned me from my castle to assist, they said, 
at a great act of justice. I ascended the litter 
they brought, and I am here. 

Rod. It regards the punishment of perjury and 
the discovery of murder. Art thou willing to as- 
sist us ? 

Rod. Most willing, as is my duty. 

Rod. What if the crime regard thy friend ? 

RuD. I will hold him no longer so. 

Rod. What if thine own blood ? 

RuD. I would let it out with my poniard. 

Rod. Then canst thou not blame us for this deed 
of justice. Remove the pall. {The pall is lifted, 
beneath which is discovered the body of George, 
pale and bloody. Rudiger staggers towards it.) 

RuD. My George ! my George ! Not slain manly 
in battle, but murdered by legal assassins. Much, 
mucli may I mourn thee, my beloved boy ; but 
not now — not now ; never wiU I shed a tear for 
thy death till I have cleared thy fame. — Hear me, 
ye midnight murderers, he was innocent {raising 
his voice) — upright as the truth itself. Let the 
man who dares gainsay me lift that gage. If the 
Almighty does not strengthen these frail limbs*. *o 
make good a father s quarrel, I have a son left, who 
will vindicate the honor of Aspen, or lay his bloody 
body beside his brother's. 

Rod. Rash and insen-sate ! Hear first the cause. 
Hear the dishonor of thy house. 

IsA. {from the sacristy.) Nevef shall lie hear it 
till the author is no more! (Rudiger attempts to 
rush awards tlte sacristy, but is prevented. Isabella 
e iters wounded, and throws herself on George's 
body .) 

IsA. Murdered for me — for me I my dear, dear 
son! 

RuD. [still held.) Cowardly villains, let me loose ! 
Maltingen, this is thy doing ! Thy face thou wouldst 
disguise, thy deeds thou canst not ! I defy thee 
to instant and mortal combat ! 

Isa. [looking up.) Nol nol endanger not thy 



life 1 Myself! myself! I could not bear thou 

shouldst know Oh ! {J)ies.) 

RuD. Oh ! let me go — let me but try to stop hor 
blood, and I will forgive all. 

Rod. Drag liim off and detain him. The voice 
of lamentation must not disturb the stern deliber- 
ation of justice. 

RuD. Bloodhound of Maltingen! Well beseems 
thee thy base revenge ! The marks of my son's 
lance are still on thy craven crest 1 Vengeance on 
the band of ye ! 

[Rudiger is dragged off to the sacristy. 

Rod. Brethren, we stand discovered ! What is 

to be done to liim who shall descry our mystery ? 

Eldest Judge. He must become a brother of 

our or^Ier, or die ! 

Rod. This man will never join us ! He cannot 
put his hand into ours, which are stained with the 
blood of his wife and son : he must therefore die ! 
{Murmurs in the assembly.) Brethren ! I wonder not 
at your reluctance ; but the man is powerful, has 
friends .and allies to buckler his cause. It is over 
with us, and with our order, unless the laws are 
obeyed. {Fainter murmurs.) Besides, have we 
not sworn a deadly oath to execute these statutes ! 
{A dead silence.) Take to thee the steel and the 
cord {to the eldest Judge.) 

Eldest Judge. He has done no evil — he was the 
companion of my battle — I will not ! 

Rod. {to another.) Do thou — and succeed to the 
rank of him who has disobeyed. Remember your 
oath! {Jf ember takes the dagger, and goes irreso- 
lutely forward ; looks iiito the sacristy, and comes 
back.) 

Mem. He has fainted — fainted in anguish for his 
wife and liis son , the bloody ground is strewed 
with his white hau-s, torn by those hands that have 
fought foV Clu'istendom. I will not be your butcher. 
— [Throws down the dagger.) 

Ber. Irresolute and perjured ! the robber of my 
inheritance, the author of my e.vile, shall die ! 

Rod. Thanks, Bertram. Execute the doom — 
secure the safety of the holy tribunal ! 

[Bertram seizes the dagger, and is about to 
rush into the sacristy, when three loud 
knocks are heard at the door. 
All. Hold! Hold! 

[The Duke of Bavaria, attended by many 
members of the Invisible Tribunal, enters, 
dressed in a scarlet mantle trimmed with 
ermine, and wearing a ducal crown. — lie 
carries a rod in his hand. — All rise. — -A 
murmur among the members, who whisper 
to each other, " Tlie Duke," " The Chiefs 
tic. 
Rod. The Duke of Bavaria I I am lost. 
Duke, [sees the bodies.) I am too late — the vic- 
tims 1 .-■ a fallen. 



632 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Hen. {who enters with t/ie Duke.) Gracious HcaT- 
en 1 O George I 

RuD. (frmn the sacristy.) Henry — it is thy voice 
— save me 1 [Henev rushes into the sacristy. 

Duke. Roderic of Maltiiigen, descend from the 
eeat which thou hast dishonored — (Rodeeic leaves 
his place, which the Duke occupies.) — Thou staudest 
accused of having perverted tlie laws of our order ; 
for that, being a mortal enemy to the house of 
Aspen, thou hast abused thy sacred authority to 
piuider to thy private revenge ; and to this Wolf- 
stein has been witness. 

Rod. Chief among our circles, I have but acted 
according to our laws. 

Duke. Thou hast indeed observed the letter of 
our statutes, and woe am I that they do warrant 
this night's bloody work I I cannot do unto thee 
as I would, but what I can I wiU. Thou hast not 
indeed transgressed our law, but thou hast wrested 
and abused it: kneel down, therefore, and place 
thy hands betwixt mine. (Rodekic kneels as di- 
rected.) I degrade thee from thy sacred office 
[spreads his hands, as pushing Rodeeic yrom him) 
If after two days thou darest to pollute Bavarian 
ground by thy footsteps, be it at the peril of the 
steel and the cord (Rodekic rises.) I dissolve this 
meeting [all rise.) Judges and condemners of 
others, God teach you knowledge of yourselves ! 
(All bend their heads — Dtike breaks his rod, and 
coiiie! fer'wird.) 



Rod. Lord Duke, thou bast charged me with 
treachery — thou art my liege lord — but who else 
dares maintain the accusation, lies in his throat. 

Hen. [rushing from the sacristy.) Villain ! I ac- 
cept thy challenge ! 

Rod. Vain boy ! my lance shall chastise thee in 
the lists — there lies my gage. 

Duke. Henry, on thy allegiance, touch it not. 
[To RoDEBio.) Lists shalt thou never more enter ; 
lance shalt thou never more wield [draws his 
sword.) With tliis sword wast thou dubbed a 
knight ; with this sword I dishonor thee — I thy 
prince — [strikes him slightly with the Jlat of the 
sword) — I take from thee the degree of knight, the 
dignity of chivalry. Thou art no longer a free 
German noble ; thou art honorless and rightless ; 
the funeral obsequies shall be performed for thee 
as for one dead to knightly honor and to fair fame ; 
thy spurs shall be hacked from thy heels ; thy 
arms bafEed and reversed by the common execu- 
tioner. Go, fraudful and dishonored, hide thy 
shame in a foreign land ! (Roderic shows a dumb 
expression of rage.) Lay hands on Bertram of 
Ebersdorf : as I live, he shall pay the forfeiture of 
liis outlawiy. Henry, aid us to remove tliy father 
from this charnel-house. Never shall he know the 
dreadful secret. Be it mine to soothe his sorrows, 
and to restore the honor of the House of Aspen. 

[Curtain slowly falls.) 



IBS KVD. 



INDEX. 



A. 

" Abbot," Verses from the, 601-2. 
Aberi'om, Marqiiiii of, suggestion of, re- 

^anliiig a passage in Marniion, 85, n. ; 

dedifaiion ot" " Tlie Laiiy of the Lake" 

to. 183. 

Marchioness of, 105, n. 

AberiTomliy, Sir Ralph, tribute to tlie 

memory of, 105. 
Achaius, King of Scotland. 169, n. 
Adam. Right Hon, William, a specimen 

of minsirel recitation obtained from, 

553. 
Addison, his critieism on Chevy Chase, 

53!t. 540. 
Adolphus, J. L.. Esq. extracts from liis 

" Leltei-s on the Aiitlior of Waverley," 

391. /(. : 516. 71.; 5-27, 71.; 535. 

" AllRlMAN," 716. 

Allitiiia, a poem, extract from, 613, 
Allan's Antiiology, Songs written for, 

eiill. 661. 675, 676. 
Alexander III. " the last Scottish king of 

the jiure Celtic race," 542. 
Ale.\andre, Moiis. the ventriloquist, 

" Lines adurkssed to," 713. 
" Ai.if E Brand," 213. 254, n. 
*' Ah.kn-a-Dale," 323. 
Alvanley, Lady, 654, 11. 
Ambition, personitioatlon of, 277. 
" Ancient Mariner," Coleridge's, 559. 

474. 
" Ancient Gaeli MELnnv," 679. 
Ancr.-\m Moor, battle ol'. 597. 
Anglo-Saxons, poetry of, 6^2. 
Angus. Archibald, si\th Earl of, called 

"Bell-th^Cat." 130. 143. 171. 
Angus, seventh Earl of. 4(K 74. 194. 244. 
'* An hour with tuee," 720. 
"Annual Review," the critical notices 

from. 16. 32. 53. 
Anne of Geirstein. Verses from, 724. 
Jlnthoitij JVow JSTow, 555. 
" Antiiji'arv," Verses from the, 602-5. 
Anxiety, effect of, in giving acnteness to 

the organs of sense, 297. 356. 
Arbuthnot. Sir William. 662, n. ; 704, n, 
Aram, Eugene, remarkable case of, 361, 
Archers, English, 126. 169. 462. 498. 729. 

730. 
Ardoch, Roman camp at. 263. 
Argentine, Sir Giles de, 422. 405. 500. 
Ariosto. Translation from, 674. 
" Armin and Elvira." 560. 
Arran, Earl of (1569). 600, n. 

Island of. 448. 489. 

Artliur. King. 154. 385. 393. 41L 

Arthur's Seat, 704. 

Arlornish Castle. 469. 

Asceiie religionists, 249. 

Aseham's "Schoolmaster," note from, 

411. 
Asliion, Lucy. Song of. 679. 
"As Lords their laborers' hire delay," 

715. 
" Aspen, The House of, a tragedy," 

790. 
Athole, John de Strathhogie, Earl of 

(temp. Rob I.), 480. 
• David (ie Strathhogie, Earl of 

^1335). 222, H. 
** AucHiNDRANE, Or the Ayrshire trage- 
dy," 770. 
Ayr, loyalty of the men of, rewarded by 

King Robert Bruce, 458, n. 
105 



B. 

Bailt,ie. Joanna, letter to, on Rokeby, 
353. Prologue lo her " Family Le- 
gend , ' ' 639. Dedication to her of 
"MacdutF's Cross." 738. 

105. 524, n. ; 729, n 



Balfour of Burley, e|iitaph on, 666. 
"Ballad, the Ancient, Essay on 

Imitations of," 555. 
" Ballads, Imitations of," 574. 

FROM THE German," 609. 

and Poems, ancient, very 

few manuscript records of discovered, 

543. Printed in Garlands, ib. 
Collections of, by Pepya, 543. 

The DukeofRoxhurgh, ib. An anony- 
mous editor, ib. Miller and Cliapman, 

544. James Watson. 76. Allan Ram- 
say, ib. Dr. Percy, ib. Evans, 548. 
David Herd. .MO. Pinkerton, ib. Rit- 
son, ib. Scott (the Border Minstrelsy), 
550. Sir J. G. Dalzell. ib. Robert 
Jarnieson, ib. Motherwell, 551. Fin- 
lay, ib. Kinloch, ib. C. K. S=Iiarpe, 
ib. Charles Leslie, ib, Peter Buchan, 
ib. And Rev. C. H. Hartshorne, 552. 

Ballantyne, Mr. James, Border Minstrel- 
sy, the first work printetl by him, 550. 
570. Letters from Scott to, 236. 238. 
292. 306. 310. 313. 322. 354. His re- 
marks on John Kemble's retirement 
from the Edinburgh stage, 671, n. 
Constable's sobriquets of, 713. 
Mr. John, 665. 



Bangor, the Monks of. 672. 

" Bannatyne Club, The." 711. 

Bannatyne, George, compiler of ancient 

MSS.. 711. 
Bannerman, Miss Anne, her "Tales of 

Superstition anil Chivalry." 559. 
Bannockbitrn, Battle of, 460; stanza 18 

to end of the poem. See also notes, pp. 

495. 501. 
Bausters, what, 549, n. 
Barbauld. Mrs., 565. 

"Bard's Incantation, The," writ- 
ten under the threat of invasion, 1804, 

632. 
" Barefooted Friar, The," 681, 
Barnard Castle, 296. 306. 356. 360. 
Barrington, Shute, Bishop of Durham, 

524. 
"Battle of Sempach," 619. 
Beacons, 32. 68. 

Bealach-nam-bo. Paes of. 209. 253. 
Beal' an Duine. skirmish at, 233. 267. 
Beatlie, Mr., of Mickledale, 13. 
Dr., lines tVom, on the power of 

fancy, 305, it. 
Bellenden. 36. 71. 

Sir James. 599, n. 

Belrinnes, Ballad of, 550. 

Bell-Rock Lighthouse, lines on visiting, 

645. 
Beltane-tree, the. 589. 593. 
Ben-an Mountain, 187. 
Benledi, 185. 
Benvenue, 187. 
Benvoirlich. 184. 
Beresford, Field-marshal Lord, tribute to, 

282. 283. Uia training the Portuguese 

troops, 291. 

642. 



" Bertram, Harry, Nativity of," 658. 
Berwick, North. 135. 



" Betrothed," Verses from the, 715- 
716. 

"Bessie Bell and Mary Gray," remarki 
on the ballad of, 553. 

Bethnne, or Beaton, family of. 57. 

Bigotry, personification oi". 270. 

Binram's Corse, tradition of, 161. 

Biting the thumb, or the glove, 47. 76. 

"Black Dwarf," Mottoes from the, 
660. 

Blackford-hill, 122. 

Blach-iimil, 32. 263. 

Blackwater, Battle of, in Ireland, 367. 

" Black Knioht's Sono. The," 683. 

Blackwood's Magazine, 551, n. ; critical 
notices from, 408. 513. 536. 

Blair. Right Honorable Robert. Lord 
President of the Court of Session, death 
of. 209. 

" Blondel, the Bloody Vest," Sonjp 
of, 717. 

Blood of which party fir^t shed, .nn angury 
of success in battle, 212. 254. 

Blood-liound, or Uluilh-koand, 59. I8«. 
240. 482. 

" Blue-blanket," the. 704, n. 

"Boat Sonq," 197. 

Boluin, Sir Henry de, his encounter with 
King Robert Bruce, 460. 496. 

" Bold Drauuun, or the Plain of BaJa- 
jos," 642. 

Bolero, a Spanish dance, 287. 

Bonaparte. Napoleon, allusions to in 
"The Vision of Don Roderick," 277. 
281.282. And in "The Field of Wa- 
terloo," 504-511, pa.'isim. Apostro- 
phe to the period of his fall, 455, 456. 

■ 642. 

Bond of Alliance, or feud stanching, 
betwixt the clans of Scott and Kerr 
(1529;, 57. 

"Bonnets of Bonny Dundee," Song to 
the air of. 759. 

"Border Ballad," 689. 

Borderers. English, excommunication of. 
by the Bishop of Durham (1498). 246 
Disorderly conduct of those who attend- 
ed the Protector Somerset, 74. Custom 
of hanging up a glove in a church as a 
challenge. 377. 

Scottish, moss-troopers after the 

union of the crowns, 59. Religion, 60. 
Speed in collecting large bodies of horse, 
68. Places of their herdsmen's refvige, 
ib. March-treason, 72. Form of Oath, 
ib. Instances of the cruelty whieh 00- 
easionally attended their warfare, 69. 
Regulations in 1648, 73. Friendly .n- 
tercourse with the English. 74. Footr 
ball play, ib. Pursuit of maraudera 
called the Ao(-(ro'^, 75. Robber^ quell- 
ed by K. James V., 247. Manner oi 
carrying on deiiredations, 363. Taste 
for [loetry and music, 542. 

Borough-moor of Edinburgh. 168. 

Bothwell, Adam Hepburn, Earlof((fmp. 
Jac. IV.), 167. 

Francis Stewart, Eari o( {temp 

Jac. VI.), 244. 

James Hepburn, Earl of (i«np 

Mary), 74. 118. 

" Bothwell Castle," 628. 

Bowhill, 52, n. 

Braekenbury Tower, 314. 36'.*. 

BrackUnn Cascade, 195. 245 



83-i 



INDEX. 



Itradford. Sir Thoma-s. 704. 

Uraiiksome Castle, 18. 54. ib. 

" Bridal of Tbikrmain," 379. See 
also 413. 

" Bridal Song" in Waverley, 647. 

'■ Rride of Lammermoor," Verses 
from the, 678-0. 

*' Bridge of Dee," poem of tlie, 552. 

Bri^g, or Bridge of Turk, 185. 

British Critic, notices from the. 9. 89. 298. 
355. 436, 437. 440. 445. 467. 729. 738. 
747. 

•' Brooch of Lorn," the, 424. 476. 

Brodick Castle, Arran, 448. 489. 

Brin^L', King Robert, defeats John of Lorn. 
473. Defeated by the Lord of Lorn, 
476. Crowned at Scoon, 470. Subse- 
quent disasters, ib. His compunction 
for violation of the sanctuary by the 
slaughter of Comyn, 481. E.vcomniu- 
nicated for it, ib. Observed omens — 
one of a spider, ib. Traced by a blood- 
hound, 482, Sequel to that adventure 
told by Barbour. 484. Tradition that 
he was at the battle of Falkirk inaccu- 
rate, 483. Crossed the Peninsula of 
Canlyre, 488. Landing in .'\rran. 443. 

488. Instance of his humanity, 445. 

489. Hi> landing in Carrick. 449. 451. 

490. 491. Defeats llie Earl of Pem- 
broke. 49*1. Blockade of Stirling Cas- 
tle. 456. 194. Aftected by Leprosy, 
and found;! the Monastery of King's 
Case, 491-2. His arrangements for the 
Battle of BannoL'kburn. 495. Encoun- 
ter with Sir Henry de Bolnin, 459. 496. 
Battle of Bannockburn. 460 to end of 
the poem, and 495 to end of the note^. 
Disinterment of his remains at Dun- 
fei'mliiie, 437, 7i. 

Edward, brother of King Robert, 

489. 493. 

Nigel, another brother of the 

King. 480. 

• Sir John, of Kinross, 549. 

Mrs., of Arnot, ib. 

Brunne. Robert de, 540. 546. 

Brunswick. Duke of, slain at Jena, 104, 
105. " Bryce Snailsloot's Advertise- 
ment," 700. 

Brydone, Patrick, Esq., 177. 

Buecaniers, 309. 357. 360. 362. 365. 

Buccleucli, ancestors of the bouse of, 17, 
ti. 54, 55, 56. Romantic origin of the 
name, 76. 

Charles, Duke of, 95, n. 

Letters in Verse to, 645. 673. 

Harriet. Duchess of, 12. 95, n. 

Death of, 412. Tribute to lier Memo- 
ry. 466. 

■ and Monmouth, Anne, Du- 
chess of, 18, TI. 

Buchan. Mr. Peter, his Collection of Bal- 
lads, 552. 

Buelianan of Arn prior, ''King of Kip- 
pen," 268. 

Burns, Robert, his " Scots wha' hae wi' 
Wallace bled," 497. Structure of 
Verse used by him, 543. The poet 
most capable to relieve and height- 
en the character of ancient poetry, 
559. 

Bury, Lady Charlotte, introduced the 
author to M. G. Lewis, 565, and to 
Lady Anne Hamilton. 602. 

Byron, Lord, Remarks on a conversation 
betwi.vt him and Captain Medwin, 
13. 572. His Satire on Warmion, 81. 
Lines on Pitt and Fox, 85, 86. Re- 
semblance between part of Parasina 
and a scene in Marmion, 101, n. No- 
tice by him of the imitators of Sir Wal- 
ter Scott, 294, 7t., 295, n. His imita- 
tion of a passage in the Lord of the 
Isles, 454, n. Notes on Waterloo, 291. 
502 to507,p(T5*/m. Poem on his moth- 
er's marriage, 552. Parallel passages 
from. 203, n., 279. 297. 302. 321. 387. 
421. 433. 443. 454. 503. 503. 



Cadogan. Colonel, tribute to the memo- 
ry of, 282. 
" Cadvow Castle," 598. 
Cadell, Mr. Robert, his recollections of 

"The Lady of the Lake," 181. n. 
" Cniriis,'^ &^. 
Caledonian Forest and wild cattle, 598. 

600. 602. 
Cunibusmore, 185. 
Campron. Colonel, killed at Fuentes de 

Honoro, 290. 
Colonel, of Fassiefern, killed at 

auatre-Bras. 509. 665. 

Sir Ewan of Lochiel, 264. 

Cameronians. 604. 

Camp, a favori te dog of the author's, 115. 

Campbell, Thomas. 169. " The Bard of 

Hope," 561. His admiration of the 

poem " Cadyow Castle," 602. 

Lady Cliarlotte. See " Bury." 

Canna, island and town of, 440. 486. 
Canning, Right Hon. George, a writer in 

the Anti-Jacobin, 124. ti. 796. 
Cantyre. peninsula of. 488. 
Caraccioli, Prince, 794. n. 
" Carle, now the King's come," Parti., 

702. Part ii.. 703. 
Caroline. Princ-ess of Wales, 105, n. 
Cartwright, Dr., the first living poet the 

author reeollecled of having seen, 560. 
Cassilis, llie Earl of (temp. Jac. VI.), 

779. Bond by him to liis brother, 771. 
"Castle of the Seven Shields," 

ballad of the, 527. 
Castilians, their skill In fighting with 

darts, 61. 
Catiline, death of, 506, n. 
Cave, Mac-Alister's, in Strathaird, 485. 
Caxton. William, 117. 
Celts, the, 541. Their music and poetry, 

541-2. 567-8. 
Clialmei-s. George, his " Caledonia," 163. 

His edition of Sir David Lindsay's 

Works, 166. 268. 
Chapel Perilous. 86. 154. 
Chapman, Waller, an early Scottish prin- 
ter. See " Millar and Chapman." 
Charles I.. King, 364. 369. 
X. of France, in Edinburgh, 

125, «. 
Prince Edward, one of his places 

of retreat, 242. 
Charms, healing, 31. 67. 
Cbarter^tones. 492 

Chace, the royal, in Etlrick Forest, 160. 
Chastity, punishment for broken vows of, 

102. 164. 
Chalterlon, Thomas, 55S. 
" Cheviot." 631. 
"Chevy Chase," 539,540. 
" Child of Elle, The," 548. 
Chivalry, ;i8. 66. 72. 76. 369. 
" Christ's Kirk on the Green," 543. 
Christmas, 137. 173. 

Cid, the, in Spain, metrical poems of, 538. 
" Claud Halcro's Verses," 695,696. 

698. 
Claverhouse, Grahame of. See Dundee. 
Clerk, Sir George, his tenure of Penny- 

cuik, 606. 703, n. 
John, Esq., of Eldin, author of an 

Essay upon J^aval lunettes, 604, n. 

John, Esq. (Lord Eldin), 711, n. 

William, Esq., 573. 

" Cleveland's Sonos," 698. 
Coir-nan-Uriskin, 209. 252. 
Uoleridge, S. T,, his "Ancient Marin- 
er." 474. 559. His "Christabel," 13. 

"Tlie Bridal of Triermain," an imita- 
tion of fiis style, 408. 
Colkitto, 470. 
Collins, liis flights of imagination, 383. 

410. 
Colman's " Random Records," 753. 
ColwuIlT, King of North ornberlaiid, 100. 

163. 
Combat, single, 38. 66. 72, 73. 132. 172. 

223.263. 



Comyn, the Red, 424. 428. 477. 481. 

Coneybeare's. Rev. Mr.. Ins illustratioiw 
of Anglo-Saxon poetry, 554. 

Congreve's " Mourning Bride," 524. 

Conscience. 296. 299. 

Constable, Mr. Archibald, his " bold and 
liberal industry." 14. Extract from a 
letter of tlie author to, 714. n. 

George, Esq, (Jonallian Old- 
buck), 567. 

Contributions of Scott to " Min- 
strelsy OF THE Scottish Bor 
DER," 537-608. 

Coronach of the Highlanders, 206. 251. 

Coruwallis. Marquis of, 638. 

"Count Robert of Paris," Mottoe« 
from, 726. 

" County Giiy," Song, 709. 

Cowper, 561. 

Cox, Captain, of Coventry. 549, 

Cranstoun, family of, 57. 65. 

George, Esq., consulted by the 

auUior on his attempts at composition, 
•14, n. 

Crichlon Castle, 118. 167. 

Critical Review, notices from. 16. 21. 25. 
33. 37. 45. 47. 141. 149. 187. 192. 197. 
239. 270. 272. 297, 298, 299. 311. 313. 
318. 354. 381. 383. 420. 429. 439, 440. 
444. 533. 536. 006. 

Cromwell, Oliver, his conduct at Marston 
Moor. 314. 357. 359. 

" Crusader's Return. The," 681. 

" Cumnor Hall," poem of, 548. 

Cunningham. Allan, his ballad poetry, 
559. Critical remarks on Auchindrane, 
795, n. 

Cu|i, a drinking one. at Dunevegan, 474. 
"Curch, the," worn by Scottish mat- 
rons, 250. 

"Cypress Wreath, Tue," 335. 

D. 

Dacre, families of, 70. 

Dahoniay, spell of, 402. 

Dalhousie, Earl of, tribute to, 645. 

Dalkeith, Charles, Earl of (afterwards 
Duke of Buccleucli), dedication of 
"The Lay of the Last Minstrel" to, 
16. See Buccleuch. 

Harriet. Countess of (afterward 

Duchess of Buccleucli,), 12. See also 
Buccleuch. 

Town and Castle of, 607. 

Dalzell, (now) Sir J. G., his collection of i 
Scottish poems, 550. 

Sir William, his combat with Sir 

Piers Courtenay, 156. 

"Dance of Death, The," 654. 

Danes, the, invasion of Northumberland 
by, 323. 366. Traces of their religion 
in Teesdale, 366. 

Daoiiu Shi', or "men of peace," 176. 
259. 260. 

David I., King, founded Melrose Abbey, 
60. A sore saint lor the crown, 23, n, 

'■ Dead bell,'' the, 164. 

Death of Leith-hall, poem of ttie, 552. 

Death, presages of, 250. 

"Death Chant." 722. 

" OF Keeldar, The," 723. 

Debateable Land, the. 77. 

Deloraine, lands of, 58. 

" Donald Cairo's come again," 676. 

Donjoii, what. 156. 

" Don Roderick, the Vision of,'' 
269. 

"Doom of Devobgoil," 753. 

Douglas, the House of, 177. Ancienl 
sword belonging to, 172. 

Archibald, third Earl of, called 

"Tine-man." 245. 730. 

" The Good Lord James" charg- 
ed locaiTV the Bruce's heart to the Holy 
Land, 481. In Arran. 490. Make* 
prisoners of Murray and Bonkle. ib 
Often took the Castle of Douglas. 493 
His " Larder,^* ib. At Bamiockbum 
460. 495. 497. 499. 



INDEX. 



83i 



lioii^.'Ia.';, Win., eighth Earl of, stahbeil 

Uy K. Juiiies H. in SlirMng Castle, 225. 

204. 
William, " the knight ot'Liddes- 

(!:ile." 24. 61. 

Gawaiii. Bishop of Dunkeld, 143. 

of Kilspiudie, attectii.^ story of, 

2G5. 
Douiu- Castle. 225. 
On \MATic I'lKTES, " Halidon Hill " 

72<1. " Mal:d«rt■'sC^o.■t^."748. "The 

Doum of Djvorjjoil." 753. " Aiiuliin- 

drane," 784. " The House of Aspeu," 

812. 
Drinking to e.xcess, custom of, io the 

VVeslern [slunds, 475. 
Divlmrgh Abbey, 595. 
Dr>di;ii, his account of his projected epic 

fioeni of "The Round Table," 15.=». 
Uiiclling, 263. 264. 
DuFrgnr (northern dwarfs), 259. 
Duti", Adam, Esq.. 645, w. 
Diitidas, Right Uouorahte WiUiam, 14, 

H..- 18. «.; 81. 
Dundee, Viscount (Graham of Claver- 

huusej, 33. His cliaracter, 243. 
DiiNinailraise. 384. 
'■ iJiNms. Romance of," 656. 
UdiioIIv Ca>tle. 473. 
l)^l^^t:;lrna^'.■ Castle, 473. 
U'rrre\'> IMls 10 Purg.- Melancholy, 557. 
Uiirliain Caihedral, 521. 
"UviNG B.vRD. The," 634. 
'• Gipsy Smugglkr, The," 658. 

E. 

Edelfled, daughter of King Oswy, 99. 
102. 

Edinburgh, ancient cross of, 133-4. 172, 

Old Town of, 124. 169. 

Magazine, the, critical notice 

from, 408. 

Review, the. critical extracts 

from, on the Lay of the Last Min-trel, 
16. 17, 18, 19. 23. 31. 33. 43. 48. 49, 50, 
51. 53. On Marmion. 85. 92. 101. 104. 
132. 143. 146. 147. 151, l.J2. On the 
Lady of the Lake. 183. 196. 201, 202, 
203. 205. 208. 217. 225. 2:<0. 238, 239. 
On the Vision of Don RodL-rick, 27C. 
280. 2t?3-4. And on liie Lord of the 
Mes, 414. 420. 423, 424. 451. 461. 465. 
467. 

Edward I.. King, his vindictive spirit, 
481, His employment of the Welsh in 
his Scottish ware, 494. Sets out to de- 
^troy the Bruce, 438. 4S6. His death, 
486. 

II. at Bannockhurn, 461. His 

gallantry. 499. His tliglit. ih. 

III., Motto on his shield, 546. 

'■ Edward che Bi,ack Prince, To the 

Memury of." 673. 
Egiistoii Abbey, 307. 360. Visited by 

^colt, 319. 
Eigg, ca\e in the Island of, the scene of 

a dreadful act of Vengeance, 487. 
Eildon Hills. 63. 
" Eltin Gray, the," translated from the 

Danish, 255. 
Ellis,, GeOige, Esq., critical notices by, 50, 

v.; 124. 153. Dedicitlion to him ofthe 

Fifth Canto of Marmion. 124. 
" ELsi't Ill's Ballad," 663. 
EKe*. 2lW. See '■ Fairies." 
Encfimpment, Scottish mode of, in 1547, 

IC9. 
Ennui. 512. 536. 
Ejiic Pot-m. a receipt to make an, 380. 

■ Poetry, 379. 

' El'lLOi!t:Es." To The Ajweal, a 

Tragedy. 675. Play of St. Ronan's 

Well, 713. Uueen .Mary. 714. 
' EpiTAiMis."— Miss Stward. 6.39. Jon 

o' ye Girnell. 663. Balfour of Burley, 

060. Mrs. Erskine, 685. The Rev. 

(George Scott, 726. 
' Ekl King, The," 626. 
Enol, Earl of, 704. 



Erskine, Thomas Lord, speech of, on hu- 
manity towards animals, 498. 

William. E--Hq. (Lord Kinnedder^, 

consulted by Scott on his attem))ts ni 
compo-ilion, 14. Dedication to the 
Third Canto of Marmion, 104. Pas- 
sage in Rokeby quoted by him as de- 
scriptive of the Author, 316. Reputed 
author of " The Bridal of Triermain," 
413- 521. 

Mrs.. Epitaph on, 685. 

" Essay on Popular Poetry," 537. 

" ON Imitations of the An- 
cient Ballad," 555. 

Ettrick Poorest, 160. 

Eugene Aram, remarkable case of. 361. 

Evans, Mr. T., his collection of Ballads, 
548. 

Mr. R. H., his republication of 

that Collection, 548. 

*' Eve OF St. John," 594. See also 568. 
. 573. 

Evil principle, the, 716. 

Ezekiel, quotation from the prophecies of, 
221, n. 



Fac-Simile of Sir Walter Scott's Manu- 
script of The Lady of the Lake (lor 
page 202), placed after the Contents. 

Fain, meaning of, 322, n. 

Fairies. 165. 259, 260, 261. 285. 

"Fair iViAiD OF Perth," Verses from 
the, 721-4. 

" Fair Rosamond," ballad of, 555. 

Fancy, power of, in youth, 305. Lines 
on, from Beattie, ib., n, 

" Farewell to M.\cKENZtE. High 
Chief of Kintail," from the Gaelic, 
652. 

'* Imitation of." 653. 

" to the Muse," 702. 

>■ Song of the," 339. 

" Felon Sow of Rokeby," hunting of the, 
by the Friars of Uichmond, 371. 

Ferragus and Ascabart, 190. 242. 

Feuds. 55, 50, 57. 784. 

" Field of Waterloo," poem of the, 
502. 

Fiery Cross, the, 201, 202. 248. 

Fingal's Cave at t^tafla. 440. 487. 

Finlay, Mr. John, his collection of bal- 
lads. 551. His imitations of the ballad 
style, 559. 

"Fire King, ' ballad of the, 616. 
573. 



Flanders, manner of reaping in, 511. 

Fletcher, his comedy ot Monsieur Thom- 
as. 554. 

Flodden, account of the battle of, 146. 
178. 

"Flodden Field," an ancient English 
poem, extracts from, 88, n. ; 167-8. 
178. 

Florinda, daughter of Count Julian, 285. 

"Flower of Varrow," Mary Scott, 71. 
161. 

" Flying Dutchman, the," 3G1. 

"Following" (feudal retainers). 128, ii. 

Football, game of, 74. 657. 

Forbes, Sir WiUiam (author of "The 
Life of Bealtie"), tribute to ins memo- 
ry, 115, 166. 

son of the preceding, 115, 115, n. 

" For a' that, an' a* that," 644. 

Forgeries of documents, 176. 

" Fortune, Lines on," 726. 

"Fortunes of Nigel," Mottoes from 
the, 705-8. 

Foster-children, 368. 

Fox, Right Honorable Charles James, 
"among those who smiled on the ad- 
venturous minstrel," 14. Never ap- 
plied to by Scott regarding his appoint- 
ment as a Clerk of ."^essiun, 81. Trib- 
ute to his memory, 85. His compliment 
to the author of " The Monk," 564. 

Franchemont. superstitioua belief regard- 
ing the Castle of, 139. 176. 



Fraser [or Frizetl. Sir Simon, ance-ttor ol 
the family of Loval, late of, 480. 

Frederick II., King of Prussia, undei* 
valued the literature of liiit country. 
562. 

" Frederick and .\i,1(e," 618. 

French army in I lie Peninsula, move- 
ments of applied lo in the prophecies of 
Joel, 289. Rela-at ol, March, 1811, 
289. 

Frere, Right Hon. J. H. A writer in the 
" Aniijacobin." 124. a.; 812. Hii 
imitations of the ancient ballad^ 558. 

"Friar Rush. 116. 166. 

" From the French," 657. 

Fuentes de Honoro. action of, 290. 

Fullarton of Kilniichel, lamily of, 495, 

" Funeral Hy.m.n," 683. 

G. 

Gala, the river. 415. 

" Gaelic Meloby, Ancient," 689. 

Gait, John, Esq.. epilogue to his tragedy 

of "The Appeal," 675. 
Oarltnuh (small ballad miscellanies), 

543. 555. 
"Gellatley's, Davie," Songs, 648. 

650. 652. 

Janet, alleged witch- 



craft, 650. 

George IV., King, his opinion of the au- 
thor's poetry, 238. n. Lines oq his 
Visit to Scotland, 702, 703, 704. 

"German Ballads, translated or imi 
tated," 609 to 626. 

German hackbut-men, 70. 

language, similarity of the, to the 

Old Ei!-lish and Scottish. 567. 

- literature, introduction of, into 



this country 562. Afterwards fell into 

disrepute. 812. 
"Ghaisi's Warning, the," translated iJoin 

the Danish Kanij)e Viser, 25T 
Ghost of the Lady Bothwellhaugh, 603. 
Gilford, village and castle of, 107. 104. 
Gilbert, Da vies, E-q., 557, n. 
Gili-Doir MagrevoUich, the conception of 

249. 
Gil Morrice, ballad of, 571. 
6/aniour. 29. 65. 

" Glee-Maiden." t-'ong of the, 722. 
Glee-maidens. 231. 206. 
Glencairn "The Good Earl" of, 601. 

603. 802. 
"Glencoe, on the Massacre of," 642. 
"Glenfinlas," 589. 
GlentVuiii, condicl ul, between the Mao* 

gregors and the Culi|uhonns, 246. 
Glengarry. See Macilonneil. 
Gobhn-Hall, the. 104. 
Goblin-Page. Lord Cranstoun's, 64. 
Goethe, 562. 812. 
Golagrus and Gawaiie, the knightly tale 

of, 544. H. 
Goldsmith, tlliver, his imitations of ballad 

poetry. 559. 
"Goldthred's Song," 092. 
Gordon, Adam, gallant conduct of, at 

Homildon Hill, 730. 
Colonel, the Hon. Sir Alexander, 

killed at Waterloo. oU9. 
Gntinc, or Grahame, families of, 77, 243. 

291. 
Graliam, Rev. Dr., Notes from his 

Sketches of Perthshire, 185 passim 

263. 

Sir John the, 243. 291. 

t-'irTlioma'-, Lonl Lynedoch, 291. 

"Gray Brother, The," 604. 
Greta Bridge. 'M'M. 

River. 308. 316. 360. 361. 364. 

"Grey Mare's Tail," the, a cataract 

16i: 
Grotto on the estate of Strathaird, (1» 

scription ol, 485. 
Ouis:irds of Scotlan<l, 174. 
Gunn. John, a noted Highland cateran, 

story of, 202. 
" Guy Mannerino," Verses from, 638. 



836 



INDEX. 



H. 
Haddington, Charles, tenth Earl of, 
703. 

Haig of Bemerside. family of, 578. 588. 
Hailea, Lord. 474. 491. 495. 711. 
Hairibee, 21. 
" Halbert Glendinnino, To," 686. 

*' 's Incantation," ib. 

'' ."■'econd Interview," 687. 

Halidon Hill," a dramatic sketch, 

729. 
Halkett. Mrs., of Wardlaw, author of 

" Hardyknute," 549. 
Hall, Captain Basil, 509, n 

Sir James, 61. 509, n. 

Hamilton, family of, 598. 

Alexander, Duke of, 703. 

Right Hon. Lady Anne, 600. 

of Bothwellhaugh, account of 

his assassination of the Regent Murray, 

599 

— Lord Claud, 603. 

Robert, Esq., advocate, 645, n. 

• Sir Thomas, Lord Advocate 

{temp. Jac. VI.), 789. 

Right Hon. W. G. (Single- 
speech Hamilton), 395, n. 

Hardyknute, ballad of, 544. 549. 558. 
The first poem the author learnt, 558, )(. 

" Harlaw, the Battle of," an ancient bal- 
lad, 544. 
' HAROLb THE Dauntless," 512. 

" Harfager, f-'ong of," 695. 

*' Harp, Song of the," 337. 

" Hatteraick, Dirk, Song of," 659. 

Hawks, 76. 

Hawlhornden, 605. 607, n. 

Hayley, William. Esq., 561. 

Hayman, Mrs., 105, n. 

'* Health to Lord .Melville," 637. 

"Heart of Mid-Lothian," Verses 
from the, 677-679. 

Heath-burning, 252. 

Heber, Richard, Esq., dedication of the 
sixth canto of Marmion to, 138. 

Hebriuean chiefs, fortresses of, 474. 

*' Hellvellvn," 633. 

Henrv VI., King of England, at Edin- 
burgh, 169. 

Hepburn, laraily of. 74. See Bothwell. 

Heraldry, 72. 157. 166. 

Herd, Mr. David, his collection of Scot- 
tish songs, 549 711. 

Herder's popular ballads, or Volkslieder, 
571. 

Ueriot or Herezeld. 35, n. 

Heron, William, of Ford, and his lady, 
129. 157. 170. 

of Gilmerton, 604. 

*' Hero's Targe," a rock in Glenfinlas, 
211. 254. 

Highlanders, Scottish, their hospitality, 
243. Music. 196.243.245. The Bard. 
8 family officer, 243. Epithets of their 
chiefs, 245. Boat-songs, 246. Hardi- 
hood, 247. Henchman, ib. Tutelar 
Bjiirits, 250. Brogue or shoe, ib. Cor- 
onach. 206. 251. Resi>ect paid to their 
chiefs, 252. Oaths, ib. Body guards 
and domestic officers of the chiefs, 
253. Cookery, 261. Creagks or fo- 
rays, 262. Trust- worthiness, ib. Tar- 
gets and Broadswords, 264. Modes of 
inquiring into futurity, 253. Ancient 
custom respecting marriage, 479. 

Hogg. Mr. James, "The Ettrick Shep- 
hi-rd," his "Mountain Bard," 161. 
164. His story of the " Deai' Bell," 
ib. "Pilgrims of the Sun." 467, n. 
"Poetic Mirror," 413. His ballad 
poetry, 559. 

Holy Island, or Lindisfarne, 16L 

Home, family of, 74. 

' Lord Chamberlain to James FV., 

his conduct at Flodden, 179. 

Homf^r, 89, ti. ; 380. 537. 538, 539. 

Homildon-hill, battle of, 729. 

Horsemansliip. 170. 

Horses, shrieking of, in agony 462. 498. 



Hostelrie. See Inn. 
Hotspur. See Percy. 
Hol-trod, tlie, pursuit of Border Marau- 
ders. 75. 
"House of Aspen, The," a tragedy, 

812. 
Howard, Lord William, "Belted Will 

Howard," 70. 
Howell ap Rys. a Welsh chieftain, 377. 
Howi.son of Braeliead, his adventure with 

James V.. 268. 
" Iloulal, the Buke of the," 542, n. 
Hunting, 184, 185, 186. 240. 365. 600. 

613. 

aerial, superstition of, 613. 

" Hunting-mass," 93. 
" HUNTINQ So.vG," 638. 
"Hustsman, Lay of the Imprisoned," 

236. 
Hunily, Marquis of, the last Duke of 

Gordon. 704. 

" HVMN FOR THE DeaD," 52. 

" Fl-NERAL," 683. 

" Rkbkcca's," 682. 

** TO TUK Virgin," 210. 

I. 

" I ASKED OF MY HaRP," Song, 715. 

Hay. [-land of. 470. 

Inch-Cai!liach (the Isle of Nuns). 251. 

Indians, the North American. 362. 

Inn, or Hostelrie, Scottish accommoda- 
tions of an. in the I6lh century, 164. 

lol of the heathen Danes, 173. 

Irish, the ancient Tajtistnj, 367. Dress, 
ib. Bards, 374. Chiefs required to as- 
sist Edward I. in his Scottish wars. 494. 

Isles. Western, of Scotland, 470. 474 to 
476. 483. 

" IvANUOE," Verses from, 681-684. 



Jacobitism, the last contests of, recited 
in ballads. 557. 

James I., King of Scotland, his "Christ 
Kirk on the Green," 543. His educa- 
tion and poetry. 546. 

HI., rebellion against. 168. In- 
ventory of his treasure and jewels. 492. 

IV. His person and dress, 128. 

Penance of, 168. His belt, 170. Ap- 
parition to, at Linlithgow, 168. Death 
of, at Flodden, 179. 

V. in minority, 244. Quells the 

Border robbers, 247. His progress to 
the Isles, ib. Why called "King of 
the Commons," 265. His attacliment 
to archery, ib. Adventures in disguise, 
267. 

VI., his conduct r^pecting the 

Mures of Auchindrane. 788. 

Jamieson, Rev. Dr. John, his edition of 
" Wallace and Bruce," 414. .500, it. 

Mr. Robert, his collection of 

ballads. 551.588. 

JeH'rey, Francis, now Lord, his success 
])rotessionally and in literature. 10. 14. 
Extracts from his Criticihins on Scott's 
poetry. See Edinburgh Review. 

" Jock of Hazeldean," 660. 

Joel, application of a passage from the 
Prophecies of, 289. 

Johnson, Dr., his ridicule of the ballad 
style, 560. Reflections on visiting lona, 
441, 71. 

Jongleurs, or Jugglers, 266. 

Julian, Count. 285. 287. 

"Juvenile Lines from Virgil," 627. 

" onaThua''";rStorm," 

ib. 



- on the Setting SuD,' 



K. 



Keith, Sir Alexander, 705. 

Kpl|iy, a river sjiiril. 250. 

" Kemble, John Philip, his Farewell 
Address on taking leave of the Edin- 
burgh stage," 671. His opinion of 



" The House of Aspen" in relation to 

the stage. 812. 
Kendal, a contemporary of Thomas tho 

Rhymer, 546. 
" Kenilworth," Verses from. 692-4. 
Speech of the Porter at, 

693. 
Kennedy, Sir Gilbert, of Barganie, 785. 

Sir Thom.is, of Cullayne, 784. 

Ker or Carr, family of, 57. 

Kerrs and Scotts, fends of the, ib. 

" Kampv Fiscr, the," a collection of 

heroic songs. 255. 
King's Case, well and monastery of, 49i. 
Kinloch, Mr. G. R., his collection of bai 

lads. 551. 
Kirkwall, church and ca.stle of, 78. 
" Kittle J^iitf Sti:j>s,'' the, 310, h. 
Knighthood, 72. 



" Lady of the Lake." 180. 

Lajdlaw, Mr. William. 621, n. 

Laing,'Mr. David, his Select Remains of 
the Ancient Popular Poetry ol Scot- 
land, 543. TI. 

Lancey. Sir William de, killed at Water- 
loo. 508. n. 

Largs, Battle of, 165. 

" Lay of the Last Minstrel," 9. 

" Poor Louise," 721. 

" THE ImI'RISO.VED HUNTS- 
MAN," 236. 

Learmonl, Thomas, see "Thomas of Er- 
celdoune." 

" Legend of Montrose," Verees from 
the, 681. 

Lennel house, seat of Patrick Brydone, 
Esq., 177. 

Lennox, district ofthe, 246. 

" Lenori^," Burger's, 566. 

Leprosy, 491. 

Leslie, Charles, a ballad-singer, 551. 

Leslv. General David, at the baltle of 
Marston Moor, 358. 

"Letters in Verse" to the Duke of 
Buccleuch, 645, *t46. 

" — " to J. G. Lock- 
hart, E'^q.. on the composiiiorj of Alai- 
da's Epitaph, 712. 

Leven, Earl of, 357, S.'^.H. 

Lewis. M. G., some ('MrliculaiN respect- 
ing him. 563. His" Monk," 564. His 
poetry, ib. His *• Tales of Wonder," 
569. His correspondence with the au- 
thor. 572. 

Leyden, Dr. John, his " Spc-clrf Ship." 
362. Ballad poetry, 559. A Coiiirih- 
utor to Lewis's "Tales of Wonder.'* 
569. His Ballad of" The Cloud King," 
573. His death, V^S, v. ; 441. 487. 

Lhnm-dedrg , the Spirit of Gleumore, 165. 
250. 

Lichfield Cathedral t'ormed in the civil 
war, 179. 

Lindesay, Sir David, of the \'ount, 117. 
Edition of his works by Mr. (Jeorgu 
Chalmei-s, 167. 

Lord ot'tlie Uvres, 003. 



Lindisfarne, or Holy I.^land, 161. 
Lines on Fortune," 726. 

TO Sir Cuthbert Sharp," 

721. 

ON Captain Wooan," 651. 

When with Poetry dealing," 

719. 

See Juvenile." 

Lmlithgow Palace, descrip'tion of, 119, n. 

Littlecote Hall, story ol" u murder com- 
mitted in, 375. 

Llywarch lien, a transl.ition from tho 

heroc elegies of, 374. 
Loch Coriskin, 432, 433. 48.1. 484. 
Lochard, description of, 185. 
"Lochinvar," Lady Heron's son^ 129. 
Loch Katrine, 181. n. ; 187. 
Loch ofthe Lowes. 96. 161. 
Loch Ranza,441. 488. 
Loch Skene, 96. 161. 



INDEX. 



837 



*' LorKHART. J. O., Esc|., Letter in Verse 
to, oil tlu' C?omiiositioii of Maida's Epi- 
taph." 7Iii. 

"Likkhart's Life of Sir Walter 
tscurr," Notes Explanatory anil Criti- 
cal Iryiii. 14. 15. 17, 18. 4G. 50. 53. 81. 
8-J, h;.. 105. 153. 180. 181, 182, 183, *270. 
ir^'J. i;84. 319. 353. 355. 381. 4UH, 4110. 
41-J. 4G.-I, 510. 512. 597. Ii02. 600. 621. 
626, 627. 628. 631. 637. 639. 645. 605. 
672. 721. 726. 

■'Lord He my anil FaJr Catherine," bal- 
ls.! of. .Vj7. 

'• L(»Rj) ov THE Isles," 412. 

" Lonl of I lie L*iles," 470. Controversy 
regariii.ig the re|ire.sentation ot"tl»e, 471. 

l^orii, the ilouse of. 473. 

Luve, [hiwvt of, 19. The gift of heaven, 
42. 

"Lucky MacLkary's Tavern," Scene 
in, 649. 

" Lrev .\^hton's Song," 678. 

Lynedoeli, Lord, 291. 

"'Lyuical and Miscellaneous Pie- 
ces," in [he oriit-r of their composition 
or pubiicalion, 627-728. 

Lyrital Pieces. See Songs, 
Lvlli'h's Tale," 385. 

M. 
Macdonald, Ranald, Esq., of Staffa, 

" LiNiis Addressed to," 645. 
Macdonell, the kite Colonel Rorialdson, 

of Glengarry, 704. 
iVLicdoiialds suHbuated in the Cave of 

Ei-?. 487. 
Mae'Duu-ral. of r*orn, family of, 473. 476. 
" iMa* Di-'fF*s Cross." 748. 
MacDiitt', law of the clan, ib. 
Macallister's cave in Strathaird, descrip- 
tion of. 485. 
MacGreyor, Kob Roy, 254. 662, n. 
"Ma< Gkkggr's Gatheuino," 661. 
" MalIvok's, Flora, So\o," 650. 
" IMalLea.v, War tONO, of Lach- 

LAr«," High Chief of, 653. 
MacLellaii. tutor of Bonihy, beheaded by 

the Earl of Angus, 177. 
MacKav, Mr. Charles, of the Edinburgh 

Theatre. 713. 
MacKenzie, Colin, Esq., of Portmore, 

115. II. 
— — Henry, Esq., his Essay on 

German literature, 502. 

the Hon. Mrs. Stewart, 654. n. 

HigliCliiefofKintail," Fare- 
well T(»," 652. Lmitation of, 653. 
Maiikiiiiosh. Sir James, his Opinion of the 

Lay of the Last A.iiiBtrel, 24, n. ; 46, 

71. ; and Lady of the Lake, 183, n. 
** Mackrimmon's Lament," 675. 
MacLeod of MacLeod, family of, 428, 

n. ; 675. 
MacLeod. Laird of, his Crnel Revenge on 

the Macdonalds of Eigg, 487. 
MacNcil of Barra, family of, 474. 
MarPh<?n<on. James, publisher of Ossian's 

Poems, 549. 508. 
** Madge Wildfire's Songs," 677- 

078. 
" Maggie Lauder," song of, 554. 
Magic, 62. passim, 66. 75. 165. 176. 309. 

H.; 361. 304. 
" Maid o? Neidi-atii, The," 636. 
" Maid ov Toro, Tue," 635. 
Maid;t, Battle of, 510. 
Maida's Epitaph, Letter on the Corapo- 

sitior of. '12 
*' Major Piellenden's Sono," 666. 
Maillind MSS.. 549. 
Sir Richard, of Lethington, 16lh 

century, poem by, 158. 
Makers (of poeiry), the, 538, 539. 
Malefactors, infatuation of, 311. 361. 
Mallet, David, hia imitations of ballad 

poetry, 560. 
Mammon. 784. 
March, "Black Agnes," Countess of, 

573. 



March-treason, 37. 72. 

'• Marmion ; A Tale of Flodden- 

FlELD," 80. 
Marniion, family of, 156. 
Robert de, 173. 



Marriott, Rev. John, dedicatiot. to him of. 
the Second Canto of Marniion, 94. 

Mar-ton-Moor, Battle of, 357-3.59. 

Martin, Rev. Jolin, minister of Mertoun, 
lUO, H. 

Dr John, his description of the 

Western Highlands, 249. 

Mary, Q,ueen of Scots (Epilogue), 714. 

" Massacre of Glencoe," on the, 642. 

Massena, Marshal. 289, 290, tb, 

Maurice, Abbot of InchaHray, 497. 

Mauthe-Dooff, the, Isle of Man, 79. 

Muyburgh, mound at, 385. 411. 

Mazers, drinking cups, 492. 

iMedwyn's, Ca|itain. remarks on his Con- 
versations of Lord Byron, 15. 572, 573. 

Melbourne. Lord, 572. 

Melrose Abbey, 22. 23. 60, 61. 

battle of. 56. 

Melville, Henry, Lord Vise, " Health 
to," a song on his ac<iuittal in 1806, 
637. Death of, in 1811, 269. 

Robert, Lord, 704. 

" Meii of Peace." See Daoine Shi. 

Merlin, 271. 285. 580, 581. 588. 

"Mermaids and Mermen," Song of 
the. 695. 

Mickle. W. J., his imitations of ballad 
poetry, 548. 554. 559. 

Milan, artists of, their skill in armory, 
156. 

IVIillar and Chapman, their Miscellany, 
the earlitst surviving specimen of the 
Scottish press, 544. 

Millar, Colonel, of the Guards, 509. 

Mingarry C;istle, 470. 

Minstrels, order and office of, 545. 555. 

"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
der," t^cott's Contributions to, viz., 
Introductory Remarks on Popular Po- 
etry, 537. Appendix to, 553. E-say 
on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad, 
555. Appendix to. 571. Imitations 
of the Ancient Ballad, 574-608. 

Minto Crags, 59. 

"Monastery," Verses from the, 685- 
690. 

Monk, Lewis's Romance of the, 564. 

"Monks of Bangor's March," 672. 

Monmoutli, Duke of, 18, n. 

Montague, dedication of Marmion to, 83. 
His collection of ballads destroyed by 
fire, 544. 

Montldy Review, critical notices from, 
on the Lay, 16. Marmion, 84. 94. 96. 
102. 145. 151. 152. The Lady of the 
Lake, 221. The Vision of Don Roder- 
ick, 272. 275. 277. Rokehy, 305. 306. 
312. 314. 332. 335. 340. 350. 354. The 
Lord of the Isles. 424. 438. 440. 455. 
461. 403. 467. The Field of Waterloo, 
506 ; and on Halidon Hill, 744. 747. 

Montrose, James, first Marquis of, 243, 

Moors, the invasion of Spain by, 985. 

Moore, Sir John, omissioij of his name in 
the poem of " Don Roderick," the au- 
thor censured for, 284. 290. 

Moore, Thom£is, E-^q., his imitations of 
the ballad style, 559. 

Morritt, J. B. S., Esq., letter to, on the 
deatii of Lord Melville and President 
Blair, 270. On the Vision of Don Rod- 
erick, 284. Dedication to him of Roke- 
hy, 2%. Letter on Rokeby, 319. 
" Morte Arthur," romance of the, ex- 
tract Irom regarding the " Chapell Per- 
ilous." 154. 

Morlham Castle, description of, 362. 
Morion, Karl of. Re^^ent. 244. 601. 

Moss-troojjers, 59. bee Borderen. 

Motherwftl. William, his collection of 
ballads, 551. 

Mottoes, " sooner make than find them," 
665. 



" Mottoes from the Waverley Novels, 

663 passim 72o. 
Mull, the Sound of, 470. 
Mummers, English. 174. 
Muriler. superstition formerly resorted l9 

for llie discovery of, 773. 
Mure, John of Auchinilrane, 784. Hia 

son James, 787. 
Murray, Thomas, Randolph, Earl of, at 

Bannockhurn, 460. 494. 495, VMi, 497. 

the Regent, deatli of, 599. 

Mr, William, manager of \:a 

Theatrt-Royal, Edinburgh 714. 
" My Ai'N t Margaret's .Mirror,'' 

Mottoes from, 721. 
Mysteries, ancient, 174 

N. 

NeaL Naighvallach, an Irish King of 
the fourth or fifth century, 369. 

" Neck Verse," the, 21. 

Necromancy, 57, 58. 75. 

Nelson, Lord, tribute to the memory of, 
84. 112. " Unpleasant chapter in his 
history," 794, h. 

Newark Castle, on the Yarrow, 17. 

Nicholas, Grand-Duke (now Em[)eror) of 
Russia, "Verses s-ung after a din- 
ner given to liiin at Edinburgh," 662. 

"No, John, I will not own the book," 
652. 

" Noble Morinoer. The," 621. 

•'Nora's Vow," 661. 

Norham Castle. 155. 

" Norman Horse-Shoe, The," 634. 

" The Forester's Song," 678. 

"Norna's Songs" and Incanta 
TioNs," 696-700. 

North Berwick, 135. 

O. 

" Old Mortality," Verses from, 666. 

Oman, Mr., 703. 

O'Neale, family of, 367. 

" On Ettrick Forest's ISIountains 

Dun," 701. 
"On the Massacre of Glencoe," 

642. 
Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, 275. 

287. 
Orleans, Duke of, his poetical exercises in 

English, 546. 
" Orphan Maid, The," 680. 
Otterbourne, Battle of, 61. 142. 
Ovid, 10. 784. 



Padua, a school of necromancy, 20. 57. 

Page, tiie order of the, in chivalry, 369. 

Paisley, 001. 

" Palmer, The," 635. 

Palmers, 159. 

" Pardoner's Advertisement, The," 

691. 
Park, Thomas, his edition of Ritson'i 

Collection of Songs, 550. 
Passion, the ruling, 105. Lines from 

Pope on, 105, n. 
Peden, Alexantler, 604. 
Peel-town, Castle of, Isle of Man, 79. 
Penance vaults, 164. 
Penrith. "Round table" of, 385. 410. 
Pepys, Secretary, his collection of ballads 

543. 
Pepper, Father, 567. 
Percy, Bishop, Iiis copy of " Clievj 

Chace," 540. " Reln|ues of Ancient 

Poetry," 545. Imitations of the an- 
cient ballad," 559. 

Henry, at HomiMon Hill, 729. 

Thomas, his df fence of the bishop 

against Ritson's criticism. 548. 
" Pkveril of tue Peak," Mottoes 

from, 707-709. 
"Pharos Loquitur," 645. 
Fhilipson, Major Robert, called " Robls 

the Devil," 378. 
Pibroch, the, 245. 
" Pibroch of Donald Dhu, ' 660. 



838 



INDEX. 



Pi'.'oti. Sir Tiiomas. 508. 

Picls, the. a Celtir race, 641. 

Pilgrims. 159. 

Piiilierlon, Jolin, his collection of ballails, 
549. 711. List ot'Strottish poets. 549. 

"Pirate," Verses from the, 694-701. 

Pisistratiis, Homer's Works collected by, 
538. 

Piteain Robert, Esq., editor of " Crim- 
inal Trials of Scotland," 789. Ex- 
traL-ts Irom his work. 785, 786. 789. 

" Pitt Club of Scotland, Songs writ- 
ten tor the," 644, 645. 

Piti. Right Hon. William, 638. '• Among 
lliosf who smiled on the adventurous 
minstrel." 14. Procured for Seott the 
oftii;eorClerkof ession, 8U, 81. Trib- 
utes to his memory, 84. 152. His grave 
beside that of Mr. Fo.\. 85, 86. 

Plotcock, summons of, preceding the bat- 
tle of Flodden, 134. 173.655. 

"Poacher, Thk." 640. 

"Poetry, Popular, Introiluctory Re- 
marks on," 537. Continuation of the 
subject under the title of " E^say on 
the Imitations of the Ancient Ballad," 
555. 

' Poetry, Romantic, Rematks on," 
379. 

— State of the art of, at the end 

of the 18ih century, 561. 

Poiii:ilowski. Count, 507. 

Poiisonby. Sir William, 508. 

Pujie, lines from, on the ruling passion, 
105, II. 

Priam. 115. , 

Prinsle, the late Ale.vander, Esq., of 
Whvthank, 95, n. 

" Prophecy, The," 679. 

pTijsv, " to sound the," 600. 602. 

Fye, Henry James, Esq., 567. 



Q,iiarterlt Review, critical notices 

from, on the Lady of the Lake, 195. 

206. 223. Don Roderick. 272. 276. 278. 

283. Rokeby. 296. 300. 350. 352. 354. 

Bridal of Triermuin. 383. 385. 387, 388. 

392. 408. And Lord of the Isles, 414. 

422. 429. 433. 437. 446. 466. 468. 
•*Q,uentin Dukvvard," Verses from, 

709-10. 



Rae. Right Hon. Sir William, 115. 
Ramsay, Sir Alexander, of DaUiousie, 

cruel murder of. 61. 
Allan, structure of stanza used 

by him. 543. As a ballad collector, 

544. His "Tea-Table Miscellany," 

73 544. And '• Vision," 549. 
Captain, at the action of Fuen 

les de Honoro, 290. 
R;iiirlol|ih, Thoma--. See Murray. 
Ratiliiiy Ruaring Willie, the Border min 

sirel, 73. 
Ravensheuch Castle, 50. 78. 
Rjivensvvorth Castle, 223. 
" Rebec ca's Hymn." 682. 
" Receipt to make an epic poem," 380. 
" Re-il Cross Kniglii, The," by Mickle, 

548. 
Rede. P'Tcy, 359. 

■• Keduauntlet," Verses from, 715. 
'• Reiver's Wedding, The," 631. 
Repentance, tower of, 753. 
" Resolve. The," 639. 
Rere-Cross. on Stanmore. 365. 
'• Return to Ulster, The." 659. 
RiJdell, family of, 60. 
Ri^ingham,359. 
Riison, Josepli. his criticism of Percy's 

" ReMques," 545. His collection of 

songs, 549. 711. '* Robin Hood," 550. 
Robert tiie Bruce. See Bruce. 
Robertson. Rev. Principal, his account of 

the death of the Regent Murray, 599. 
Rob Roy. <ieath-bed anecdote of, 235, n. 

See Maogrego'. 



" Rob Roy," Verses from, 673. 
Robin Hood. 226. 265. 538. 544. 550. 
Rogers. Samuel, Esq., "the Bard of 

Memory," 561. 
Roderick, Gothic King of Spain, defeat- 
ed and killed by the Moors. 285. 287. 

His enchanted cavern, 28G. 289. See 

Don Roilerick. 
" Rokeby." 292. 
Rokeby Castle, 307. 360. 370. 

family of, 360. 370. 

Felon Sow of, 371. 

Roman antiquities at Greta Bridge, 360. 

camp, at Ardocli, 263. 

" Romance of Dunois," 656. 
Romance literature, birth o\'. 169. 
Romilly, Sir Samuel, his opinion of the 

Lady of the Lake. 230. n. 
Rose, William Stewart, Esq., dedication 

to, of the First Canto of Marmion, 83. 
Roslin, 78. 607. 
Roes. John. Eart of. his treaty with King 

Edward IV., 469. 
William, Earl of. deeil containing i 

his submission to King Robert Bruce, 

4%. 

Sir Walter. 489. 

"Round Table," 154. 410. 
Roxburglie Club, the, 712. 

— John. Dnke of. 543, 568. 

Rum, Island of, 487. 

Russell, Major^General Sir Jaraea, of 

Ashestiel. 80. 
Rutherford, Miss Christian, aont of Sir 

Walter Scott, 180. 026. 
of Hunthill, family of, 76. 



St. Clair, family of, 78. 

" Saint Cloud," 654. 

Saint John, Vale of, 411. 

St. Miiry's Lake, 160. 

"St. Ronan's Well," Mottoes from, 

710. 
" St. Swithin's Chair," 649. 
Saints. St. Brideof Douglas. 79. Chad, 

151. 179. Columba. 593. Cuthberl, 

161. 162. 164. Dunstan, 243. Fillan, 
1.59. 593. George. 510. Hilda, 100. 

162. Modan.243. Mungo.20. Oran, 
593. Regulus (Scottice Rule). 159. 
Ro-^alia. 158. Serle, 225. Trinion, 798. 

"Sale Room," the, an Edinburgh peri- 
odical. 667, 71. ; 671, v. 

Sallust, Extract from, on the Death of 
Catiline, 506. n. 

Sangreal, the, 154. 

Saxons, the Anglo, their language, 542. 
546. 554 ; and poetry. 682. 

"Saxon War-Sosg,'682. 

Scalds, antique poetry of the, 682. 

Scales-tarn, \j\ike of,"386. 

Schiller. 502. 563. 812. 

Srhiltrttm. signification of. 407. n. 

Scots Magazine, the, extracts from, 104. 
536. 594. 

Scots Greys, 704. 

Scott of Buccleuch. See Buceleuch. 

of Harden, family of, 71. 161. 174. 

Hugh, Esq.. of Harden, now Lord 

Polwarth, 174, 566, ».; 568. v. His 
lady, 566. n. ; 567. Inscription for the 
monument of the Rev. John Scott, 
their son. 726. 

—John, Esq.. of Gala, 415. n. 

Sir John, of Thirlestane. 70. 

Mary, "the Flower of Yarrow," 

35. 71, 161. 

Sir Michael. 24. C2. 63. 

Miss Sophia, the author's daugh- 
ter, 621, 71. 

Robert, of Sandyknows, the aa- 

thor's grandfather, 106. 

Walter, Lessudden, the author's 

great -grand si re, 138. 174. 

Major Sir Walter, the author's eld- 
est son, 6.57. 

and Kerr, feuds of the families of, 

57. 



Sea-fire, phenomenon so called. 474. 
Seatorth, the last Earl of. 6.^>3, n. 
Seal, its taste for music, 4l(i. 470 
"SEARCH after Happiness, the; or, 

the duest of Sullaun Sulimaun," 

667. 
Seatoun, Christopher, fate of, 480. 
Second-sight, account of the. 241. .593. 
" Secret Tribunal Rhymes," 724. 
" Selectors of the slain," 78. 
" Sempach, Battle of," 619, 
Serendib. 667. 
" Setting Sun." Juvenile Lines on tbt, 

627. 
Seven Spears of Weddrrburti. 40. 
Shields, the Castle of the, ballad 

of, 527. 
Seward, Miss Anna, criticisms by. 28, 

n,; 33, n, ; 50. v. Letter to. ;t0. n. 

Epitaph designed for her munument, 

639. 
Seymour, Lord Webb. 375. 
Shaksj)eare, his description of a populai 

song, 556. 
Shane-Dymas, an Irish chieftain in the 

reign of Elizabeth, 369. 
" Sharpe, Sir Cuthberl, Lines to," 721. 
Sharpe, Charles K., Esq., of Hoddam, 

541, n. ; 551. «. ,• 753. 
Siiaw, Mr. James, notice of a list of Sir 

Walter Scott's publications prepared 

by him, .567, 
Sheale, Richani. the author or transcriber 

of" Chevy Clia.se," 540. 554. 
"Shepherd's Tale. The." 628, 
Sheridan, Thomas. Esii., 365. 
Siioreswood, the priest of, 159. 
Sibbald. Mr, James, 711. 
Siddons, Mrs. Henry, Epilogues written 

for, 675. 714. 
Sidney, Sir Philip, his opinion of tlie bal- 
lad of " Chevy Cliase," 539, n. ; 540, 

556, 
Sinclair, Right Hon, Sir John, 705, 
" Sir Charles Baud win," Cliatlerlon'a 

ballad of. 558. 
"SirCaulin." 548. 
" SirEger, Sir Grime, and Sir Greysteil," 

romances ol. 541. 
"Sir Martyn." a forgotten poem of 

Mickle, extract from. 554. 
" Sir Patrick Spens," old Scottish song 

of, 571. 
"Sir Trislrem," metrical romance of 

"Thomas tite Rymer," 542. 5r.8. 583. 
Skene, James. E-;q., of Rubislnw, dedi- 
cation to. of the Fourth Canto of Mat^ 

mion, 113. 
Skirving, Mr., author of a Ballad on the 

Battle of Prestoii|iaiis. 557. 
Sky, Island of, description of its scenery, 

432. 483. 
Smailholm Tower, description of, 594. 
" Smith. Miss, Lines written for," 

671. 
Smith, Sir Sidney. Tribute to. 105. 
Smytlie, Professor at Ciimbridge, 573. 
Snakes and Serpents. 78. 
Snood, worn by Scottish maidens, 203 

250. 
Snow, description of a man perisliing in, 

114. 166. 
Snowdoun (Stirling). 238. 268. 
"Soldier, Wake — Song," 715. 
Soltier, Sir John, 71. 
Somerled, Lord of the Isles. 417. 470. 
Somerville, John, 15lh Lord, 415, n. , 

701, n. 

Lord {temp. Jac. HI.), anefr 



dote of, 712. n. 
Songs — 

Aflmire not that I gjiin'd the prize. 758. 
A Hawick gill of mountain dew. 703. 
Ah ! County Guy, the lionr is nigh, 

709. 
Ah, poor Louise! the live-long day 

721. 
Allan-a-Date has no fagot for borning. 

323. 



56 G 



INDEX. 



839 



Bonos. 

All joy was bereft me tlie day that you 

lell me, 636, 
An hour with thee ! when earliest day, 

And did you not hear of a mirth befell, 
647. 

And whither would you lead me then ! 
340. 

Anna-Maria, love, np is the sun, 683. 

Assist me, ye friends of old books and 
old wine, 710. 

Avt Mnrin'. maiden mild ! 210. 

A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 3^22. 

A Weary month has wander'd o'er, 653. 

Binis of omen dark and foul, 679. 

Canny moment, lucky fit, 658. 

Dark Ahriman. whom Irak still, 717. 

Diiias Emliim. lament ; for the moment 
is nigh. 634. 

Donald Caird's come again, 676. 

Dust uiuo dust. 684. 

EiiL-haiilress, farewell, who so oft has 
decoy'd me, 702. 

False love, and hast thou play'd me 
this ? 648. 

Farewell to MacKenneth. great Earl of 
the North, 652. 

Farewell, merry maiden*, to song and 
to laugh, 697. 

Farewell t« Northmaven. 695. 

Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 695. 

Follow tne, follow me, 652. 

From the Brown crest of Newark its 
summons extending. 657. 

Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers, 659. 

Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 656. 

God (iroti'cl brave Alexander, 662. 

Go sit old Cheviot's crest, below, 631. 

Hail to the chief who in triumph ad- 
vances. 197. 

Hail to thy told and clouded beam, 305. 

Hawk and o-^iireyscrt'am'd for joy, 522. 

Hear what Highland Nora said, 661. 

He ii gone or. the mountain, 206. 

Hie away, hie away, 649. 

High deeds achiev'd of knightly fame, 
681. 

Hither we come, 791. 

Hurra, hurra, our w:itch is done, 403. 

I askid ol' my harp. " Who hath in- 
jured thy cords?" 716. 

I cliinb'd the dark brow of the mighty 
Helvellyii. 633. 

Ill tares tlie bark with tackle riven, 523. 

I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelve 
month or twain, 6Hl. 

It chanced tliat Cupid on a season, 657. 

Ii was a' for onr rightful king. 365. 

[t wa^ api English ladye bright, 48. 

It was DuMois the young and brave, 
was bound for Palestine, 656. 

I was li wild and wayward boy, 337. 

Joy to the victors ! the sons of old As- 
pen, 819 

Look not thou on beauty's charming, 
678. 

Lord VVdliam was born in gilded bow- 
er. 518. 

Love wakes and weeps, 698. 

Macljiod's wizard Hag from the gray 
cattle sallies, 675. 

March, march, Ettriek and Teviotdale, 
689. 

Measurers of good and evil, 724. 

Merry it is iu the good green wood, 213. 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines 
brtglu, 685. 

My hawk ia tired of perch and hood, 

2:16. 
My wayward fate 1 needs must plain, 

6:19. 
Not faster yonder rowers' might, 193. 
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 319. 
O, dread was the time, and more dread- 
ful the omen, 644. 
Of all the birds on bnsh and tree, 692. 
Oh ! sav not. my love, with that mor- 
Ufied'air. 642 



Songs. 

O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a 

knight, 658. 
O, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 335. 
O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 50. 
O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 636. 
O, low shone the sun on the fair lake 

ofToro, 635. 
O. Maid of Isia, from the cliff, 702. 
Once again, hut how changed since my 

waiid'rings began, 659. 
On Enrick Forest's monntains dun, 

701. 
On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere yon bonne 

ye to rest, 649. 
O, open the door, some pity to show, 

635. 
O, Robin Hood was a bowman good, 

765. 
O, tell me, harper, wherefore flow ? 

643. 
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and 

Poule. 230. 
O, young liochinvar is come out of the 

west, 129. 
Pibroch of Donald Dhu, 660. 
Quake to your foundations deep, 406. | 
Rash adventuri'r, bear thee back, 402. i 
Red glows the forge ill ^trigui^s bounds, ' 

635. I 

Saufen bier, nnd hrante-wein, 639. 
She may be fair, he sang, but yet, 523. I 
Since here we are set in arrav round 

the table, 637. 
Soft spread the southern summer night, 

654. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 191. 
Soldier, wake — the day is peejiing, 

715. 
Fo sung the old bard in the grief of his 

heart. 653. 
Stern eagle of the far northwest, 694. 
Snmmei^eve i« gone and past. 334. 
Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of 

Toro, 820. 
Take these flowers, which, purple wav- 
ing. 628. 
That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 

52. 
Tlie Baptist's fair morrow beheld gal- 
lant feats, 718. 
Tlie Druid Urien had daushters seven, 

527. 
The Forest of Gtenmore is drear, 632. 
The heath this night must be my bed, 

208. 
The herring loves the merry moonlight, 

663. 
The last of our steers on the boai-d has 

been spread. 725. 
The monk niu&t arise when the matins 

ring, 679. 
The moon'? on the lake, and the mist's 

on the brae. 621. 
The news has flown frae monlh to 

month. 702. 
The sound of Rokeby's woods 1 hsar, 

339. 
The sun is rising dimly red, 695. 
The sun upon the lake is low, 754. 
The sun upon tlie Weirdlaw Hill, 672. 
The violet in her greenwood bower, 

628. 
There came three merry men from 

south, west, and north, 683. 
There is mist on the mountain, and 

night on the vale, 651. 
They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, 

216. 
Though right be aft put down by 

strength, 044. 
To horse ! to horse ! the standard flfes, 

607. 
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Cla- 

ver'se who spoke, 772. 
*Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's 

heart beat high, 48. 
'Twas a Mart^L'hal of France, and he 

fain would honor gain, 642. 



SONOS. 

'Twas near the fair city of Benevent, 

717. 
Twi-t ye, twine ye ! even so. 658. 
ViewleVs essence,' thin and bare, 722. 
Wake, maid of Lorn. 415. 
Waken, lords and tadii-s gay, 638. 
Wasted, we;iry. wherefore stay J 658. 
We love tim sl'irill trampet, we love the 

drum's rattle, 756. 
What makes the troopers' frozen cour- 
age mu:*ler ? 826. 
Wheel the wild dance, 6.53. 
When Israel of the Lord beloved, 682. 
Whence the brooch of burning gold 

424. 
When friends are met o'er merry cheer, 

77:1. 
When the heathen trumpet's clang, 673 
Wlii-n llie tempest's ;it the loudest, 763 
Wliet the bright steel, 682. 
While the dawn on the mountain was 

nii'Sty and gray, 338. 
Wb.re shall the lover rest? 108. 
Why sil'st thou by that ruiu'd halll 

G62. 
Why weep ye by the tiile, ladie 1 660. 
Yes, thou may&tsigh, 722. 
Young men will love thee more fair and 
more fast. 650, 
Soulhey, Dr. Rohcrt, Letter from, on 
Ma-niion. 153, n. Lim?s from his Rod- 
erick contrasted with some of Scott's. 
273, H.; 275, v.; 280. And Pilgrim- 
age to Waterloo. 5^:^. • ' passim 509, 
71. His Imitations of Ballad Poetry, 
550. 569. Extract from his Life ol 
Nelson, 810. 
Spain. Defence of, under the Invasion of 
Bonaparte. 287. 

Invasion of. by thn Moors, 285. 

War with, iu 1625-6, 364. 

" Spratcs and finxcs," Story of, 712. 

Spells, 66. 

Spencer, Eari, 81. 

Spenser. Eilmund, 124. 307. E.\tract 

from his *' Faerir Qurnir," 283. 
Spirits, intermediate class of, 58. 165. 250, 

251. 361. 603. 
"Spirit's Blasted Tree," Legend of the 

174-176. 
Staffa, Cave of. 441-2.487. 
Stanhope, Lady Hester, 14, n. 
Stewart, Professor Dugald, 560. 566. 
Stiriing Castle. 225. 264. 
Sloddari, Sir John. Kt. 
Strallbrd. Enrl of. 261. 
Strathmoi-e, Earl of. killed at Sheriff 

muir, 746, n. 
Ptrathbo^i.'. See Alhol'-. 
Stuari. .- ir William, ol" Ochiltree, murder 

of. in 1588, 244. 
Strnti, Josipli. his Roman';e of Clueen- 

hoo-hall. 265. 
" Prs-l'BioR, To TiiK," 685. 
Sultuun SoUmaun, 667. 
Superstitions, Popular, 165. 787. See 
also " Fairies," "Gliosis*." "Spirits.' 
Surrey, Earl of (beheaM.-d in 1546). 77. 
Surtces, Robert, Esq.. 524. n. 
Sutherland. Duche.^s of. 705. 
Swinlon, Sir John, 730. Arms of the 

family of, 732. 
Swiss Guards, .\,a8sacre of the, in 1792, 

608. 
Swords, enchanted, 245. 
Sympathy, core of a wound by, 67. 



Ta'rfinirm, a Highland mode of angurj 

iSj, 254. 
" Tales of Wonder. Lewis's," 569. 
"Talisman." Verses from the, 716-19. 
Tnnistrv, Irish custom of, 367. 801. 
Tantallaii C:istle. 136. 172. 
Taylor. William. Esq.. his version of 

" Lennre," 566. 
Tcc-bir, Tl'v, the War-cry of the San 

cens. 274. 286. 



840 



INDEA. 



Tees, the River. 333. 

Teilh, the River, 185. 

*' Tempest, Song of the," 694. 

Terry, the lale Mr. Daniel, comedian, 
658, 71. ; 753. ' 

Theatre, the, 547. 

Themis, 10. 

Thomas of Erceldoune, or "The Rhym- 
er," account of liira, 574. His Prophe- 
cies. 575. 577. Legem] of, 631. 

541. 542. 546. 

"Thomas the Rhymer," a Ballad in 
Three Parr^, 574. 

Thomson, Mr. D., of Galashiels. 676, n. 

Thomson, Thomas, Esq., Deputy-Regis- 
ter, 492. 

"Thunder Storm," Javenile Hues on 
a, 627. 

Tickell, Mr., his Ballad Poetry, 557.560. 

"Time." 663. 

Time. 202. 

and tide. 354. 

Tinchcll, the. 234, n. ; 568. 

"To A Ladv, with flowers from a Ro- 
man wail." 628. 

Town Eclogue, 35. v. 

Train. Mr. Jo-*e|ih. his assistance in col- 
lecting inrormalioii for the author, 491. 
Note from (1840). 4o8. 

Tribunal, the Seorc-t, or Invisible, of Ger- 
many, 812. 

Triermain. See " Bridal of Triermain." 

family ol", 410. 

Trosachs. tlie, 186. 

" Troubadour, The," 656. 

Troiiveiirs. or Troubadoure, 538. 

Tunes, attachment to, on death-beds, 267. 

Tun^tall, Sir Brian, slain at Floddpn. 178. 

Turnberty Castle. 491. 

Turner, J. i\l. VV., R.A., 433, n. 

"Tweed River, On," 685. 

Twtnge, Sir Marmadiike, at Bannock- 
burn, 499. 

Twise! Bridge, 145. 177. 

" Twist ye, twiije ye," 658. 
'Two Drovers," Mottoes from the, 
721. 



Tynemonth Priory. 164. 

Tytler, A. F. (Lord Woodhouselee), his 
Collections of Ballads, 552. His ver- 
sion of "The Robbers," 503. 

P. F., Esq., his " History of Scot- 
land," 541, 71. 

U. 

Uam-Var, mountain, 184, 185. 240. 
Unthank, chapel at, 65. 
Urisk, a Highland satyr, 252. 



Vai r.YRiUR, or " Selectors of the Slain," 

78. 
Valor, personification of, 276. 
Vaiishan, Right Hon. R. C, 288. 
Vaux, family of. 410. 
Venetian General, anecdote of a, 746, n. 
Vengeance, feudal, a dreadful tale of, 

487. 
Vennachar, Loch, 185. 
" Violet, The," 628. 
Virgil, his magical practices. 63. 75. His 

JEneid translated by Gawain Douglas, 

Bishop of Dunkeld, 143. 
"Virgil," Juvenile Lines from, 627. 
"Vision, The," a poem, 549. 

W. 

Wales, Caroline, Princess of, 105, ti. 

Wallace, Sir William, trial and execution 
of. 479. 

Walton. Sir John, defeated by " the good 
Lord James of Douglas." 493. 

"Wandering Willie." 636. 

War, personification of. from Childe Har- 
old, 279, n. Apostrophe to, 443. 

"War-Sono of the Edinburgh Light 
Dragoons," 607. 

" of Lachlan, high Chief of 

MacLean," 653. 

" Saxon," 683. 

Warbeck, Perkin, story of, 158. 

Waterloo, Battle of, 290. 502-511. 

Watson, James, his collection of ancient 
poetry, 544. 



" Waverlet," Verses frftrn, 647-653. 

" Lines by auilior of," OS*!. 

Lines of, " I>ate when tn* 

autumn evening fell." 648. 
Wellington, Duke of, 280. 2fil. 282. 289. 

291. "The Field of Waterloo," 50d 

passim ; 642. 644. 645. 
L)ui')ii'M of. dedication of 

"The Field of \\^aterloo" to, 502. 
"When with poetry dealing," 719. 
Whistling to raise a temnest, 361. 
Whitby Abbey, 161. * 
" White Lady of Avenel," Songs of 

the, 685-689. 
Whitmore, John, Esq.. &c., deiiication 

of the Vision of Don Roderii-k to, 270. 
" Wild Huntsman. The," 613. 
Wilkes. John, Esq., 182. 
" William and Helen." 609. 
Willich. Dr., teacher of German. 563. 
" Will Jones," Lewis's ballad of, 572. 
Wilson, Professor, 551. ii. 
Wine, presents of, 170. 
Witchcraft, 309, n. ; 304. 
" WoGAN, Captain. Lines on," 651. 
Wolfian hypothesis, ."iS?, n. 
Woman, apostroptie to, 149. 
Woodhouselee, Lord. See Tytler, A. F. 

Esq. 
"Woodstock." Verses from, 720-721. 
Wordsworth, William, Esq., Ins poem on 

Yarrow, 47, n. ; 52, n. Letter from, 

on Marmion, 153, n. Eulogiuni on the 

Zaragozang, 288. Imitations of tba 

ballad style. 559. 
Wrestling, prize at, 2C6. 
Wynken de Worde, 117. 

X. 

Xeres, account of the Battle of, 287. 



Zaharack, race of, 402. 
Zaragoza, account of the Siege of, 2S8. 
Zernebock, 520. 

"Zetland Fisiiermss, Sono oi 
THE." 697. 







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